#it grew out of control around two months ago

[thegreenhordes]

Twilight's Notes: Autopsy Report

Subject: Cheerilee Infection Type: Stage 3, Growler Cause of Death: Malnutrition

Important Notes: Food was provided to the Subject through slats in the door to her observation room. It was noted that she refused any non-meat food items, often smelling provided vegetables and fruit before wandering away in an angry huff. When provided with meat the subject devoured it ravenously. (Additional Note: Fluttershy is still Very distraught by the act of feeding meat to a subject, understandably so. The animals butchered were already dead when it was done, but I admit the act turned my stomach as well.)

Results of the Autopsy of Cheerilee: Pustules had a thicker membrane than what has been found in other Growler subjects, this has been noted in the Growler files under 'Secondary Mutations', Section Four, Pustule Growth. Additionally, the fluid inside had developed a thick consistency, atypical of previous tests on samples taken from the subject while still alive. Potentially a postmortem event similar to bloating and blood coagulation. The Cranial region of the subject shows typical deconstruction of the front of the skull where the largest pustules grow over the eyes. Bone was missing and the brain was protected solely by the thick covering of the pustules themselves. This was noted with previous autopsies as being how popping the facial pustules can be used to kill the infected. Oddly enough, Cheerilee is a unique case- in that her eyes were still present. They were nonfunctional and buried beneath the growths, but she is the only Growler so far to have them still intact. They were pushed back into the remainder of the skull and put pressure on her brain. It was noted this may be the reason for some of the subject's atypical behavior. (Note: Cheerilee struggled to walk in a straight line and frequently ran into the walls. Additionally, she had a total of five seizures in the few weeks she was in stage 3.)

The state of the subject's teeth were abysmal, many of them were chipped or shattered due to aggressive clenching and gnawing on bone. Multiple lesions in the mouth reveal a recurring observation that the sharpened teeth of the infected don't fit right in the mouth and will often cut their cheeks. The manner in which the teeth end up in this state is still debated. (Personal Note: I believe there is magic involved in much of the disease's effects, with the transformation of the teeth being one such magic-affected change.)

Internal organs were in poor condition, showing signs typical of extreme malnutrition. There were also several tumors and cysts found throughout, once again not uncommon in Growler cadavers. However there were less within Cheerilee than in previous subjects. I'm noting this as being likely due to Cheerilee being the shortest-lived Type 1 in my care to date. Aside from the growths- Which were later tested and found to be a mix of benign and cancerous- I discovered something I hadn't noticed before, though I suspect that was a simple oversight on my part. The glands that create saliva were engorged, the pores from which saliva is discharged were wider than normal. This almost certainly explains the thick, excessive saliva that often drips from a Type 1's mouth.

Final Notes: Most findings were either typical, or slightly atypical of the Type 1 infected. Though some new things were discovered, overall the autopsy proved to be more useful in the fact that I obtained a significant number of samples that I can use. I'll be taking these to study and try to find anything the may lead me towards an understanding of the mutagenic properties of the infection. I may also compare the samples to early-stage infected, stage 1s, 2s, and recovered ponies. My goal is not just to understand the infected themselves, but how the disease got to where it is now- Perhaps develop some sort of vaccine, or a cure for those still in the first 1-2 weeks where they can be saved.

I will be adding this file to the autopsy logs for future reference.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Delicate ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You first meet The Winter Soldier persona that Bucky worked so hard to hide.

Author’s Note: This is more of a prequel to this imagine.

Part Two | Part Three

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings/Tags: mentions of mind control, grumpy x sunshine trope, i used google translation so if it's bad, you know why, reader is not from New York, reader is used as a test subject but nothing bad really happens to her tbh

Do not repost this anywhere!

Bucky could trust Steve ever since he began to remember him. That's why he went to him four months after leaving Hydra.

But during the time he's been with the Avengers, the hold that Hydra had on him continued to linger. Throughout the time he's been with the Avengers, trying to get better, there were a few slip ups when he would revert to The Winter Soldier persona.

That was until he met you.

Tony had brought you after meeting you when you saved his life with your special weapon that impressed him. Your dice that affects your opponents based on what the number it landed on. One could either blind people enough for you to take them down or six that can send people flying back and cause the room to burst into flames.

Not to mention you were an excellent fighter and held a bachelors and Masters in computer science and information science. Along with a minor in physics. So Tony brought you in.

That was three months ago. Three months since you've joined the Avengers. Three months since you've met Bucky and became close to him. Three months since Bucky did everything he can to make sure he didn't show up again.

~~~~~

It was your free week after a mission. A week to recover. And you wanted to get your favorite pasties as a reward for being able to get the mission done sooner than estimated.

"Are you sure you have to have these pastries?" Bucky asked you as you were getting ready to head out.

"Yes. I've been wanting them all week and I am going to get them. You can come with me if you'd like," you offered.

"We were comfortable on the couch," Bucky tells you with a small pout.

"It's just a fifteen minute walk. I will be back soon," you smiled at him.

You got into the elevator before pressing the button.

"What do you want by the way?" You asked him.

"Surprise me," Bucky tells you with a soft smile.

"Ooh! Okay," you say excitedly as the doors closed.

You had been gone for an hour. No texts from you, no calls. Nothing. Bucky grew worried. And then he appeared.

"Где она? (Where is she?)" Steve heard. Steve quickly turned around to see Bucky standing behind him. Sam looked up from his phone as he noticed the sudden change in Bucky.

"Friday, alert everyone and let them know we have a Code Snow," Tony says calmly to prevent The Winter Soldier from being provoked.

Everyone looked at The Winter Soldier as they got ready to fight him just in case. No one knew what triggered him.

"Bucky. You're okay. It's me," Steve says. The Winter Solider stared at him with a dark look.

"Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry it took so long. Line was super long and my phone died while I played Candy Crush," you say, walking out of the elevator with the to go bag from the bakery shop.

"Y/n! Stay back!" You heard. You looked over to see everyone in a defensive position.

"What's wrong?" You asked confused. You looked over at Bucky who stared intensely at you. As if he was on a mission to protect you.

"Bucky? Is everything okay?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

"Y/n, I wouldn't do that," Steve advised, stopping you in your tracks.

"What? Why?" You asked confused, looking over at Steve.

"He's back to his Winter Soldier mindset," Steve said.

"His what?" You asked confused. Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he just said.

"Did Bucky not tell you about when he was under control by Hydra?" Steve asked you.

"He was part of Hydra?" You asked confused and in shock.

"Did you not read the files I gave you?" Tony questioned. A mixture of upset, annoyed, and confusion mixed in his tone.

"I... may have just skimmed through them," you admitted, looking away so you didn't have to look at him in the eye.

"Just come here," Tony said before grabbing your wrist.

Before Tony could pull you back to everyone else, Bucky quickly grabbed Tony's arm. Bucky pulled you back to him before throwing Tony back. Luckily, Steve quickly caught Tony.

"Bucky! No!" You yell, grabbing his right arm. He looked back at you before cupping your face.

"Ты в порядке? (Are you okay?)" The Winter Soldier asked you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't speak Russian," you tell him.

"Are you okay?" The Winter Soldier asked you again in English.

"I'm fine. But you shouldn't have done that! Tony could've gotten seriously hurt!" You yelled at him.

"He grabbed your wrist," The Winter Soldier pointed out, remaining calm as if nothing had happened.

"But he didn't hurt me," you tell him. "Please. Don't fight them. Let us help you get back to normal."

You stared up at The Winter Soldier with a look. The Winter Soldier stared at you before giving you a nod. He stood behind you as you looked at everyone else.

"What do I do now?" You asked nervously.

"Huh. That's new," Sam said.

"Y/n, can you lead him to the lab? We need to see something," Bruce asked you.

"Okay. Um, Bucky?"

"I'm not him," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"Okay. Um what do I call you?" You asked.

"Солдат. (Soldier)"

"I'm sorry. What?" You asked.

"Soldat," The Winter Soldier corrected. But this time, he said it slower and in a way you could understand.

"Soldat. Follow me," you tell him as you followed Bruce to the lab.

You stayed next to Bucky as he sat down for Bruce to look over at him.

"Interesting," Bruce says.

"What?" You asked.

"He seems more calm when it comes to you. Before you got here, his levels were high. But now, he seems more stable around you," Bruce tells you.

"Oh. That's good?"

"I would like to try something out if that's okay?" Bruce says.

"Okay."

"Go to the training room," Bruce says.

"Do I need to change?" You asked.

"No. But just know, this is a test," Bruce tells you.

"Okay," you nervously say.

You and Bucky walked into the training room while Steve, Tony, Sam, and Bruce watched from the side.

"Y/n, remember. This is a test," Bruce tells you.

You looked at him in confusion before seeing one of Tony's training bots walk over with a knife.

"Target acquired," the robot said as it walked over to you with a knife.

It tried to attack you but you quickly dodged it. The Winter Soldier quickly grabbed the bot but it's head with his mental arm before crushing it with his hand. You looked at The Winter Soldier as he looked over at the four. He began to walk over to them, ready to attack them.

"Soldat! Stand down!" You yelled.

The Winter Soldier stopped as you rushed over to him. He looked down at you, making sure you were okay.

"I'm okay," you tell him.

"Okay. Y/n, stand here with us and Steve, you go in," Bruce tells you both.

You walked over to Bruce and Tony as you watched Steve and the Winter Soldier stand in the middle of the room. Another bot attacked Steve but The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, he stood near you, as if he was protecting you. Tony controlled the bot to come towards you but The Winter Soldier quickly stopped it. Crushing it as he did with the one before.

"Okay. It's clear to say that he's only going to protect Y/n."

"What do I do now? When will Bucky be back?" You questioned.

"Usually we keep him contained until Bucky reverts back. But if he's not letting anything or anyone hurt you, then there is a chance he could be okay to roam around as long as you're with him," Bruce says.

"Is that a good idea?" Sam asked.

"We can give it a shot. And if something goes wrong, we'll keep hm contained until he reverts back to Bucky," Steve said.

"I'm willing to try it," you tell the boys.

"Are you sure? You saw what he can do to my bots," Tony asked.

"I'll be okay. And if something goes wrong, I'll call you guys," you tell them.

"Keep this with you," Tony said, handing you a small remote with one button on it. "If he starts to hurt you, just click it and we'll rush to you."

"Okay. Thank you," you say. You looked back at the Winter Soldier who stayed nearby, staring at you.

"I am feeling hungry so come on. I'm gonna make some lunch," you tell The Winter Soldier. He nodded as he followed you out.

Throughout the day, The Winter Soldier stayed close to you. While everyone kept their distance (mostly in fear that The Winter Solider would attack them if they got too close to you), you seemed to be fine with The Winter Soldier lingering near you.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone," you say as you walked over to your room. You noticed The Winter Soldier stand by your door as you grabbed your pajamas.

"Oh right. Soldat, you can go to your room. I'm just gonna shower and sleep," you tell him.

"Я должен остаться здесь на случай, если у тебя возникнут проблемы. (I must stay here in case you are in trouble)," he tells you.

"English please. I don't speak Russian," you remind him.

"I must stay here in case you are in trouble," he tells you.

"Um okay. I'm just gonna shower and change really quickly," you tell him before walking into your bathroom. You closed the door and locked it before turning on the shower.

After the shower, you changed into your pajamas before blow drying your hair. You walked out of the shower to see The Winter Soldier sitting on your bed.

"Do you need to shower or change into your clothes as well?" You asked.

"I don't need to."

"If you're gonna stay here you're gonna shower. Come on," you tell him before walking out of your room. You led him to his room which was as bare as when you joined the Avengers. You took out his spare clothes before handing them to The Winter Soldier.

"Go shower. If you want, I'll stay out here until you finish," you tell the Winter Soldier. Bucky nodded before walking in the bathroom. You lied on his bed, feeling yourself grow comfortable.

The Winter Soldier walked out of the bathroom in his new clothes to see you asleep on his bed. He turned off the lights for you before sitting on a chair, watching you sleep.

You could feel him watching you, making you slightly wake up.

"You know, that's really creepy," you yawned. "Just come into the bed. You're gonna give me nightmares.

The Winter Soldier sat on the bed, staring at the door, waiting for anyone to come in. You pulled in down onto the bed, making him lie down. The Winter Soldier looked at you as you slept soundly, facing him. He moved his hand, placing it on top of yours.

~~~~~

Bucky had been avoiding you ever since you both woke up in his bed after he reverted back from the Winter Soldier. No matter how hard you tried to talk to him, he was good at hiding away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked Wanda and Natasha.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Bucky has been ignoring me for the past couple of days. I've tried talking to him but he keeps avoiding me," you pouted.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think Bucky's embarrassed. I'm surprised he didn't tell you about The Winter Soldier," Wanda said.

"Is it cause I'm new?" You asked.

"You can't be that clueless," Natasha tells you.

"Clearly I am because I don't know what you're talking about," you continued to pout.

"He didn't want you to know because he likes you."

"What? What do you mean?" You asked, sitting up.

"Come on. Ever since you've joined, Bucky has been by your side. If he's not with Steve or Sam, he's with you. And even on missions, he's by your side or close nearby," Natasha says.

"He could just be friendly. Last time I thought someone liked me, they were just being nice and I felt embarrassed and never showed my face to them again," you admitted.

"Bucky is different. He likes you and it's easy for us to see that but you," Wanda says.

"But do you like him?" Natasha asked.

"Yes. He's tall, handsome, he's nice to me and I will admit, it was kinda hot seeing him all protective," you admitted.

"Go talk to him. He should be done with training by now," Natasha tells you. You nodded before getting up to find Bucky.

You found him walking to his room which you quickly caught up to him.

"Bucky. Can we please talk," you asked.

"I have to shower," Bucky says, still trying to avoid you.

"Fine then. I'll make it quick. I like you. And I don't care if you're still struggling with dealing what Hydra put you through. I want to help you anyway that I can. Because that's how much I like you. I like you for who you are. And you're just gonna have to deal with that," you tell him.

Bucky stared at you, surprised at your confession, as you stared at him.

"And now I am going to go because building up that confidence was a lot of energy and if you don't like me back, then that's fine. I just wanted you to know that I like you," you tell him before quickly turning around to leave.

~~~~~

You sat alone up on the roof as you stared out at the city. This was a long way from home but at least the view was nice to look at. You heard someone clear their throat, turning your attention over to them. You found Bucky standing nearby with a pastry box that had a slice of your favorite flavored cake.

"What's that for?" You asked.

"It's an apology cake slice. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you the past couple of days," Bucky said, handing you the cake.

"Thank you for the cake. Please be honest, did I do something wrong?" You asked him, putting the cake next to you.

"You did nothing wrong. It's mostly me," Bucky says as he sat down with you. "To be honest, I really like you too. But I was afraid you would get hurt by The Winter Soldier. Then when I woke up and you were in bed with me, I was afraid he or I took advantage of you.

"Well just to be clear, you didn't. And if you want, we can start things off slowly. I really do like you Bucky," you offered.

"I'd like that. I really do like you too, Y/n and I don't want to ruin anything between us. Believe it or not, you're the only other person I'm comfortable here with," Bucky tells you. You smiled at him.

"I'm comfortable with you too," you tell him.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Bucky asked.

"Not really. Why?" You asked.

"Well, I was thinking, would you want to go on a date? We can go to Coney Island and grab some dinner. Or we can just take a stroll around Central Park," Bucky suggested.

"I like any of those. I've never fully experienced Central Park and I haven't been to Coney Island yet so surprise me," you tell Bucky.

"Alright. Will do," Bucky smiled.

"Do you want to stay here with me and stare out the city? It's one hell of a view," you say.

"I'd like that," Bucky says.

You scooted closer to Bucky before leaning your head on his shoulder. Bucky put his arm around you as you both stared out at the city.

[alisonsfics]

what about me?

pairing: bucky barnes x ex-gf!ex-avenger!reader

summary: as an ex-avenger and the ex-girlfriend of james bucky barnes, you’re shocked when you see the new avengers announcement on tv. so, you decide to pay avengers towers a visit to reminisce, until you run into bucky. then you both realize you’ve been holding some grudges.

word count: 2k

warnings: ⚠️thunderbolts* spoilers⚠️ angst between you and bucky

You were having a peaceful start to your day. Or as peaceful as it could be. The past couple years had really messed you up. You’d basically lost everything. The Avengers. Your friends. Your boyfriend. Your home.

Nothing had felt the same since then.

You tried to start over. You weren’t exactly built for the real world. You had telekinetic abilities. Your father was a successful scientist, but after you were born, he became captivated by the idea of superheroes. Then, he started to experiment on you, accidentally giving you abilities.

When you became an Avenger, you learned to harness your powers. You also blossomed into a great fighter, training with both Steve and Natasha.

Your skill set was very specific. And it didn’t exactly suit a corporate life, or any kind of regular life.

A couple of months ago, you got a call from Sam, whom you hadn’t spoken to since Tony’s funeral. He said it was about Ross going out of control. You were happy to help, and for the first time in years, you felt like you were doing the right thing with your life.

But nothing had happened since then. You started hanging out with Sam more often, craving any tie back to your previous life.

That’s where you were right now, out for lunch with Sam.

“So, is our new President showing any possibility of turning into a raging Hulk of a new color?” You joked, earning a chuckle from Sam. He quickly shook his head.

“Nope. All clear, but if it happens again, trust me, you’ll be the first one I call.” He told you. The thought of another president turning into a Hulk shouldn’t have comforted you, but it did. Because it meant having a purpose again.

“How have you been? You’ve seemed a little distracted since the whole Ross thing.” Sam asked, switching into counselor mode.

You laughed to yourself, thinking about the best response that would make Sam worry the least. “I don’t know, Sam. I feel like I’ve forgotten what being okay feels like.” You said, honestly.

“Just a professional opinion, maybe it’s cause I’m the only person you talk to. You can’t isolate yourself.” He mentioned. You switched your gaze to the ground. Of course you knew he was right. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it.

But all your friends, your family, were scattered around the globe or dead. You were alone.

Before you could respond, you both heard commotion around you the patio of the restaurant. You could hear the sound of phones dinging all the way down the street. Hushed whispers grew louder.

You felt heads turn towards you and Sam.

“Sam, what’s happening?” You asked, quietly. He glanced down at his phone. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled under his breath, before flipping around the screen for you.

You immediately recognized Val, and then you noticed Bucky. He was bruised and bleeding and standing behind her. The headline scrolled across the bottom: “Welcome the New Avengers after NY Attack.”

People started to rush towards you both. As two ex-Avengers, everyone wanted to know why you both weren’t on this new Avengers group.

“C’mon,” Sam said, quickly standing up and rushing towards you. He tapped a button on his watch and his flight pack appeared on his back. He grabbed you, and you wrapped your arms around him.

Your feet lifted off the ground as Sam flew you both to a nearby rooftop. You stepped away from him as soon as your feet hit the concrete.

“You alright?” He asked, watching you begin to pace. The words “New Avengers” repeated over and over in your head. And the image of Bucky bruised.

Sam repeated your name, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I don’t understand. There was an attack? Why didn’t he call me? Or you? He could’ve been hurt. He’s like family to me, and he’s just moving on? Why do we all act like the Avengers didn’t happen? I mean, everyone is moving on, and I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know who I am if I’m not an Avenger. And I just— I need to go home, Sam. I really need to think.” You rambled.

Sam nodded, understanding where you were coming from. “Come on, I’ll bring you home.” He said.

You spent the next two weeks sitting in your apartment, basically wasting away. You’d always struggled to cope with change, but you felt yourself being tugged back to the good old days.

Then, one day it was different. You woke up and felt yourself being pulled out the front door. You didn’t know where you were going until you got there.

You stood on the cold street, looking up at the tall building: Avenger’s Tower. It had been your home for years, and now it was a building you hardly recognized.

You walked up towards the front gate. The security guard immediately recognized you and brought you inside. He gave you a security pass, so you could freely roam the building.

You took the elevator up to the top floors where most of the rooms were. It was a path you’d taken so many times before.

You stepped out of the elevator and were met by a million memories. Memories you hadn’t thought of in years came rushing back to you.

A loud metal door slammed shut, bringing you back to reality. You jumped and turned towards the noise.

Then, you saw him.

Bucky Barnes.

“Hi,” you stuttered. His eyes met yours. You saw his eyes soften and the weight lift off his shoulders. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, breathlessly.

“I don’t know. I think I just wanted to see you.” You admitted.

He walked towards you, closing the distance. “It’s nice to see you, really. I’ve been thinking about you recently.” He said, sincerely.

“It’s definitely not because you moved back into the place we used to live. Don’t think that would make you think of me at all.” You quipped, sarcastically. A soft smile spread across his face.

“It’s been too long.” He said, his voice only coming out at a whisper. He felt every memory of you come rushing back to him at once. He remembered movie nights with the rest of the team. And the first time he kissed you, after a mission. And sneaking out of training to be with you.

“Yeah, it’s been a couple years. Y’know, since the world almost ended and you dumped me a few months later.” You said, your tone coming out harsh.

You had really missed Bucky. But you were also mad at him because it was his fault that you’d had to miss him. He’d gone radio silent for years, and you lost your best friend.

Bucky wore a pained expression. “I’m sorry about the way I handled everything. I was in a really bad place with Steve leaving and everything.” He apologized.

“C’mon, Bucky. Of course I understood that, but what you didn’t understand was that my world was also turned upside down. So many of our friends died or left, but I thought I’d always be able to rely on you. I loved you so much, and you left me like it was nothing.” You argued.

Each word felt like a cut to Bucky’s heart. He’d never wanted to hurt you.

“It wasn’t nothing. Do you really think that wasn’t the hardest thing I ever had to do?” He shot back.

“Then why did you do it? Nobody forced you into that, Bucky. And if you regretted it, why haven’t you reached out to me since then?” You asked. Bucky was growing visibly frustrated. He ran his fingers through his hair. You noticed the way the light bounced off his metal arm.

“I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation right now.” He huffed, turning away from you and starting to walk in the opposite direction.

Before your brain could even process it, you were yelling “Yeah, go run back to your new friends and leave me behind with all the problems of your past” at him.

He stood still before slowly turning back towards you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“You’re talking about being sorry that you abandoned me before and now you’re doing it again.” You accused.

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “Well, you should know a thing or two about abandoning people. I heard about you and Sam taking on the Red Hulk.” He snapped.

“What does that have to do with anything? I helped out a friend.” You said, defending yourself.

“Neither of you thought to call me to help, and you know I would have been there in a minute. And you didn’t exactly show up to help me when the Sentry almost destroyed all of New York.” He said, finally letting it out even though he promised himself he wouldn’t. He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help that he’d been so affected by you helping out Sam and not him.

“I didn’t show up because I didn’t know it was happening. And you know how I found out? I found out while also learning that apparently there was a New Avengers team.” You argued.

“That wasn’t my idea, I swear. That was all Valentina. I was just as surprised as you were. But why do you care so much if I’m on a new team?” He asked you, and you realized how close you both were standing.

He was close enough that you could smell hints of cedar wood from his cologne. You focused your gaze on the floor to avoid looking him in the eyes. “Cause it means you’re moving on and leaving the Avengers in the past. And what about me? What if you decide to leave me in the past too?” You asked, softly.

His metal fingertips grazed your hip. His touch was soft and unsure, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you stayed still, he used his other hand to pull your chin up, so you were looking at him.

“I actually asked the team if you could join because it wasn’t the same without you. I promise, I am not leaving you in the past.” He whispered.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You leaned into his touch, and it was like he never left. His arm snaked around your waist, while your fingers found their natural place weaving through his hair.

The kiss was soft but also hungry. Bucky had missed having you in his arms, and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon. A warmth started in your chest and spread throughout your body.

Bucky's grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him until there wasn’t any space between the two of you.

His lips explored yours, taking the time to refamiliarize himself with everything about you: the taste of your strawberry lip gloss, the way you smiled as he kissed you, and the way that your fingers tugged on his hair.

Bucky nipped at your bottom lip, smirking cockily when you lightly gasped. “I’ve missed you, sweets.” He mumbled against your lips.

You both jumped when you heard someone clear their throat down the hall.

“I see you’ve got a friend, Barnes.” The man scoffed, smirking at Bucky.

“Walker, this is my old friend—” Bucky started to introduce you to the man.

“I know exactly who that is and all about your friendship.” Walker responded, smirking and using air quotes around the word “friendship.”

“Now, who do we have here?” Another voice came from behind you. You and Bucky spun around, his arm wrapping around your waist until your back was pressed up against his chest.

A blonde woman with light blue eyeliner under her eyes stared back at you. She smirked at you and Bucky. “Well, we’d love to stay and chat, except we wouldn’t. So, we’ll see you guys later.” Bucky said, steering you towards the stairs.

“You’ll have to introduce me at some point.” You whispered in Bucky's ear.

“That’s a later problem, darling. We have some catching up to do.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

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[lieslab]

Do not go gentle into that good night

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X afab reader

Summary: You've been waiting months to meet your baby, but giving birth doesn't go the way you and your husband expected it to.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 6.8k

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nausea, giving birth, bodily fluids, and near death experiences.

A/N: I combined two pregnancy requests for this and all I have to say is good luck. This took me three hours to write. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written. Yes, it does have references to Interstellar. It felt right and I feel like I'm going to think about this for the rest of my life. Enjoy <3

_ _ _

Having a baby is one of the most difficult things a person can do in their life. Expected or not, no matter the conscious decision, it’s bound to be life-changing. When you go from you to we. From me to us. One to two, possibly three or more. 

For you and Minho, it’d been a conversation held in passing before. Jokes about someone created with each of your DNA and quirks. Maybe your eyes and his lips. His eyebrows and the length of your lashes. You always laughed and joked, never knowing when the time was right, and then it was there. 

A heavy decision between the two of you, but you both agreed to it. Nine months and a few weeks ago, you didn’t know what caused it. Perhaps, it was the conversations from his parents when they jokingly asked when their grandchildren would no longer be cats. 

Maybe it happened because Minho caught you staring at a baby while the two of you were grocery shopping one day. The way your eyes lit up and a smile naturally came to your face. When the child’s mother stepped around the cart to grab something and for a brief moment, the stranger’s child held eye contact with you. The way it didn’t feel like a coincidence, but rather a silent promise from the universe. When the time was right, you’d have your baby, too. 

Two months and six days into your pregnancy, you bombarded Minho with baby name books from the library. You forced him into a chair in the kitchen and pointed out all the names you liked. He couldn’t be mad at you. Exhausted from dance practice? Absolutely, but the way you were so happy, there’s no way he could ruin that for you. 

The taunting and teasing never stopped throughout your pregnancy and for that, you were grateful for. You didn’t know what you’d do without it. After the shock melted away and you realized you were pregnant, you grew fearful that things would change. 

Perhaps, he’d have second thoughts and regret it. Maybe he’d decide to leave, despite the vows you took and the way the golden bands wrapped around each of your fingers day-after-day. Your own self-doubt wrapped around you like an oversized sweater, but when Minho took that oath at the altar, he vowed to keep it forever. 

In sickness and in health. Every time he could be, he was there. He took extra days off work when your morning sickness appeared. When your feet swelled up and tears flooded your eyes, he was right there to soothe you and gently work his fingers into the bottom of your foot. 

When your body changed against your will and to your disappointment, he was right there consoling you. You laid in his lap, feelings scattered from the hormonal changes, but he didn’t taunt you for what you couldn’t control. You hated the new puffiness in your face. The way your stomach poked out with a baby bump. 

Other days, you were glowing. He’d wake up to you in the kitchen with multiple ingredients spread out. Humming beneath your breath, you manned the stove like a seasoned fry cook. He constantly worried, he always did. When he tried to gently work the spatula from your hand, you swatted him and told him to leave you alone. Despite your growing belly, you could manage this, for now. 

Tying your shoes was another issue. At first, you tried to slip into them while they were still tied. The first time you realized that you could no longer reach your feet, you chucked your shoe in a random direction. Minho appeared, just barely dodging it in time. 

It slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, but he didn’t lecture you. Instead, he grabbed it and slid onto the ground beside you. When he grabbed your ankles and gently slipped your shoes around them, you burst into sobs. It was only then that he teased you about crying because he had to touch your reeking shoes. That only caused you to send the other in his direction. 

The days and weeks ticked by. Month-after-month marched on. One week until your due date. Two days until your due date. You circled it bright red on the calendar. The day came and then it went. You waited for a sign of your water breaking, but it never came. 

On day three, you grew antsy. Your doctor promised she’d induce your pregnancy if you hadn’t popped by the end of the week. Minho offered hot sauce, but you declined. Myths didn’t work on you. You weren’t convinced that it’d break your water. If it did, you’d be trapped in the hospital with heartburn. 

Day four, Minho hesitated to go into work, but you insisted. Vowing promises that you’d call if anything changed or happened, he spent the entire day with his phone on. Not once did it ring or ping with a text message. 

On that fateful day, the stars aligned. Deep down, you could feel it in your gut. It wasn’t just the baby pressing up against your bladder again, but rather a maternal instinct. The baby was coming, regardless if you were ready or not. You had to be. In a matter of hours or a few days, your family of two would turn into a trio. 

The nursery was a conversation that you and Minho spent a lot of time on. Back and forth, your opinions swayed and changed. You didn’t know the gender of the baby, you opted to be surprised. You weren’t really worried, not really. In your head, colors are colors and no matter boy or girl, you’d love them all the same. 

The nursery didn’t have to be blue or pink. For nearly two hours one night, you and Minho went back and forth discussing different ideas. At first, it was animals. Painted giraffes that’d stare over your baby with inanimate protection and admiration in their dark eyes. 

A small bookshelf full of baby books about a variety of different creatures. Some with creepy crawly bugs and others with the larger than life creatures hanging beneath the ocean currents. The woodland creatures hiding behind trees and tangled in the forest’s underbelly. 

Maybe a few of those larger plush animals to settle around the room. When they grew older, your baby could pretend they were real. Everything feels larger when you’re that young. A knee high stuffed elephant to you, but a real life sized one to them. 

The wheels shifted and turned in another direction. Minho mentioned a brief obsession he had as a young boy. Space and the aligning planets. The silent vacuum and unraveling darkness. 

Maybe you could plant a spaceship inspired bookcase. Painted bright colors and lined with knowledge, you’d coo your kid into becoming the best explorer. Even if the world is scary and dangerous, you’d send them out there into the great beyond. No matter where life took them, you’d try to be the best parents that you could possibly be. 

And then it all changed again. Something simple and easily changeable. After all, this would be the room where your baby would grow up. They’d age and flicker through the phases of life, just as you and Minho had. It had to be rational, expandable, able to be switched around to house whatever beauty that growing mind dreamt up. 

And so you decided on a gentle night. Originally, you wanted to decorate with Minho and Minho alone, but when he announced the guys wanted to help, your heart swelled. A heart-stopping and warm reminder that you weren’t just raising this baby alone, you had a village. 

You remembered the day like it was yesterday. Felix with denim overalls and Chan and Changbin waltzing in behind him with two gallons of paint in each hand. Jeongin handed everyone brushes and everyone got busy. Too much paint, but the guys didn’t care. 

Minho’s arm wrapped around you. He kissed your cheek and all you could do was stare. The laughter and imagination ran wild. Hyunjin’s large bright strokes of color across the white room. On the opposite side, paint from Han’s paintbrush leaked onto Seungmin. He quickly apologized, but Seungmin retaliated by painting his elbow. 

What should have taken hours, it only took two. When they finished, Minho led the guys downstairs to help build the crib. You walked around to take photos. You’d never remember this day perfectly as it unwound, but you wanted to try. 

The guys often stopped by unexpectedly. It took time before the two of you began to expect it. Chan coming over to make you a hearty and fulfilling meal. Felix randomly appearing with Jeongin and a plateful of his brownies. 

When Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, and Seungmin appeared all together one day and offered to take you out to get your mind off your worries about the baby, you collapsed in Seungmin’s arms sobbing. Gripping onto him tightly, you thanked him over and over again. All he could do was weakly console you and look to the guys for help, but he was on his own. He wasn’t used to your high-strung emotions, nobody was. 

The days all kept going and going and going. You waited and waited and waited. In the nursery, you and Minho finished it alone. Using puffy brushes, you dabbed white amongst the blue to replicate puffy white clouds. You tried to help Minho put glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, but he refused. Having you stand on a ladder and reach up, it was far too much stress and a disaster waiting to happen. 

In the end, sitting in your rocking chair and gently rocking, it felt like being in the clouds. A white soft rug sat in the middle of the floor. You planned to use it for tummy time when the timing was right. 

Shades of lighter blue and white filtered around the room. From plushies, curtains, and to a variety of other things, the only thing missing was your kid. You knew they’d be here soon, you just didn’t know when the time would be right. 

You rocked in your rocking chair and waited. Minho’s vocals bounced off the recording studio’s walls. Anxiety pulsed in his stomach and he rocked on his feet, waiting for Chan’s approval to continue singing or not. 

Your hands wrapped around your stomach. “You’ve been in there such a long time, but I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I think you’re really going to love it here. Your father and I have spent so long waiting for you. He’s just as excited as I am.” 

A faint kick hit the palm of your hand, causing you to smile. “I bet you’re tired of being in there, aren’t you? Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be waiting for you.” You laughed to yourself, amused with the idea of your baby rationalizing your words and understanding your thoughts. 

You pushed against the arms to get up, but that’s when you felt it. Something shifted internally. Your eyebrows pinched together in pain and your hand went back to your stomach. “Easy there, you’re hurting me. Try not to get too squirmy or I’ll have to call the doctor.” 

You couldn’t understand it, not fully. Something was happening, but you weren’t sure what. The sun continued to wind down from afternoon into evening. Minho reappeared at the end of the day and kicked off his shoes. 

You sat with your cheek slung over the edge of the couch. Anxiety brewed, but you didn’t know what to say to Minho, or your doctor. Your water didn’t burst. You weren’t bleeding vaginally. Besides an occasional pain in your stomach, nothing happened. 

“How’s my baby?” 

“I’m good,” you mumbled from the couch.

“I meant our child.” 

You glanced over with an unamused scowl. Minho grinned and slowly approached you. “I’m just kidding. Did anything change while I was away?” 

Your mouth opened and you considered telling him, but you decided against it. Worrying him was pointless, he was already anxious enough. After your due date, you knew he worried as much as you. You could tell by the way that he kept glancing over and looking at you when he thought you were distracted. 

“Not really. A lot of bumps to my bladder, unfortunately, but I’ve made it to the bathroom every time. It’s probably a good thing I took time off work for maternity leave, right?” You forced yourself to smile. 

He eyed you and nodded. You didn’t pull away, allowing him to lean down and press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Only a few more days until we officially become parents. I can’t wait to be a parent beside you.” 

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?” 

“I know we’ll be good parents. If we don’t know the answers, we have your parents and my parents. I’m sure if we needed to, the guys’ parents would help out, too. Some of my staff members are also parents. They’re all taking bets on the gender of the baby.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” He reached down and pressed a gentle hand to your stomach. “I hope you’re a boy. If you’re a girl, I owe my manager fifty bucks.” 

“Lee Minho!” 

“Hey, let’s be serious, do you think I’d really pay up if our baby is a girl? I’m going to use the excuse that I’m a first time father. You know how my manager feels about me, right?” 

“You’re being manipulative and cruel.” 

“I’m winning fifty bucks for this family and when I win it, we’re going out for a nice dinner.” 

“With the baby?” Your eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, no. At some point, we’re going to use a break. I think my mom misses me being a baby sometimes. She’ll get to experience it all over again with our little one.” He patted your stomach a few times and pulled away. “I’ve gotta go shower, but if you need something, call me. I’ll make us dinner when I’m finished.” 

You watched him disappear back into the bathroom. The pain in your stomach grew and you waited for your water to burst. You expected warmth between your legs. A gush that felt like you urinated everywhere, but it never came. Instead, nothing happened and the evening continued to unravel like usual.

 ~ ~ ~ 

The neon red letters of your clock read 2:11 AM. You blinked, groggily coming around. Behind you, Minho slept facing the opposite wall. Every night, he tossed and turned between the blankets and the mattress. Tonight, it wasn’t any different. 

However, something caused you to jerk upright. You blinked blearily, trying to get a good grasp on your surroundings. Your hand blindly fumbled over towards your husband. “Minho?” You whispered softly. 

He shifted and his nose scrunched. In the darkness of the bedroom, night swallowed both of you whole. You forced your arm to shake his shoulder harder. Your voice came out a little louder this time. “Minho?” 

He groaned and spun around. “No, I don’t wanna get up. I have the day off. Leave me alone and let me sleep.” 

“Minho, there’s something wrong with the baby.” 

His eyes cracked open and the words echoed in his head. One time. Twice. Three times and then he jerked himself up so fast, you feared you gave him whiplash. “What? What’s wrong? Did your water break? Are you bleeding?” 

His hands pawed around as he pushed himself up from the bed. He fumbled, attempting to find the switch to click on the lamp. “What’s going on? Do I need to call an ambulance?” 

“I’ve been having what I think are contractions since yesterday afternoon and I-” 

The faint click caused both of your eyes to shut. Bright yellow light blinded both of you immediately. You groaned and tucked your hands around your stomach. It took a few seconds before he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

“I felt weird yesterday.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Panic laced his voice. A hand ran through his hair and he looked for the bags the two of you previously packed. Two bags, one for each of you. Both were filled with items to last you throughout your hospital stay. 

“I didn’t want to worry you. My water didn’t break and for so long, I thought it might be in my head.” 

“We have to get you to the hospital right now.” 

“Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but it’s wrong. I don’t understand it. My water hasn’t broken. I’m not bleeding. I can feel the baby moving, but I-” 

“Let’s go!” 

He wasted no time slinging the bags over his shoulders and gently helping you to your feet. In your pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt, sleep still clung to you. Instead of walking, you waddled down the hall. Not something you liked doing, but something you learned how to do as your stomach kept expanding in front of you. 

You tried to remember the way your house looked. Two lovers with vows gifted to the gods. Golden rings around your fingers and a baby kept comfortable in your stomach. You remembered the excitement in your eyes when the two of you agreed to have a baby. The giddiness in your skips to the bedroom. Minho’s laughter filled the crevice of every fault in your heart. 

When you came back home, you’d be a new family of three. 

~ ~ ~ 

“You did the right thing by coming in. How long did you say you’ve been having these pains?” The doctor glanced up from between your legs. 

“Since yesterday afternoon.” 

“Well, I have good news and bad news.” 

Beside you, Minho’s hand slipped into yours and he gently squeezed your hand. The doctor smiled at the two of you, a silent reassurance that despite the bad, you’d be in good hands. “The good news is this is completely fixable.” 

“And the bad?” 

“Well, childbirth is never easy, is it?” 

“So you’re saying that things are okay?” You squeezed Minho’s hand tighter, hoping for reassurance. He grimaced, but didn’t tell you to let go. 

“What you’re experiencing right now is labor arrest. Technically, you’re in labor, but your contractions aren’t strong enough to help open your cervix. We want your cervix open, so we can get the baby out vaginally.” The doctor pushed back on her stool and began to remove her gloves. 

“So this is fixable?” 

“I’m going to have a nurse administer a certain medicine via IV drip. It’ll help push you further into labor. Your contractions will increase and although it might not feel great, it’ll help you dilate more. The cervix expands ten centimeters.” 

“How big is that exactly?” 

“Roughly? About the size of the lid of a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream pint.” 

Minho’s face began to grow pale. “Not to sound insensitive here, but I’m so glad I’m not pregnant. You’re so strong and you can definitely do this.” 

You glanced up, not thrilled at his words. He gave you a faint smile and gently patted the top of your hand. “Don’t worry, there’s ways to help with pain, right?” He glanced up at the doctor for reassurance. 

“Of course. If the contractions become too bad and too painful, we can always administer an epidural to numb you from the waist down. I know it’s scary, but don’t worry, you’re in good hands” The doctor patted your shoulder and disappeared from the room. 

Beside you, Minho let out a soft sigh. “I guess for now, it’s just another waiting game, huh?” 

“At least our baby is okay.” Your hands kept steady around your stomach. Ever since you arrived, you didn’t let go. It was the closest thing you could get to holding your baby for now. “Let’s just hope and pray it goes smoothly from this point on.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Sometime in the early morning, you weren’t sure what went wrong. You tried to do everything right for this pregnancy. No alcohol or caffeine. You limited yourself to the exposure of germs. Hand washing became more and more frequent. 

It all went so smoothly after the nurse administered an IV and ran medication into it. Your contractions picked up and when the option for an epidural came around, you took it. You waited and waited and waited some more. 

Minho tried to keep you entertained. He texted everyone to let them know you were in labor. You texted your own family to give them the exciting news. You were bound to the bed after your epidural, it’s not like you could go anywhere with the lower half of your body numbed, but you were still excited.

Your hands patted your numbed thighs. Every so often, the doctor came back to check your dilation. You were progressing so well throughout the morning and she was sure you could begin pushing by noon. 

Your kid was almost here. Nine months and a handful of days of waiting. You waited for this moment for so long. You thought about the satisfaction of giving birth in your worst moments. 

Leaning over the toilet and projectile vomiting as your stomach twisted and turned, you held onto the thought of staring into your child’s eyes one day. When you cried over not being able to tie your shoes without help, you reminded yourself that your own kid would take their very first steps. You’d be right there with Minho to experience it all. 

You pouted when Minho ate something you couldn’t have. He tried not to eat what you couldn’t have, but he was only human. Sometimes he caved and had sushi or the occasional alcoholic drink. You couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, you’d indulge, too. It still hurt your heart and your sensitive hormones when it happened. 

“Push!” The doctor instructed you. “Come on, I know it hurts, but you’ve gotta keep going. I can see the head. Just a little more.” 

Minho couldn’t feel his hand. He couldn’t feel his hand ten minutes ago. If he would have known you would have destroyed it while giving birth, he would have worked out his hands with those hand cranks. 

“I can’t!” You cried out with tears in your eyes. “I can’t push anymore.” 

“You don’t have a choice, you have to. Come on, you can do this!” 

Tears dripped down your cheeks. Your body had been through absolute hell for hours. The epidural began to wear off and they refused to give you another. Sweat dripped down the side of your flushed face. 

“Come on,” Minho whispered gently. “A few more pushes and you never have to do this again.” 

“This is all your fault!” You snapped angrily. “You got me pregnant!” 

“I know, I know.” 

“Push!” The doctor instructed again.

Behind her, a handful of nurses awaited the arrival of your little one. They were already prepped with the towels and the warmer. Brightly colored scrubs and the white nasal aspirator to clear out their nose and mouth from amniotic fluid. 

You gritted your teeth and with a cry of frustration, you began to push again. The head and shoulders were always the worst part. Your cervix sat wide open and you still thought it’d stretch and tear. If you were lucky, you’d manage to escape this without ripping down to your ass. 

“How fucking big is this goddamn baby?” Your eyes squeezed shut and you pushed again. 

“I think that’s a little offensive.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Minho!” 

Between your legs, the doctor tried to stop her laughter. Kind green eyes, hair pulled back, and gloves soaked with amniotic fluid, she coached you to push again. Minho’s hand turned white from the force of your fingers clenching around it. 

He forced himself to take his own deep breaths. He breathed how the doctor instructed you to breathe. It was the only thing stopping him from jerking his hand away and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I can see the head! Keep pushing! You’re almost there! A few more and you’ve got it! Come on!” 

“Minho?” You croaked, wrenching his hand a final time. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

“No, no, no. You can. You can do this. I didn’t stand here and get the bones broken in my hand for nothing. Push!” 

Your scream bounced off the walls. It hit everyone’s ears. The pain, the determination, and the grit that only a mother can carry. The doctor’s hands swooped in and for a brief second, the pain stopped. Your cries weren’t the only one. 

“You did it,” Minho whispered. He leaned down, wrapped a hand around your head, and gently tucked you to his stomach. “Did you hear me? You did it.” 

Tears steadily streamed down your cheeks. You didn’t take your eyes off your baby. Passed from doctor to nurse, the nurse rushed in to take care of the wailing and choking baby. The doctor beamed and turned back to you. 

“It’s a boy! You’re having a boy! Congratulations, you did an amazing job.” 

Minho blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. Nurses worked frantically through the cries. A tiny suction in the back of the throat and pulled out. In one nasal and then the other. He reached up and wiped his eyes before the tears could fall. 

You, on the other hand, dread grew in your gut. A dizziness overtook you and your grip on Minho’s hand weakened. “Minho?” You whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t feel very good.” 

The doctor caught your words and glanced up. The moment she realized the color of your face was fading, her eyes widened. “Hey! I need some help over here!” 

Unoccupied nurses glanced back at you. 

“Sutures stat! We’ve got hemorrhaging!” She jerked her surgical mask back over her face and rushed back between your legs. 

You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel it. Warmth flooded between your legs. It soaked the bed sheet beneath you and spread out in every direction. The doctor cursed beneath her breath and grabbed a cloth to place pressure on the bleeding. 

“What’s going on?” 

“The baby was larger than expected. When that happens, sometimes there’s tearing. Stitches are going to be needed.” The doctor called your name and glanced back up at your face. “Can you hear me?” 

“Baby?” Minho reached up and gently tapped your cheek. “Stay awake. Do you hear me? Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you and-��� 

“I love you.” 

His heart dropped. Three little words that held so much weight. He dropped to his knees, tucking your face between his hands. “Don’t you dare leave me here. Fight! Don’t fall asleep!” 

In the distance, the baby cried louder. A nurse cooed, trying to console up as chaos broke loose in the background. Minho tapped your cheek rapidly, but your eyes drooped further and further shut. 

“No, no, no. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP! Don’t leave us here!” 

“Get him out of here, now!” 

“No!” 

A nurse rushed to his side. “Sir, please.” 

“I’m not leaving!” 

“You need to let the doctor work. Please, you’re only making this worse for everyone involved.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” 

He didn’t get a choice in the end. Not willingly. Another nurse appeared, a male with biceps protruding beneath his light pink scrubs. “Sir, we’re not asking you, we’re telling you.” 

Your eyes drooped until your head slumped back against the hospital bed. A suture kit found the doctor’s hand and she began to instruct a nurse what she needed from her. Her hands worked methodically. This wasn’t the first time she raced death to save a patient after giving birth. 

He fought against the man-handling, but it was no use. All he could do was call out your name through the cries of your newborn son. Stepping outside felt like losing both of you. 

A family of three and now possibly, back to a family of one. 

~ ~ ~ 

Minho didn’t pray. Not regularly. Not religiously. Not as much as he probably should. Life was always hectic and believing in a higher power, it never took up too much time in his life. 

In the hospital chapel, at first, he prayed; then he called his mom. 

She picked up on the third ring. A soft spoken voice that he’d found comfort in ever since he was a child. “Mom?” 

“Hi, honey! How is everything? Is it going well?” 

It broke him. Between the barren wooden pews, the stained glass windows, and the image of Jesus in the front of the altar, he burst into tears. He called out to his mother and his voice may have changed from childhood to puberty, but the need for his mother did not. 

On the opposite end of the phone, his mother frowned. She clutched the phone tighter and tried to get through her son’s grief. “Honey, what happened? What’s wrong? You’ve got to talk to me, sweetheart.” 

“S-she-” 

“Did something happen to your wife?” 

“Hemorrhaging.” 

“Oh, Minho.” 

Her words sent him into another sob that he couldn’t hold back. How many times had he tried to hold back his sobs as a kid? Back when he fell off the bike for the first time and hit the pavement. When he toddled along on stubby legs and unexpectedly hit the ground with a faint thud. 

Being a parent never ends, never fully. At least, it’s not supposed to. At the end of the day, that book always shut. Who disappears first? The parent or the child? No matter what, it always hurts. 

A sting that zaps your heart and buries into every part of your life. It strikes you at the wrong time. The mourning for your kid. The loss of a parent. It never goes away, not really. The years travel by and the hurt lessens, but it doesn’t mean it never aches. 

At that moment, his mother wished she could climb through the phone and hug him. It didn’t matter that he’d turned into a man. In her heart, he’d always be her baby. His cats were the closest thing she’d get to being around him all the time. 

You cannot keep your kid in a cage. You have to let them explore the world around them. Nurture them right and send them on their way. If your kid doesn’t learn how to navigate the outside world, they’ll never strengthen the wings to gain flight. If you do it right, they’ll come back. 

Like a pigeon, they’ll find their way back home. Chirping and hopping. Cooing with a new shiny thing. Stories about their career and new friends. A final love, a new family, something more that fills their heart, just the way that they’ve always filled yours. 

“I-I’m trying to stay positive, Mom. I’m so scared. What if-” 

“I know it’s scary, but I have to believe that she’ll overcome this.” 

“How do you know for sure?” 

“I believe it, the exact same way that I believed when your father and I had you.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Do not go gentle into that goodnight. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

The memories flickered like the lash of a sudden spark. Flipping through clouded currents and forming in between static filled channels. You remember what life was like as a kid. You remember it all. 

The bright green grass and the way the butterfly wings flapped. The melodic sound of the ice cream truck and the way a late family member laughed at the sight of your sticky face. It dripped down your chin and coated your collar. 

The bees came by, betting on which one of them could taste the sweetness first. They never had a chance. Not when your mother whisked you away to wipe off the sticky remnants of another early summer. 

People filled the beach at the first lake you went to. They speckled up and down the sandy shore. Umbrellas stuck out to shield the harsh sunlight. It blinded your sensitive eyes as you rushed with arms up to meet the water. 

Your father called after you, warning you to be careful. You were still young. This much water all at once, it was still so new to you. Some unkept secret that some higher power stashed away. You remember the way the cool water hit your toes. Love grew in your bones and then you dived in. 

A conversation in passing that you had with your mother nearly a decade ago. Sitting beside her while she folded her laundry. You didn’t know where the words came from, but you blurted them out anyway. “I don’t know if I want kids.” 

“Oh, but you will. Having kids, it’s the most rewarding and best thing ever. When you have them, treat them right and they’ll always come back to you.” 

A familiar smile, the same eyes as you, and two decades older. I am all that you can be. You are what I could have been. Two separate generations can dream and conquer the same exact thing. 

In the winter snow, you flopped face down. Bundled in too many layers, brought to you proudly by your mother. Because if too much skin was exposed, you’d surely freeze to death. 

Minho’s eyes held you captive the first time you saw him. You always romanticized the idea of dating a singer. A singer. A song-writer. A dancer. 

Someone who jerks and throws their limbs out, creating a story in their own way. Words on a page, hidden inklings of their soul. The words unveil and pulse out into the world. A happy jingle. A devastating ballad. Whatever they sang, they always breathed life into the story behind the words. 

You never believed in love at first sight. Not really. Not until that moment. You tipped over and free fell into a vat of sticky syrup, but you didn’t fight against it. Minho’s wit sucked you in. Every talent unlocked, you began to think he was superhuman. 

Touching created sparks. No matter how minor, your heart banged like a drum. A never-ending current danced through your body with him. Your cheeks flushed red and even if he laughed at you, it never really mattered. 

The two of you had something special. Special enough to make that leap of faith to the altar. Two families became one. He forced his cats to make a brief appearance in cat sized tuxedos. You didn’t know why, but he did. 

Your laughter set his soul ablaze. With you, every mountain felt like a molehill. Your joy was his. He’d collect the stars and bottle them to help you find your way through the dark. He wasn’t a collector, but he wrote down every moment with you. 

Write the memories and trudge through the passage of time. Hand-in-hand, life felt better with you. Not just a partner, but a lover. Someone he could hold and mend. Whenever he didn’t feel good enough, he just looked over at you. 

From day one, your face never changed when you looked at him. A softness bloomed. Something sweeter, kinder, and simpler. You were his to keep forever, just as he was yours. 

The first cry of your baby before you blacked out, the sound of your husband telling you to fight, it powered something indescribable. Humans are capable of anything if they believe hard enough. Some call it pure delusion and some call it God. 

If there is a constant push of will, humans will always, always find a way. You found your way in that hospital room. Despite the blood oozing down the doctor’s gloves and staining the sheets, your heart kept beating. It weakened briefly, but it never stopped. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

~ ~ ~ 

When your eyes reopened, Minho was the first to grab your hand. Two tears slipped down his cheeks and rolled against the warmth of his neck. It was so unlike him, you had to look again to see if you were seeing it right. 

“Minho?” Your voice cracked. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re okay. The doctor stabilized you and it’s okay now. Don’t worry, I’m right here.” 

“The baby?” 

“He’s okay, too. He’s on the other side of you sleeping. The doctor let him stay in the incubator right here. All his vitals are good. The only problem is that he lacks a name.” 

He slipped his hand into yours and gently squeezed it. He didn’t care about the bruising around his dominant hand. All he cared about was your safety and health. He reached the back of your palm to his lips and planted the warmth of a kiss. 

“You’re both okay?” 

He weakly chuckled and nodded. “Now that you’re okay, yes. We’re both okay. We’ve been waiting for you to come back to us. It’s time for us to be parents now.” 

“Minho?” You whispered as your eyes drooped. 

“Hm?” 

“I’m so scared.” 

“I’m scared too, but that’s okay. My mom said that it’s completely normal to be scared. If you’re scared and still trying your best, you’re probably doing it right, apparently.” 

“I love your mom.” 

“I love her, too.” 

A silence broke out in the space between you. Still exhausted from your brush against death, Minho couldn’t blame you for wanting to go back to sleep. He reached up and pushed a strand of hair from your forehead. 

“Have you held him?” 

His head shook. “I considered it, but you carried him in your stomach for nine months. I figured that you should be the first parent to hold him.” 

“Can you bring him to me?” 

“Doesn’t that mean I get to be the one to hold him first?” 

“I don’t care, I want to see our son.” 

He sighed and gently released your hand. “I have to warn you before I hand him over. He’s very, very cute. He has my eyes and your eyebrows.” 

“Does he have your prominent cupid's bow?” 

“If I said yes?” 

“I’d be the happiest person alive.” 

“You’ll be happy to hear that he does. He’s also completely bald and looks a little like an old man, but the nurses said that’s temporary.” 

Your eyes cracked open. You watched Minho gently scoop the newborn up from the incubator. The baby curled against his chest and he carefully brought him towards you. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that thought out loud.” 

“Look at the cute little hat. If I ask the guys, maybe they can purchase some cute beanies for his bald head. I can’t have him looking like Hyunjin. This little guy is the perfect size to put in the air fryer.” 

“If you air fry our son, I’m putting you in the oven.” 

“Fair enough.” He lowered himself down and carefully shimmied the baby into your awaiting arms. “There you go.” 

The moment he settled into your arms, a wave of peace hit you. A baby in your arms and Minho by your side. Your eyes shut before you began to speak. “Hi, we’re your parents.” 

“He needs an introduction to us?” 

“We can’t wait to raise you and have adventures.” 

“You came back from the dead and turned into a sap.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and he gave you a smile. “I’m glad you came back. I love you, you know? I love both of you. Look at that, there’s two of you to love now.” 

“I love both of you, too.” 

“And a personality like Seungmin, the ungrateful kid can’t even say he loves us back.” 

“Lee Minho, if I wasn’t in a hospital bed recovering from giving birth, I’d kick your ass.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

While the two of them bickered, what they didn’t know was just merely a few feet away. In the doorway, Minho’s mother arrived with a bundle of brightly colored flowers in one hand and a thermos of warm seaweed soup in the other. She rushed here as fast as she could after Minho’s distressing phone call. 

She didn’t break the bond between the two of you. Instead, she blinked back tears. Years ago, a similar situation played out between her and Minho’s father. A new bundle of joy in her arms and a lifetime of the unexpected paved out before them. 

Just as they made it through the currents of life, so will Minho and you. Just as your son will. The next generation will follow and although it’ll always be difficult at times, time will march on. All the good meant to happen will find you. Always. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[puck-luck]

hi pooks i would like to order an americano with peppermint and cold foam with luke hughes pls pls pls thinking new relationship (1-2 months) where luke is on a roadie and is …doing his thang (ur words not mine)😛😛 i will leave the rest for the private dms to keep this short ok love u

-mattias anon

dedicated to my queen mattias anon and to the birthday girl star2fishmeg!!!! my lukey girls <3 this is for u two (luke is soooooo and i need him soooooooooooooo)

Luke scrolls to the next image of you, phone balanced precariously in his right hand. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, saliva gathering on his tongue that he has to swallow down. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, gaze fixed on the image of you. It’s been about a week since he saw you last, with both of your schedules as busy as they are, and Luke just wanted to look at you. That’s why he’s stalking your Instagram. He’s not a creep. Just ignore what his left hand is doing.

You’ve been going out with Luke for about two months now. The relationship is new and you’re barely official, simply exclusive. When he’s around more, he’ll lock you down. In the meantime, you guys text and FaceTime and meet up when you can and Luke will continue looking at your pictures when it’s too late at night to send you a message. He doesn’t want you to know he’s thinking about you so late. You’ll know and it’s too early for that.

The picture on his screen is of you in your bathroom last summer. You posted it to your story and added it to your highlights and Luke sees why– you’re tan, your hair is blown out, your makeup is done, and your outfit is incredible. Your shirt ties in the front and accentuates your boobs and holy hell Luke likes your tits. He wishes he could touch them, play with them, suck on them, put his cock between them and thrust… the possibilities are endless.

He stares at the line of your cleavage and strokes himself faster, spreading the precum from his slit all over his tip and speeding up even more. His arm flies with motion, constantly providing friction to his pulsating cock, and he throws his head back onto his pillow, moaning to an empty room.

There’s a slick sound that accompanies his moaning, rhythmically matching his pace. Luke holds himself firmly in his left hand, picking his head up and looking again at the image on the screen. He should’ve gone to bed a long time ago, with the clock on his phone showing that it’s nearly midnight, but he had to do this. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and his cock grew too hard to ignore.

Your tits– fuck, Luke imagines how they’d bounce in front of his face as you ride him, and that makes him drop his phone to his side. Your mouth would be open, panting and telling him that it’s so good, Luke, fuck, your cock is so big. He’d be looking up at you, trying not to come before you because he’s a gentleman, damn it, and he wants to make you feel good before he focuses on his own pleasure. Luke would look at your chest by mistake and become mesmerized, tongue heavy with a need to mark and suck the unblemished skin. Your pussy would feel so, so good around him, he can’t wait to experience it in real life, you’d be so fucking perfect for him–

His stomach flexes, abs clenching and straining because of the pressure in the pit of his abdomen, and Luke feels himself snap like a guitar string. His climax bursts from his slit in long white strips, landing all over his knuckles, stomach, and up to his ribcage. His hips chase after the pleasure, fucking into his fist in aborted movements because Luke can’t stop himself, can’t control his body when he feels so good. 

His groan is haggard as he forces himself to slow down. He runs his hand along his cock, desperately seeking out any remaining pleasure, but it’s all faded into a dim glow that surrounds him. He feels cocooned, warm in the aftermath of his orgasm. 

In his hazy bliss, he picks his phone up and looks at your picture again. His hand moves before his mind does, thumb going to the bottom corner of the screen and pressing the little heart.

The second after he does it, his brain catches up. Luke’s heart drops so far into his stomach that he thinks he might pass it like a kidney stone the next time he goes to the bathroom. He just liked a picture of yours from your highlights, from before he even met you, late at night. He’s fucking screwed. Even if he unlikes the picture now, which he does as if he can reverse his actions, you’ll still get the notification that he interacted with you.

It’s so over. Luke is done for. He throws his phone in his bedside drawer and moves to clean himself up, riddled with shame over his actions now that he accidentally revealed himself. You’re going to think he’s a weirdo and you’re never going to want to see him again. Luke understands, to be honest. He did something stupid and he’ll pay for it.

He dares one last peek at his phone before he goes to bed, hoping the shame will be gone when he wakes up in the morning. He freezes again– there’s a text from you.

Liking my thirst trap so late, Lu? U know u can just call me next time ;)

[growth-opportunities]

Your tomboy best friend was just diagnosed with macromastia

Robin's playing grew more and more frustrated by the second until she was slamming her fingers down on the buttons, squeezing the grip on the controller until her knuckles turned white and her arms shook. The quaking in her arms translated through her body, sending her oversized breasts sloshing, which only made her angrier. Her jaw set, clenched tight, until finally letting out a frustrated groan and throwing the controller down onto the bed next to her. Her body seemed to deflate as she put her head in her hands. A few tense seconds passed before you reached out to try and-

"This is so fucking ridiculous! Why the fuck- I just can't- URGH!" The entire bed jumped as her fists slammed against them, turning towards you with enough speed to startle you. "What kind of fucking disease is macromastia? I mean come the fuck on! A big titty disease?! It's just so fucking stupid."

A few stammered syllables slip out of you, trying and failing to be comforting, but her rage just won't be stopped. "I mean, it's bad enough I had to quit soccer because of these fucking things, now they're just gonna keep growing forever?!" Robin thrust her chest forward, pointing to the massive breasts that hung there. They were each slightly larger than her head and they're all the more impressive in that they hadn't existed at all when the two of you met a year ago.

She had been flat as a board back then but, within a few months, they suddenly began growing. Robin was never one for half-measures, making her a ruthless competitor, and apparently her body shared the philosophy. She just couldn't keep up with the surging size, pushing through bra sizes faster than she could buy them. Even when she tried to be proactive, buying a bra in a bigger size before she needed it, it would only fit correctly for a week or two before it became obscenely ill fitting. She put up with it for as long as she could, but once she outgrew the sizes at the only specialty store in town, she had to get checked out.

Robin threw herself down on the bed, flailing her arms in the long sleeves of her sweater. Every little movement made her breasts slosh on top of her, wobbling out of control before settling a few minutes later. Even the dramatic sigh that rushed out of her had them jiggling slightly. "It's just... I know the diagnosis doesn't change anything, but, like... They're just going to keep growing forever, you know? They're already ginormous, but to think that they could double in size from here? Maybe even triple? And then still keep going? It just seems... absurd..."

Her complaints trailed off as she turned her head to look at you, her big brown eyes scanning your face. The intensity of her gaze had you blushing, folding in on yourself slightly. Like a cat hunting its prey, she suddenly turned over, crawling on her hands and knees towards you. Her narrow eyes were unblinking, but yours couldn't help flicking down to watch her breasts sway back and forth beneath her torso. Within moments, she was practically on top of you, studying your face from mere inches away. You could hear your heartbeat thunder in your ears.

Robin gasped.

Her eyes shot open.

"Oh my god...

"You're turned on right now, aren't you?"

You thought you had been hiding it so well, but Robin doesn't even give you time to deny it. "You fucking are! What, does it turn you on to think about my huge boobies swelling up, growing bigger and r-rounder and mmf! heavier!" You couldn't fight the blush that rushed into your cheeks, especially with her so close that you could feel the warmth of her gigantic breasts radiating into your arm. A single hand pushed against your chest and the room blurred around you, forced down onto the bed as Robin moved to straddle you. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes, squeezing her tits. She channeled the over-the-top acting she had seen over countless hours of porn, throwing her head back and raising her voice half an octave. "Oh, god, don't look! My breasts! They're aaahhnn~ they're getting so biiiig!"

As her eyes came back down and meet yours, you shared a moment of tension between you, her heart caught in her throat. Her hands still held her breasts tightly, making them bulge even more between her fingers. After a long, long second, she managed to force out a laugh. "Pfft, man, you should see the look on your fucking face. You're so easy. Maybe getting gigantic, infinitely growing cow udders won't be so bad after all." In all the times that Robin has punched your shoulder, you had never seen her hold back until now, the impact a far cry from the bruisers she usually hit your with. Her hands shook as she picked up the controller again, tucking her hair behind her ear. For a moment, you were almost sure she was blushing, too.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

[ferrarifudds]

Dinner’s Ready. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Bestfriend!reader

Summary: Helping your bestfriend learn how to cook because his out of date freezer meals were a bit concerning.

Word Count: 2.1k

Disclaimer/s: Fluff fluff fluffff!! :3

Vera’s Voice! i liked this one tbh :3 wrote it during my lunch break today!!! hope u enjoy!!!

“Lando, you cannot be serious.”

“I am serious,” He replied, leaning casually against the counter as you stared at the horror show that was his freezer. “What’s the big deal?”

You turned slowly, holding up a frostbitten container of… something? You squinted at the label. Lasagna? Or… meatloaf? The date scribbled on top was from months ago. Possibly before summer.

“The big deal, you idiot, is that I’m pretty sure this thing is one microwave cycle away from mutating.” You held the container of mystery meat in your hand as you felt a gag creeping forward but you choked it down.

Lando scoffed with a grin, the dimpled, infuriating kind, like this was all a joke to him. “Survival of the fittest.” He shrugged.

“This is not funny!” You groaned, dramatically shoving the container into his arms like you’d caught him red-handed.

“You’re going to give yourself food poisoning one day. Like I’m honestly surprised you haven’t died already.”

“I’m built different.” He argued.

“You’re built stupid.”

He laughed loudly, unbothered by your scolding. “Okay, Mum, what do you want me to do?”

“You’re lucky I'm even here,” You shot back, spinning around to grab your grocery bag like some kind of control freak. “You’re about to learn how to cook a proper meal for once in your life!” A pause.

“God, this is what the rich does to people.” You muttered to yourself.

Lando groaned like you’d told him he had to run ten miles uphill. “Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?”

“Because you’re terrible at following instructions,” You teased, already digging out the flour, eggs, and the rest of your supplies.

He leaned over the counter to peek. “Wait. Are we making pasta?”

“Of course.”

“Why would we do that when the box version is right there? In the cupboard, I might add.”

You turned to him, jaw practically on the floor because he even suggested such a thing. “I’m gonna pretend you didn't just say that.”

“What's wrong with it?!” He scoffed.

“Because it won’t be made with love! And you, Lando Norris, need more love in your diet.”

Lando blinked, then snorted. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Very appropriate since you’re the corniest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” You quickly shot back.

His jaw fell. A hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“Good.”

And soon enough, the two of you got to work and, somewhere along the way, the line between “teaching” and “flirting” blurred, though neither of you dared to point it out.

Standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter, the space between you shrank with every quiet moment. You guided his hands as he clumsily kneaded the dough, your fingers brushing his more often than necessary.

The air grew heavy with something unspoken, the sound of flour dusting the counter and soft laughter filling the silence. When you looked up to correct him, his gaze lingered longer than it should have, and suddenly the lesson felt like an excuse to stay close, to touch without reason, and to hide the butterflies neither of you could ignore.

“Like this,” You said softly, placing your fingers over his to press into the floury mixture.

“I am doing it like that,” He complained.

“No, you’re manhandling it.”

“It’s dough!” He laughed, twisting to look at you, his face unfairly close.

“Yeah, and it’s not going to trust you if you’re aggressive.”

Lando tilted his head, the grin creeping back. “Not going to trust me?”

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Clearly you do,” He teased, though he didn’t pull his hands away from yours. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you leaned closer.

Your gaze flickered up, and that’s when you realized he was already watching you.

“What?” You asked softly.

“Nothing.” Lando’s voice dipped, quieter than before. His eyes were still on yours, unreadable but warm—too warm.

You swallowed hard, pulling back just a little too quickly. “You’re hopeless,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the dough.

Lando didn’t argue. He just smiled, like he knew something you didn’t.

Moving onto the sauce now at the stove, the pasta dough had been cut sloppily into fettuccine, now boiling on another burner. The kitchen looked like the scene of a food fight. Flour dusted the counters, your shirt, his hair—though Lando swore you’d put it there on purpose.

You were focused on stirring the sauce when he came up beside you, far too close for comfort. You could feel him there before you saw him: the shift of the air, the way the space seemed to shrink around him.

“Need something?” You asked suspiciously, refusing to look at him.

“I’m just watching,” He said, voice light but laced with something unreadable.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m learning.”

“You’re distracting,” You muttered, stirring the sauce a little harder than necessary.

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Distracting, hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You shot back, rolling your eyes.

When you finally glanced up at him, Lando was leaning against the counter with that insufferably lazy grin of his, arms folded, hair still tousled from where you’d flicked flour at him earlier. He looked at ease—too at ease.

“What?” you asked again, narrowing your eyes.

“You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely toward your face. “Something there.”

“Where?”

“Your cheek.”

You frowned, swiping at your face with the back of your hand.

Lando didn’t move, but the smile tugging at his lips grew. “Missed it.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Would I ever?”

“Always.” You said flatly, but before you could react, he leaned in—just enough to make your heart catch. His thumb brushed across your cheek, slow and deliberate, the contact feather-light but enough to make your skin tingle where he touched.

It wasn’t fair how something so small could make your breath falter. Your brain felt like it short-circuited, stuck on the warmth of his hand and how close his face was to yours now.

“There,” he murmured softly.

You swallowed hard, eyes locked on his as his hand lingered—his thumb now gently tracing the line of your jaw.

Your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You said, barely above a whisper. “You've been doing it all evening.”

“Like what?” Lando’s voice dropped to match yours, quiet but steady. His eyes never left you, his gaze softer now, something unspoken lingering in the space between you.

“Like you’re about to kiss me.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but you saw the shift in his expression. His smile faded—just slightly—as his thumb paused at the curve of your jaw.

“…Would that be such a bad thing?”

Your stomach flipped violently, and you felt rooted to the spot.

Every thought in your head went quiet except for the sound of your pulse thudding in your ears. Lando’s eyes searched yours, still giving you time to say no—to pull away—but you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he leaned in.

Your breath hitched as the space between you shrank to nothing. He hesitated for just a second, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Close enough to memorize the exact color of his eyes and count the faint freckles across his nose.

And then his lips met yours.

Softly. Gently.

The kiss was tentative, like he was testing the waters, waiting for you to pull back—but you didn’t. The butterflies swarmed in your stomach, your heart a mess of frantic flutters as you leaned into him, your hands lifting to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt like you needed to hold on to something solid.

Lando’s other hand found your waist, warm and steady, anchoring you as he kissed you again—deeper this time, but still careful. His lips moved against yours with the kind of softness that made your chest ache, like he was memorizing the moment, like he didn’t want to rush it.

You could’ve stayed there forever, standing in his flour-dusted kitchen with the sauce bubbling behind you and the rest of the world falling away.

The kitchen was still for a moment—too still. Your lips tingled from the kiss, the air between you and Lando thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe properly. Your heart was still racing in a way that had nothing to do with the pasta you were supposed to be making.

Lando’s forehead rested gently against yours, but his presence, his warmth, was too close, making everything feel so very real in a way you weren’t sure how to process.

Then, slowly, with the faintest chuckle in his voice, he pulled away—just enough to look at you, but not enough to break the contact completely.

He was standing behind you now, just a hair’s breath away, his hands slowly finding their way around your waist again, pulling you against him in a soft but secure hug. You froze as his arms wrapped around your body, his chest pressed lightly against your back.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth radiating from his body into yours. His chin nestled just above your shoulder, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

“Lando…” You mumbled, the words almost slipping from you without thought, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmm?” He didn’t move. His voice was low, soft—a stark contrast to the playful teasing from earlier. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard, your face growing warm from the closeness. “Think I’m having trouble breathing, if I’m honest.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck, a soft, teasing kiss that sent an electric shiver down your spine. “Not surprising,” He murmured, his tone now laced with a playful cocky edge. “I do have that effect on people.”

“Oh, do you now?” You replied, trying to sound sarcastic, but your voice betrayed you—weak and breathless.

“Definitely,” He said with a chuckle, squeezing you tighter, and you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “I mean, I’m not just a great driver, you know. I’m also pretty good at making hearts race.”

You let out a soft groan, hands gripping the counter for balance as you felt your heart actually race. “You are so cringe, it hurts.”

He grinned against your shoulder, his voice lowering. “Am I? I was starting to think you liked me.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “I don’t,” you muttered, though you weren’t entirely sure if you believed it.

Lando leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing lightly against the side of your neck. “Really?”

You couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Think you and I already know the answer.”

The air between you both hung heavy with the playful tension, but just as you thought it was about to become too much, Lando pulled back slightly, his arms still around you as the sauce seemed to be finished.

“Come on, dinner’s ready.”

like, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated ^_^ !!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox

[dwaekkicidal]

cw» fem!reader, kitty hybrid reader x puppy hybrid!channie, mentions of p in v, manhandling, there’s a few more but nothing too crazy/out of the blue

cw» not really proofread, but this is for that one anon who asked for kitty reader a few months ago <3 sorry it took so long

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

pup!channie who was very against his owner adopting another hybrid, let a lone a cat of all species. but it's not like he has much of a say in it- it's supposed to be his new "friend" so he's not alone while his owner is at work all day!

pup!channie who scares you shitless before you two even meet. your new owner warned you and told you all kinds of scary things about the dog you'll be living with from now on

but queue faces of surprise, from all 3 of you, when chan's face burns red and his tail starts wagging aggressively the second he sees you

pup!channie who gets addicted to your scent from day 1. he just loooves the way you smell. that and your endearingly cute demeanor only leads to him quickly growing a little crush on you~

pup!channie who surprises you and your owner when he opens his space to you right off the bat- with little to no aggressiveness coming from the boy.

pup!channie who welcomes you with open arms, even going far enough to allow you to lay (and sleep with him) in his bed. your owner was scared at first but quickly grew to trust chan enough that he didn't bother getting you your own bed- simply allowing you to sleep with chan

pup!channie who stares daggers into every person, human or hybrid, who even glances your way. your pretty head is never worried about anything enough to notice the stares, but chan has eyes of a hawk when it comes to you.

pup!channie who scents you unbeknownst to you. sneakily scenting you and your clothes to the point where it's just a natural smell to you- you don't question where it comes from anymore now that you're conditioned to live in the smell- but the smell follows you everywhere enough to scare other hybrids away

pup!channie who is SO easily jealous and refuses to let anybody near you. your owner has to muzzle HIM when you go to the doctor because the mere thought of strangers being so close to you, maybe even touching you makes him seethe.

^ and this is even worse when your owner brings their friends around. the onslaught of questions like "ohh how did you get that mutt to tolerate your new, pretty kitty" was already enough to piss him off, but when the friends try to touch you, he sees red. he actually loses all sense of rationality and will bite the person if they don't back away within his first growl.

and all of this is innocent at first! until its not.

it loses all innocence when mating season comes around, and you both discover your owner wasn't responsible enough to account for the clash of hormones. they thought about the possibility of you getting pregnant and put you on birth control "just in case", but they didn't take into account that the hormones would still be there in full force.

and that leads to what happened at the beginning of the week. your owner is out on a business trip that just so happens to be 2 weeks long, and channie has begun to feel the first signs of his heat. but it wasn't until he came home from a short grocery outing, and smelt your scent for the first time in hours, that he realized his heat was hitting him.

it wasn't until he was standing the doorway of your shared room, groceries long forgotten on the kitchen floor, that he felt the heat start coursing through his veins.

it wasn't until he had your face shoved into the sheet, balls deep in your cunt, that the emotions started to hit him.

"C-Channie! Slow down, p-please-" He shushes you and thrusts harder, his balls slapping against your clit each time he bottoms out. "Pretty kitty- MY pretty kitty."

"Chan~" Your whines only made him growl and push into you harder. He was using both hands to hold you down, one in your hair and the other on your shoulder, but he trailed the lower of the two down to your ass after some time.

His hand comes down on your ass suddenly, making you yelp out of surprise. The yelp turns into a moan when his hand wraps around the base of your tail and tugs.

"A-Ah!?" He doesn't release it. Instead, he tightens his hold on your tail and continues to lightly tug on it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. Your hand that's not tangled in the sheets goes behind to push his hand away and Chan growls again, releasing your hair to dig his hands into your wrist and hold it above your head in order to get you to stop resisting him.

"You're gonna take it, right baby? Gonna let me fuck you full of my pups?" You attempt to push yourself up with your free hand, only to fall back down when his canines dig into the side of your neck. "Answer my fucking question before I lose my patience, kitty."

"Yes! I'll take it all. Anything for you, Channie…” You could feel the smirk break out against your neck, and it seems like your promise was enough to scratch an itch in his stupid dog brain.

now, days into his heat, you feel your own heat starting up- no doubt thanks to the restless hound that was adamant about rearranging your insides and trying to get you pregnant.

the two of you had barely left the room by the mid point of the next week. your owner had to call in a friend to bring you guys food every night- at first they weren't really aware of what was going on thanks to the vague texts chan sent (in the middle of you riding him, might i add), but boy could his friend smell the sex from the front door.

and channie had absolutely no plan to stop fucking you, even as your owner's friend poked their head in to check on you two for your owner. he simply gave them the nastiest side eye and tightened his grip around your neck, seemingly fucking into you even harder as he held eye contact and growled at the person to leave.

and then once they did leave, he continued fucking you as if the world was ending and the two of your would never see each other again.

“Attagirl, baby. Take this knot and Channie’ll breed your pains away.”

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 6

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.3k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

"...he almost remembered what it meant to him. Except he didn't. Instead, it was a taste from a dream he couldn’t quite remember."

A dimly lit mission room deep within the Jedi Temple, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-wan Kenobi and Mace Windu gathered around a holographic display. The hum of the holographic offered a soft backdrop to their conversation. 

“Many reports of two skilled bounty under the names ‘Ani’ and ‘Dev’ have been causing disruptions across various sectors.” Mace Windu sternly said whilst Anakin gulped at the use of a name he hasn’t heard in a year. “They have slipped through the Republic forces on multiple occasions.” 

Obi-wan leaned forward, “two bounty hunters causing this much trouble? That's unusual.” 

“Indeed. But their methods have grown more aggressive, even by bounty hunter standards. What is more concerning is Dev. ” Mace Windu tapped the datapad and the holographic image flickered to life, a materialised image of a young boy no older than 15. 

“But that’s only a boy.” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows at Mace Windu, confusion evident on his face. 

“Once a boy, yes. He was once a skilled Jedi, dismissed from the Order for the refusal to adhere to the Code. His descent began when he lost his family and, in a fit of anger, slaughtered civilians. Dark tendencies grew within him.” 

Anakin stiffened immediately and felt a foreboding feeling grow in his stomach. Obi-wan's expression darkened beside him. “A former Jedi turned bounty hunter with such a violent past…It’s troubling.” 

“And what about this..Ani?” Anakin reluctantly asked. 

“She is a much newer addition to the bounty hunting world, but she has proved to be some sort of a prodigy. They were just spotted on Corellia after a bombing to capture Dengar, another well known bounty who worked with Maul and Savage to capture me.” Mace Windu informed them, turning off the holograph. 

Obi-wan frowned, concern etching lines on his face. “We’re going after two bounty hunters? Isn’t that more of a job for local security forces in Corellia?” 

Mace’s gaze shifted from Anakin to Obi-wan, “You both are uniquely skilled in dealing with unconventional situations. We need to contain them before they both spiral out of control.”

Anakin’s jaw tightened, resolve evident in his eyes. “Understood, Master Windu.” 

Obi-wan nodded in agreement, his focus unwavering. “We’ll head to Corellia immediately.”

“Good. May the force guide your actions.” Mace Windu stood tall. 

—

Anakin and Obi-wan sat in the ship en route to Corellia. Neither had spoken a word, just eyes drifting at the stars that illuminated outside. 

Dev.

Ani. 

Not their real names. It wasn't hard to miss the amount of blanks throughout their whole file. Dev's one gave a general consensus though; a disobedient Jedi Padawan, now a runaway. But the latter… No image. No backstory. It was as if she only existed a few months ago. 

Anakin ran a hand through his hair, teeth gnawing the inside of lips. His eyes lazily read the datapad in his lap. A boy stared back at him. Dev. Just 15 years of age in the image, younger than the recent sightings of him. Much younger. His eyes looked hollow, already hard. Like part of him had lost something but was never filled again. 

“Nothing on the girl?” Obi-wan asked beside him, still gazing out the window, but deep in thought. 

Anakin inhaled, his chest rising against his robes and shook his head. “Nothing. Her name is clearly a placeholder, but no record of her.” Anakin turned off the datapad. 

“She is either very smart,” Obi-wan murmured, “or lucky.” 

Anakin leaned in his seat not liking either answer. “What business do they have blowing up a civilian square in the middle of a Corellian protest?” 

Obi-wan stroked his beard, “I’d say they are after another bounty hunter. Denger I assume. He was spotted here the night before.”

“So they try and bring him in, only to level half the plaza in the process?”

“Looks like it.”

Scoffing, Anakin dragged his hand down his face. 

Outside the ship, Corellia was a mess. Alarms sounding through the cities, smoke darkening the skies and protest fires on the rooftops. What was usually a beautiful planet is now filled with protests against the war. 

Once the ship doors opened, Anakin and Obi-wan were hit with heat. Not physical. But tension. Soldiers and civilians buzzing through the streets, it was as if they weren’t at a docking platform. 

“Well, it seems like we have your day cut out for us.” Obi-wan muttered as they made their way down the streets, glancing at the protest signs abandoned on the floor. “No Justice, No peace” was written in Corellian dialect. 

Burn marks scattered around the floor piquing Anakin’s interests. Crouching down, his fingers gently grazed the soot left, leaving his fingers darkened. 

“There was a bombing,” Anakin concluded, spotting several pieces of metal scattered around the floor. 

Obi-wan nodded, "the security reports said they did vanish into the crowds before troops arrived.” His eyes scanned the crowd up ahead. “I’d say our perpetrators are there.” 

That annoyed Anakin more than it should have. 

“Then we’ll start there,” Anakin said. 

— 

Corellia bled with fury and fight. 

Anakin walked ahead, his hood drawn low and his feet dragging along the concrete, stones skidding away. He wasn’t really in the mood. Trying to find 2 cloaked figures in a sea of more cloaked figures wasn’t exactly ideal. After 2 hours of dead ends, he kept replaying the grainy footage hoping it would offer a clue. 

On the other hand, Obi-wan walked behind being Obi-wan. A calm diplomatic Jedi master. He was always asking the right questions to the right vendors, nodding and being friendly. His warm voice made people eager and more keen to offer tips. 

“I spoke to the surveillance clerk”, Obi-wan broke the silence, catching up to Anakin. “He said the crowd tripled after the bombing, half running to shelter and the other protesting even more.” 

Anakin stopped in front of a sign that read “THE REPUBLIC DOESN’T SEE US”, the edges of the banner burnt. 

“Give it a few days and then the Senate will fix this with a speech.”

Obi-wan’s face hardened, “Well it is the Senate’s job to do that.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Anakin muttered, leaving Obi-wan dumbfounded. Did he mean that the planet should fend for itself, fixing its own politics? Or did he mean that the Senate was useless, giving out speeches with no real backlayer. Maybe a bit of both. 

Obi-wan pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the buildings that now had a layer of dust covering it. Walking was starting to get irritating as every few seconds a person would nudge their shoulder with their own, making them lose focus every few seconds. 

That’s when Anakin saw it. 

Small smears of red on the cobblestone wall. Dried and just there. Followed by a few more droplets that painted the floor into an alley. 

Anakin crouched down taking a further look, gaining Obi-wan’s attention. 

“Blood.” Obi-wan hummed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 

“Might not be theirs.”

“Still, we are Jedi. Whoever blood it belongs to may need help.” Obi-wan advised. 

They followed the trail that led to a rusted backdoor. Anakin didn’t hesitate. Immediately pushing past the door as it creaked loudly. 

It was dim inside. 

And in the corner was an elderly Twi’lek couple. 

Anakin and Obi-wan both flinched, least expecting to break into a home. 

The couple sat on the floor, a blanket engulfing their lower body and a half-crushed medpac that rested near their feet. 

Obi-wan immediately put his hands up in defence, “We’re not here to harm you.”

The couple's eyes traced both Anakin and Obi-wan’s figure, their eyes flickering between the saber’s that rested on their hip and their defensive face.

Noticing that they haven’t said anything, Anakin used the opportunity and stepped forward, the woman clutched her blanket a bit tightly. 

“We’re investigating the bombing that happened here. Do you know anything about that?” 

The male shook his head, his blue tentacle like tendrils moving with him, “N-no.”

Obi-wan moved up with Anakin, realising that they can speak Basic. “A young man with blonde hair and a cloaked girl. Does it sound any familiar?”

The couple stiffened. 

Silence. 

Anakin folded his arms and furrowed his brows, “they came here. Didn’t they?” His tone lowered. 

Silence. 

“They paid you.” Obi-wan spoke calmly, already analysing the situation. 

The purple woman looked down, and then gently picked up the half used medpac, her hands shaking. 

“The girl…was worried.” Her voice was soft spoken. “Not for herself, but him. He was bleeding.”

Obi-wan crossed his arms, parallel to Anakin and stared down the medpac. “So you helped them..”

“It is not a crime to help someone!” The man besides her called out defensively, squinting his eyes. 

“Well it is a crime to help terrorists,” Anakin muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Terrorists?” The woman's eyes widened. “They were terrorists?”

Obi-wan glanced over to Anakin and tried to laugh it off, not wanting to send the couple into cardiac arrest. “Well. We aren’t sure of anything.” He tilted his head. “Do you know where they are now?”

The older woman nodded speedily,  “She said she was heading to the city square where the protests are. Near the farmers market. But..she was scared.” 

Anakin lifted his brow, “of what?” 

Looking him dead in the eye, “being seen,” she announced. 

–

Obi-wan and Anakin were on the outskirts, just enough steps to see the masses of bodies that moved. 

Protestors moved, some shouted and some watched. It wasn’t long before Obi-wan caught a flicker. 

A flicker of gold that was reflecting from the sun. Moving too fast. An uncomfortable limp. 

Obi-wan’s eyes widened and locked onto the figure. Blonde hair. Broad shoulders. It was worth a shot. 

“That might be him,” Anakin huffed, already making his way down, eager to end this mission.

Obi-wan rolled his eyes, “Always ahead of the game,” he said, racing down the steps and into the crowd. 

It was suffocating. You could feel the sweat and anger that radiated off the bodies. 

Obi-wan pushed through bodies, wanting the man to enter a clearing before holding him in the masses of people. Locals were yelling in languages he didn’t recognise which only intensified everything around him. His cloak constantly was snagging on someone’s arm but he didn’t stop, pushing through, curses were flying at him.

He needed an opening - just one - and it would be fine. 

Something is off. 

The force rippled. 

The blonde headed man suddenly turned his head towards Obi-wan.

It was him. It was Dev. 

And not far behind him was a cloaked figure. Her. 

Dev locked eyes with Obi-wan, his eyes widening and stray locks of hair falling on his face. 

“Jedi!” Dev exclaimed to you, his eyes darting between behind you and yourself. 

Without even taking a chance to glance behind you, you began to push through the crowd. Gritting your teeth, you used your arms to almost shove people out of the way. You could not be caught as a bounty hunter. It was not necessarily the legality of it, it was the bombing that was associated with you and it was your honour shattering that you have been reduced to this much. How low the galaxy forced you to crawl just to survive. 

Just a little further. A  little further and there was an opening and you got yourself out of this mess. 

“Dev! Over there!” You barked, pointing towards the clearing. Dev nodded and attempted to make his way out with his limp. His face pale but understanding. He always understood. Understood you. You didn’t need to speak much for him to completely understand you. 

You surged through the crowd with all your might. Suddenly hyper aware of the blaster at your side, your fingers grazed it, ready to use if anyone tried touching you. 

Relief. Oxygen. As you finally made it out of the crowd. Your hands were shaking but you didn’t stop, you can’t stop. 

And then- a shove. 

Dev’s body slammed into the ground right where he was supposed to make it out and the Jedi tackled him to the side. You heard him grunt in protest, his wrists pinned and the right of his face scraped against the ground. 

Before you could react and turn back to Dev, you heard the hum of a saber. 

Right behind you. 

What should I do?

Fuck. 

They’re getting closer. 

Your lungs feel like they could explode and your chest hurts. You’re running so fast. Any of that relief you had just felt from making it out was gone. Dead. You just felt like you were burning. Your veins pumping with adrenaline – hot and sharp and screaming. 

You didn’t dare look behind you. If you did it would slow you down immensely. 

But it didn’t matter. 

A rough hand –bigger than your own– pulling on your forearm, throwing you down, your hood falling in the process. Without another second to think your free arm gripped onto your vibroblade. Having been pulled down to the ground, you shifted your body to meet the Jedi, your blade coated in cortosis weave and pointing up towards said person. 

.

..

…

“Y/n?”

It was like time stopped. 

You locked eyes. 

Your mouth fell open. 

His did too. Confusion. Bewilderment. Shock. All on his face. 

His voice… Sounded different. Quieter than you remembered. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hateful. Just quiet. Broken. 

Your right hand weakened and the blade fell down on the floor besides you, the metal clanging against the concrete. Your palms fell on the floor and you found yourself staring at…Anakin above you. 

Anakin staggered back, stunned, as if he was shot straight through the heart. His head shook slowly and ever so subtly but in complete disbelief.

No one said anything. You couldn’t hear anything. It was just you two. Two broken people. The force felt electrifying, like it was rippling and pulling both of you towards each other. 

Anakin loomed over you, the deep blue of his saber still humming, but pointing towards the ground. His own arms feeling too weak to even lift it. His face was unreadable. His dark brown hair looked longer, almost below his ears. His eyes…tired. Like he was staring at a grave. 

It wasn’t until the other Jedi came out, holding Dev in handcuffs that you realised your situation. It was Obi-wan, of course it was. Of course it was Anakin and Obi-wan who would catch up to you. Dev struggled in defiance, his face discontent. 

Obi-wan walked up beside Anakin, and then his eyes fell on you. 

“Y/n?” His voice was quiet, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or not. “You’re Ani?” 

You looked away from him, pursing your lips in shame. What were you supposed to say? You weren’t supposed to be caught, stripped of your mask. You were just supposed to be Ani. Not Y/n. 

You swallowed hard, your fingers soft in comparison to the floor. You were now looking up to both Anakin and Obi-wan but –force– you felt so much smaller than you actually were. 

Anakin inhaled sharply, his saber hissed off yet his grip strong enough that his knuckles were still white. Running a hand through his hair, he turned his back to you, moving away from both you and Obi-wan. You felt the disappointment in the air. You felt the judgement from the people who you used to consider the closest to you. Anakin turning his back to you after a year said more words than he did.

But he could feel his heart hammering against his chest.

thump

He was suddenly hyper aware of his breathing.

thump-thump

The way he wasn't sure what to do with his empty left hand.

thump

The fact that his knees would buck in any minute.

thump-thump-thump

It felt like everything was swirling around him and he needed to ground himself.

However, Obi-wan walked over to you, crouching down to eye level. You noticed the small things in his face, the way he had worry lines on his forehead, a slight frown, and furrowed eyebrows. He wasn’t looking at you like a master or a commander, but a concerned friend. 

“Y/n, you became a bounty hunter?” He asked. 

You didn’t know how to respond. What were you going to say? Yes? Well, yes you are. But suddenly you felt embarrassed. Ashamed. 

“I…” You croaked out. 

“You know them?” Dev called out, struggling against his cuffs. All three of you diverted your gaze to Dev.

Dev broke Anakin from his trance, his need to distract himself hitting him harder than ever. He needed to redirect his attention to something else just like he was doing for the past year. Anakin stood still for a moment before grabbing the back of his shirt, replacing Obi-wan but far too aggressively.

“Hold her.” Anakin said to Obi-wan, forcing his voice to be strong. “We’ll take them somewhere else.”

That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say? 

Anakin spoke as if he didn’t know you. Like you were some lowlife smuggler. Obi-wan even felt caught between two worlds. Was he supposed to disregard your history together? Or would he hold you accountable? 

Clearing his throat, Obi-wan pulled out stuncuffs from his satchel, looking at you as if you were a wounded animal. 

“I’m just going to put these on just for now. Precaution.” He said softly. 

Nodding, you slipped in your fallen vibroblade to your belt and slowly brought out both your arms in front of him. Obi-wan hesitantly and carefully attached the cuffs to your arms.

Click. 

Immediate discomfort radiated in your arms, the restraints tightening specifically on your wrists.

You looked up at Obi-wan who you could tell was uncomfortable with the situation. 

“I’m fine, Obi-wan.” You tried to reassure him. 

Obi-wan nodded, inhaling deeply before getting up. Scrambling to your feet against the concrete, you rose and immediately felt smaller than you were. Now seeing both Obi-wan and Anakin in their usual height, it felt different. Like there was a rift between you three.

Looking over at Anakin, Obi-wan scratched his beard. “We won’t be able to fly tonight. It seems the city's protests will make it difficult to get out slyly.” 

Without a response, Anakin began to drag a cursing Dev to Force knows where. 

Obi-wan followed behind him but distant enough, making sure you were keeping up. 

The walk felt excruciatingly long as there was nothing but pained silence. Every now and then you could feel Obi-wan’s gaze drill holes in you. Anakin said and did nothing but hold onto Dev and try to find an abandoned place for the night. You were lucky enough Obi-wan still trusted you to allow you to walk on your own. 

It wasn’t until he broke the silence. 

“Are you okay?” Obi-wan spoke in a hushed voice, trying not to gain Anakin’s attention but that was naive thinking. Anakin heard everything when it came to you. 

You blinked at the question, unsure what to say. Your throat tightening but you forced out an “I’m okay.” 

Silence. 

A beat passed. 

“Are you?” He asked again but much quieter. He knew your response and he knew not to expect an answer but if he didn’t ask now it would eat his conscience later. 

“Yeah. Just tired.” Anakin’s grip tightened on Dev, their boots scraping and their clothes shifting pulled your focus. 

The sky began to set and orange rays stretched far and wide. Dipped in dusk and every step you took would create long shadows of the three of you. The chants from the protest began to fade and street lights began to flicker on. 

Anakin was a walking storm. He was silent. You missed the way he said your name. It sounded like honey -warm, golden- like he almost remembered what it meant to him. Except he didn't.

Instead, it was a taste from a dream he couldn’t quite remember. 

Anakin stopped at a stone-framed building. Abandoned, yes but still intact. The door had its hinges, there was no lights except from the windows and no lifeforms either. Without saying a word, Anakin dragged Dev inside, the door creaking open and they vanished into the unknown.

You and Obi-wan stood in silence. 

“He’ll be alright.” He said gently, not exactly sure if he meant Dev or Anakin. Nodding, you stepped inside first, the evening wind biting your skin. Obi-wan followed right behind you. 

A/N: YAAAY ITS HAPPENED im sorry its kinda on a cliff hanger ik yall want longer chapters but i also need to catch up and write :( also just a general q do u guys want this to be a full blown series leading up to order 66 following the clone wars final season/eps with more drama and romance and angst or keep it until this like 'arc' ends.

i lowk feel like a longer series but i feel like tumblr isnt the right place for this lol maybe ao3 or wattpad also hope u guys appreciate me trying to use coordinated gifs for the chapters 😭

HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT THO <3

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[nickeverdeen]

Hiii, hope your day is going well

could you write an Arcane imagine of romantic yandere Caitlyn Kirraman x fem reader and platonic yandere Cassandra.

Where reader has been arranged to marry Caitlyn and Cassandra sees reader as the perfect daughter in law.

Obssesed | yandere!Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Pairings: Caitlyn x reader (yandere romantic), Cassandra x reader (yandere in-laws), Caitlyn x Cassandra (family)

Type of fic: Possessive, Angst

Warnings: Yandere, arranged marriage

Summary: When you and Caitlyn got arranged into a marriage it sure was not something too unexpected as your families need a connection, but when you went to introduce yourself to the Kiramman family everything seemed fine and if it was unusual you just brushed it off as their behaivors, but soon you were gonna find out it’s not just that…

❗️IMPORTANT❗️: So basically Tumblr ain’t letting me write on my own anymore so I’m only avaible to answer asks so if someone would be so kind and like once a week write smth so I could write a fanfic on my own, I’d appriciate it. Maybe just smth like “free ask” or smth like that, it doesn’t have to be anything big, but pls help me out with this. Thank you, cariños

———————————

The Kiramman estate was always too quiet for your liking.

Everything was pristine. Immaculate. Controlled.

You walked the marble halls as if they belonged to someone else—which, in a way, they did. They belonged to the Kirammans. And soon, they’d belong to you too. At least in name.

Because in exactly two weeks, you were set to marry Caitlyn Kiramman.

The arrangement had been announced months ago, with a celebratory dinner in the center of Piltover’s High House district. Political. Strategic. Two powerful families, now bonded by love—or the illusion of it.

But the illusion was starting to feel real.

Too real.

At first, Caitlyn had been distant.

Polite, but cold. She treated you like a stranger she’d been instructed to care for—always proper, never cruel, but rarely warm. Her posture, her speech, her eyes—everything about her felt like it had been rehearsed.

But then something shifted.

One night, you found a book on your nightstand—the one you’d mentioned in passing at dinner weeks earlier. Another time, you discovered your favorite tea perfectly steeped and waiting for you on the garden table. Small things. Thoughtful things. And then came the letters.

Written in Caitlyn’s neat, precise hand.

They were always signed Yours, followed by her name.

The tone changed with each note—more personal, more curious. They started asking questions. What colors you liked. If you preferred the stars or the sea. If you’d ever wanted to leave Piltover.

At first, you thought she was warming up to you.

But then the questions grew more… invasive.

Why did you flinch when someone touched your shoulder yesterday?

Why did you smile at the boy in the market when you bought the ribbon?

Do you think about anyone when I’m not there?

You’d never seen her write them. Never caught her sneaking into your room. But the notes kept coming.

Always waiting.

Always watching.

And then there was Cassandra.

The woman adored you.

At first, it was endearing—how she’d take your hands and smile like you were already family, how she insisted on brushing your hair for special dinners, how she called you daughter when no one else was around.

But her affection was… intense.

Suffocating.

She corrected how you sat. Told you what colors looked best on you. Once, you laughed at a joke that made Caitlyn frown and Cassandra took your chin in her fingers, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“My Caitlyn is sensitive,” she said sweetly. “You must protect her heart. That is your duty now.”

And you believed her.

Because Cassandra Kiramman had power, and she wielded it with a smile and a mother’s hands.

One morning, you found yourself sitting in the Kiramman greenhouse, the air heavy with the scent of lilacs and damp earth. Caitlyn entered without a sound, her boots silent on the stone path. She looked radiant in blue—composed, perfect.

She sat beside you.

“I hope you know how much I value you,” she said quietly, reaching up to brush a curl behind your ear.

You flinched, and her hand paused. A shadow passed over her expression.

“You’re still afraid,” she murmured, voice low. “Even now.”

“I’m not afraid,” you lied, eyes fixed on the flower in your hand.

She chuckled under her breath. “You should be.”

You froze.

She tilted your face toward hers, gentle but firm.

“You’re the only person in the world I’ll ever love like this,” she whispered. “And I will not let anyone take you from me. Not your family. Not your doubts. Not even you.”

Later that night, you tried to sneak out.

You didn’t get far.

A soft knock on your bedroom door was followed by Cassandra herself, hair pinned neatly, dressed in her nightgown.

“Going somewhere, sweet girl?” she asked sweetly.

You couldn’t speak.

She stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind her. “I understand. Cold feet. Every bride gets them.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she crossed the room in three strides and took your hands, like she always did.

Her thumbs stroked your knuckles. “But you mustn’t run. Not from this. Not from her. Caitlyn loves so rarely, and when she does… it consumes her.”

You swallowed.

“She doesn’t want to hurt you,” Cassandra said softly. “But if you try to leave… she will. She can’t help it. And I won’t let her lose you.”

Her hands tightened. You felt the strength beneath her delicate exterior—iron beneath velvet.

“You’re perfect for her. For us.” Cassandra’s voice dropped. “Don’t disappoint me, darling.”

The wedding loomed.

Caitlyn watched you like a hawk, her hands always lingering a little too long on your waist, her smile a little too sharp. Cassandra began referring to your future in the present tense.

“My daughter-in-law will be handling that.”

“You’ll make a fine matriarch someday.”

“We’re lucky she was chosen for Caitlyn.”

And you?

You were trapped.

Wrapped in silk. Drowning in diamonds. Locked in a golden cage guarded by a mother and daughter who loved you too much to ever let you go.

And somewhere deep down—beneath the fear, beneath the pressure—part of you whispered:

Maybe this is what love is supposed to feel like.

[callsign-rogueone]

call me yours

Brennan Sorrengail x childhood friend! reader [request] words: 1.6k 🏷️: very intimate, but still sfw, set mid iron flame, you’re Mira’s bestie since childhood and grew up with her and Brennan, Bren is touch starved and down atrociously bad (we love pathetic men in this house!) if you're familiar with the grishaverse, you kinda have the powers of a heartrender — can sense and control others’ vital signs. 

The third floor, at the end of the hall, they’d told you, and surely enough, there he is: Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, seated at a desk in what appears to be his office. He looks exactly how you always picture him in memories and dreams — just older, his face slightly hardened, the light scruff on his jaw making him look less boyish, and more like the army commander he’s become in the years you’ve been apart.

He still has the same stiff posture as he examines a roll of parchment, that little crease of concentration between his eyebrows… You could stand here all night, just soaking up the sight, but that still wouldn’t be enough. And now that you’re finally reunited, your twenty-year-old self’s prayers answered…

You gather up the courage to knock on the doorframe.

He looks up from his papers, humming lazily, and then his heart nearly stops at the sight of you. There’s a flurry of emotion across his face before he finally speaks. “I just got my nose fixed, so I’d prefer it if you hit me somewhere else,” he says by way of greeting, giving you a pained smile.

You return it. “You know I could never hurt you, Bren— I probably shouldn’t be calling you Brennan anymore, should I?”

“Please. Call me anything but Lieutenant Colonel.”

You smile. “Brennan it is. And I’m really sorry about that, by the way. She never left the ‘anger’ stage.”

“That’s fair. I probably wouldn’t have, either.”

You finally step forward, entering the office and taking a look around. “Nice digs.”

He’s definitely going to need something stronger than his long-since-abandoned mug of tea if this conversation is going to last much longer. “Whiskey?”

That same mischievous grin that he remembers splits your face. “Always.”

He pushes up from his chair, taking a half-full bottle out of the cabinet along with two glasses.

“So, fill me in on this new life of yours,” you prod, shrugging off your jacket and draping it over the back of your chair before settling in. “Wife? Kids?”

“Nope. Just Marbh.”

You remember hearing that Marbh wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, either. “Must be lonely.”

He shrugs. “Staying busy helps. What about you, Major? You have a husband hidden away somewhere?”

You roll your eyes at his use of your rank, flashing him your left hand — no wedding ring. “No, I do not. And I hate that title. They gave it to me as an apology, not because I earned it.”

He hands you a glass, frowning. “I’ve never known the Navarrian military to apologize. What for?”

“For almost killing me and my entire company — sending us right into a drift of gryphons. I let them take me so that everyone else could escape. But that’s what all the torture training was for, right?” you ask over the rim of your glass.

He doesn’t laugh. “When was that?” 

The whiskey burns its way down your throat, and you sigh in relief — this is exactly what you needed after the fifteen hour flight from Montserrat. “A few months ago. Mira saved my sorry ass. Broke protocol to come get me, because-”

“—Navarre doesn’t negotiate for hostages,” he finishes for you. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

You mime taking a knife to the heart, twisting it and pulling it back out for dramatic effect. “Kid? And here I thought I had a chance.”

Something shifts in his body language, in his eyes, in the air of the room. “What do you mean by that?” he asks, deathly quiet.

“You know what I mean,” you reply, your eyes not leaving his for a second, even as you take another sip.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You rise from the chair and set down your glass, resting your palms on the edge of his desk and leaning forward slightly — it’s giant, so you’re still two feet away, but you’ve definitely crossed the threshold of his personal space, ignored the rigid line that’s supposed to separate the great Lieutenant Colonel from the rest of his army. It has the intended effect: his gaze immediately falls to the exposed curve of your shoulders and the green of your relic that spreads over your bicep, dipping down to the low neckline of the tank top you’re wearing before he looks back at your face, his cheeks sufficiently reddened.

“Surely you know I’ve always had a little puppy crush on you, Bren, ever since Mira and I met. You always saw me as your little sister’s tagalong friend, but I had this idea that once I graduated from Basgiath, you’d see me as a woman, a dragon rider… I know you can put the rest together yourself. You’ve always been too smart for your own good.” This punctuated with a cunning smile that makes him squirm a little.

“You are certainly both of those things now,” he says carefully, adjusting a stack of papers on the desk. He’s sweating, his blood pressure elevated, his breathing shallow… but he’s not going to break. 

You give him a sad smile. “But you’re too good of a guy, too proper of a Lieutenant Colonel to do anything about it now. I promise I won’t let it get in the way of our professional relationship. I understand. We do have a war to wage, after all. In another life, maybe.”

“In this life.”

Oh? 

Your eyebrows raise. “Are you sure about that, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he tries, but it comes out much weaker than he’d intended.

You round the corner of the desk, stepping forward. You’re definitely in his space now. “What do you want me to call you?”

It takes him a moment to gather the courage. “Yours.” 

You blink at him.

“Call me yours,” he rasps. “I always have been.”

You can’t contain the smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” It’s a weak whisper, a quiet plea for you to claim him after all these years. 

You reach out, cradling his jaw in a soft hand. He shivers at the touch, but leans into the warmth of your palm nonetheless, looking up at you with stars in those gorgeous amber eyes. “I would love nothing more than to call you mine, Brennan Sorrengail.” 

If it’s the admission, the touch, or you saying his name — his real name — that makes his heart flutter, you’ll never know.

“When she told me that you were here, that you were alive… all I could think about was that I wasn’t going to miss my chance with you again.” You take another step closer, standing between his legs, and guide him into a gentle embrace, your thumb brushing over his cheek tenderly. You slide your other hand up to the back of his neck, working your fingers through his hair, and he melts, nuzzling his cheek into your shoulder like a contented housecat. 

You hadn’t even used your signet, but he’s already falling asleep on you. That’s good. He probably hasn’t slept well in a while, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indicator. 

You start to pull back, but his eyes fly back open, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt. “Shh,” you soothe, reaching out with a tendril of your power, and he calms near immediately. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’m not going anywhere.”

He hasn’t been a boy in years — since before he started at Basgiath — but he’d let you call him anything as long as you said it in that soft voice, and looked at him with such adoration, touched him so gently… nobody’s held him like this since he was a child.

You continue stroking his hair, speaking softly. “I was just gonna suggest that we both get some sleep. In a real bed.”

He considers it for a moment, and then with a shaking exhale, slowly lets go of you. You take a cautious step back, but his heartbeat remains steady. Good. You extend a hand to him, and he takes it silently, interlacing his fingers with yours as he rises from his office chair, wincing at the ache in his back and shoulders.

The hallways aren’t as deserted as you’d thought they’d be at this hour, but none of the cadets or officers bat an eye at the sight of the two of you holding hands. He doesn’t say a word as he leads you across the fortress, stopping in front of what has to be the door to his room. It’s incredibly close to yours, actually -- they’d given the higher ranking officers the nicer guest rooms, and put all the cadets in the barracks.

“Brennan,” you say softly, “is it okay if I go get some clean clothes, and take a shower first? I promise I’ll be quick.”

He blinks at you once, twice, realizing what you mean -- you’d thought you’d be spending the night. 

You see it dawn on him, and you continue before he can say anything, a little embarrassed. “If you want me to. I know that’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d like that.”

You give him a soft smile, squeezing his hand gently before you let go of it. “Ten minutes, tops.”

He must have done the same, because when he opens the door for you, his hair looks damp, slightly mussed from having a towel rubbed over it. 

Neither of you say anything as you climb into his bed, gravitating toward each other like magnets. You fit together well, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arm around your waist, your legs intertwined. You can feel his heartbeat slowing, his breaths deepening… 

For the first time since he died, it takes him less than two minutes to fall asleep.

[prettyfastcars]

As sweet as blood-red jam | Mob!Lando

Summary: Lando could be many things given the nature of his job. Mean, commandeering, a control freak. But when he came home to you and the kids, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Your marriage to him was arranged of course, because that’s how things worked in the world you were both from. But love eventually grew between the two of you, and it did not stop growing. 

Themes: dad!Lando, fluff, smut, arranged marriage, domestic!mob!Lando, mild mommy/daddy kink (nicknames only), praise kink, housewife!reader, breeding kink

“They’re sleeping.” 

He announced cheerfully, shutting the door behind him as he walked into your library where you had been reading in silence for the past half an hour. 

You were a stay-at-home mom so the twins, your son and daughter, were under your care all day. And so Lando insisted that you get the evening off the moment he got home. He read to them and tucked them in for the night each night. It was part of his routine and he loved it. 

You placed your wine glass down and picked up the drink you made for him, handing it to him as he came over to sit down next to you on the large sofa. 

His eyes lit up at the sight of the well-deserved drink. “Oh you’re perfect, baby.” He kissed your forehead before getting comfortable next to you, sighing as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

“They’ve been running around all day, they went to see the horses,” You said, thinking about how energetic your kids had been during the day, “I thought they would pass out after dinner but they wanted to wait for daddy.” 

Your husband smiled, looking a little tired as he took a sip of his drink. You caressed his cheek with a gentle hand as he turned to give you a soft look with those gorgeous eyes of his. 

He looked more relaxed and comfortable like this, wearing nothing but dark sweatpants. As opposed to the authoritative figure he is during the day in his expensive, dark suits. Him in casual clothing like this made you realise that he was in fact just a young man, barely 25, who shouldered a lot of weight alone. 

Responsibilities, expectations, risks, reputation, legacy, and now his own family. You’d come a long way, the two of you. Only a couple years ago you were just strangers being introduced at a gala. And now you were young parents. 

You still remember the night you met him for the first time. How gently he held your hand and danced with you. How your engagement was announced only a few months after and the wedding happened quicker than you thought. 

You always thought that you would forever be strangers living under the same roof. Especially given his reputation of being a workaholic which made him such an influential figure in his line of work. 

But Lando proved you wrong. He actually took the time to get to know you early on in your marriage, he cared, he listened. He was good to you. Then a year later, you had the twins and Lando had been perfect. Perfect partner, perfect dad. 

“What are you thinking about, mama?” He asked softly, his hand leisurely caressing your exposed thigh. That golden chain on his neck shining in the dimmed lights of the library. No shirt so you shamelessly ogled his defined abs and muscles. He let you, with a smirk on his handsome face. 

You put the book aside and leaned a little closer to him, cupping his rough chin in your hand. He’d been growing facial hair lately and you liked it. “You work too hard,” You said softly. 

He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your hand as he said, “Just wanna give you and the kids everything you want and need. You deserve it.” 

He had given you everything. Houses, cars, chauffeurs, chefs, private planes, private trainers, cards with no spending limits, vacations. You and the kids were well taken care of. 

You sighed, sliding over and ending up perfectly on his lap. Lando finished his drink, placed the glass aside and grabbed you by the waist to pull you closer. “But we have everything we could ever want or need.” You suggested, “Take a day off. Or two. I’m taking the kids shopping tomorrow, come spend the day with us.” 

Lando gave you a faint smile, “Can’t right now, baby. Some important shipments are about to come in. I can’t afford a day off until it gets here.” 

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle and pull you closer. “But I barely see you.” You murmured. “The last time we had a date night was like, weeks ago.” 

Your face got really hot just thinking about it. Not just the date, but what happened after in the car on the way home… 

Lando smirked, surely also thinking about the same thing, grabbing you by the hips and gently moving you on his lap, rubbing you against his growing erection. You hissed in pleasure as he did. The soft, silky night dress you were wearing bunched up around your upper thighs, allowing you to feel everything. The shape of him, the warmth. 

“If you wanted a lovesick romeo who writes you love notes every morning then you shouldn’t have agreed to marry a man like me.” He taunted, teasing you and pinching your thigh. 

You reached out and grabbed his gold chain, tugging on it playfully, knowing how much he liked it when you did. “Unfortunately I like my men a little more corrupted,” You whispered, “Bonus points if they work all the time and don’t have time for me.” You sassed. 

Lando chuckled, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “Aww, what is it?” He cooed, “You miss daddy? Hmm? Does mommy need some extra love from daddy tonight?” 

You nodded. 

“Come here, baby,” He pressed his mouth to yours as his hands caressed your inner thighs. He kissed you like he was starving, while your hands reached down in between your bodies and eagerly lowered his sweatpants to free his cock. 

You whimpered into the kiss, against his lips as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking his hard cock, making him groan into the kiss before he pulled away and said, “Daddy missed you too.” He murmured, looking down to watch how your hand touched him just how he liked it. “Fuck,” He sighed, “That feels good, baby…” 

His praise gave you enough confidence to stroke him harder, making him groan and moan. You loved the sounds he made. And you wanted to keep hearing those moans so you carefully lifted your lower body off his, pulled your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself down on his cock, earning louder moans out of his sinful mouth as you sank down on him. 

You were wet enough for his cock to slide in, but your body still resisted just a little bit, enough for him to have to thrust up the tiniest bit to fully fill you up. You cried out as he did. 

His soft lips parted just a little, and you couldn’t resist leaning in and sliding your tongue into his mouth. You whimpered against his lips, stroking the top of his mouth as you lifted up and sank back down on his cock, making him growl into the messy kiss. 

“That’s it, baby… fuck yourself on daddy’s cock…” Lando’s hands rubbed up and down your thighs again as he gently thrust his hips up each time, setting a pace that had you both moaning and wanting more of each other. 

Your fingers slid into his hair, scratching his scalp and down his neck as the tip of his cock reached sensitive places inside you. 

Lando chuckled when he felt you clench around him. “We’re not using protection again, mama…” He spoke against your open mouth, breathless as you were, “You’re gonna give me another kid, huh?” He sounded cocky as he said it, like it filled him with pride. “Gonna let me fill you up again till you walk around all nice and swollen with my baby in you, hmm?” 

You whined, feeling him stretch you out each time you moved up and down his cock. “Lando… please,” You gasped as his hand slipped between the two of you and found your clit, he rubbed it lazily. 

“Answer me,” He demanded, “You’re gonna carry another one for me?” His voice sent chills down your back. 

“Yes,” You whimpered, moving faster, impaling yourself down on his cock and whimpering shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. Your lips brushed against his each time you moved up and down his cock, feeling him stretch you out as you stared into his ridiculously pretty eyes. You couldn’t help but speak the thoughts of your lust-drunk mind, “I want you to fill me up again,” You mumbled, feeling yourself getting high up there gradually. 

Lando laughed, also lust-drunk, “I can’t wait…” He said, “Can’t wait to come home and find you dripping wet for me.” His voice gave away that he was thinking back to how needy you were for him all throughout your previous pregnancy. 

You whimpered, thinking about it as well. Some evenings he’d come home and you dragged him to the bedroom immediately. Some days you even called him and asked him if he could come home for an hour or two. Lando happily agreed each time of course. 

“Remember how sensitive you’d get? How needy?” He teased, holding you close. “How you almost cried each time I made you come?” He smirked, male pride all over his face. “Some of the best months of my life those were.” 

You whined, “Please…” You stared into his pretty eyes. 

“Come for me.” He growled in that cold, menacing, erotic voice. “Come for daddy…” 

And you did. Whimpering, squirming and whining. You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and Lando kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him.

Lando came right after you, moaning and spilling inside of you, filling you up as you trembled and squirmed on his lap. You leaned forward, pushing your face into his neck to catch your breath while he held you against him, kissing the side of your face softly. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked after a few minutes of you two just cuddling there on the sofa. 

You nodded, “Mhmm, don’t wanna get up.” You murmured, sighing in bliss as you snuggled into his warm chest. 

He chuckled, “Okay.” He kissed the stop of your head. “I love you,” He whispered.

[jessthebaker]

With Sticks and String

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?” Trust me. You’ll see.

Dieter Bravo x reader

word count: 1.7k-ish

A church basement. A large circle of uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A table at the side with hot water urns, a stack of paper cups, a basket of tea bags and instant coffee sachets. A disused pulpit at one end of the circle for someone to stand and speak.

Dieter stands in the doorway and feels the familiar deja vu. He’s been going in circles for more than a year now, the endless loop of losing control, using, rehab, enforced sobriety, falling into using again. His agent is fed up with his bullshit and finally gave him the “I may be your employee but I’m the only friend you have left, go to rehab and make it work this time or we’re done” speech.

That was two months ago, and he’s done his mandated time at the rehab facility. Now he has to find a NA meeting to attend. He’s been to every NA meeting group in the city over the last few years and never lasted long at any of them. This group is the final one left on the list of available options that gelled with his location and schedule. Not like his schedule was that full anyway.

He notices you at his first meeting and as cliché as it was, there is something different about you. You seem to have the same dark sense of humour as him, the same cheekiness in danger of being stamped out in the name of sobriety. The same marks of near-silent desperation that you can hide from everyone but other addicts. However, the strand of fuzzy yarn running up your legs to connect the pile of fabric on your lap to your bag on the floor is new to him.

After that first meeting, he keeps stealing glances at you from across the circle of chairs. He notices you always have a project in your lap during meetings, your needles clicking softly as a backdrop to the sound of other attendees telling their stories. Sometimes it’s your crochet hook flashing in the light, as your wrist twirls it effortlessly through the air. He’s more fascinated with watching you work than paying attention to the speakers. Your motions are graceful and practiced; you deftly create something out of a jumble of fuzzy string without even looking. It’s like magic to him.

After a few meetings he works up the nerve to say hello to you afterwards. Swap names over weak shitty coffee in flimsy paper cups. A few more meetings, and he sits next to you. A few more weeks, and he asks you about your project. You smirk (got another one, you think to yourself) and show him what you’re working on.

You ask him, “Do you want to have a go?”

“Uh, yeah, if you trust me not to ruin it.”

You scoff lightly. “Don’t worry about ruining anything, it’s crochet. Whatever you fuck up, I can pull back and fix. Just...play around with it.”

You show him the basic stitches, the way to maneuver the hook and where to place it, how to pull up a loop and draw it through. He’s surprised to find he likes it. He works through your row and you show him how to make a turning chain, encourage him to work back through the next row. A soft cough behind you both makes you jump. It’s the meeting leader giving you the wind-up. It’s past time to turn off the lights and lock up. Dieter is surprised to find half an hour has passed in your company.

As you start packing up your project again, you can tell he wants to say something. His eyes are a little wild, his teeth biting at his lip nervously.

“Do you think you could teach me more next week? I think I need something like this. Something to keep - keep the hands busy, you know?”

His hands are always restless, you have noticed this. He’s always fidgeting during meetings, pulling at his coat hems, fiddling with at his pant pockets or the buttons on his lapel, twiddling his earring. Right now as you both stand together, his hands are twitching at his side, making flicking motions as if ashing an invisible cigarette.

“Of course. Come early next week and I’ll show you more.” You beam indulgently at Dieter, and to him it’s as if a shaft of sunlight has put a spotlight on your face.

His face relaxes instantly and a shy half-grin emerges. You get the feeling he has a nice smile when he lets it really show. You secretly wonder if he might have a dimple. You agree on half an hour before the regular meeting time and say your goodnights.

The next week, as promised, you bring a ball of yarn and an extra crochet hook and teach him more of the basics. You get him started with a simple dishcloth project that will fit on his lap during the meeting. You don’t say anything, but you do see that he’s more relaxed with this in hand – he’s not actively working on it during the meeting itself, but he is idly stroking the yarn, turning the partial square around in his hands, rolling and folding and twisting it up. You catch his eye and glance at the wadded up square of crochet stitches in his hands. He looks down too, sees what he’s done subconciously, and gives you a sheepish grin. You wink and grin back.

After that first crochet lesson, your friendship with Dieter grows. You look forward to the weekly meetings in a different way, now. He does too. Beyond the obvious connection of being fellow addicts in recovery, he can talk to you and you don’t stare at him like he’s a nutjob. You enjoy passing down the crafts that have helped you to stay sober these past thirteen years.

And there is the attraction. That doesn't hurt.

You can’t help but stare sometimes when he’s not looking. Does he not realise how handsome he is? Maybe he does. But he doesn’t draw attention to himself that way. Over time he lets slip little details, offhand comments, that give you the impression he used to fuck around but he doesn’t anymore. It makes sense, you think. His celebrity and fame lent itself to partying and access to people as well as drugs. If he’s working this hard to stay sober from substance abuse, maybe he’s also staying away from the rest of it. You try not to let your crush get in the way of your friendship. You know he’s not supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery, anyway.

For all that, you really, really enjoy watching him work. His broad frame hunches over the project on his lap. Even the longest knitting needles always look tiny in his big hands. To say nothing of a short crochet hook, it’s practically fully hidden in his paws. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue pokes out subconsciously when he’s trying to maneuver the hook the right way.

For Dieter’s part, he can’t help but stare when you don’t notice. Do you not know how beautiful you are? Maybe you do. But you don’t draw attention to yourself that way. Over time you let slip comments about your past that give him the impression you used to party, but you don’t anymore. It makes sense, he thinks. If you’ve worked hard to stay sober for this long, maybe you’re also staying away from relationships. He tries not to let his crush get in the way of your friendship. He knows he isn’t supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery anyway.

For all that, he really, really enjoys watching you work. Whatever you’re knitting or crocheting, you make it look effortless. During meetings you sit with your feet crossed neatly underneath you, project in your lap, hands moving deftly through the yarn. Sometimes you don’t even look down, you just move without having to see what your needle or hook is doing. It’s like the tool is an extension of your hands and they work independently of your conscious brain. He wants to know what that feels like.

He’s an eager student. You teach him to crochet first. He wants to be able to “make ALL the things, I don’t want to limit myself!” So you teach him what you know. You teach him to make increases, decreases. Amigurumi toys, granny squares, knitted stockinette. Ribbing, lace, cables, socks, shawls, hats.

He learns to notice mistakes and fix them himself. He teaches himself to alter a pattern to suit his own tastes. He teaches himself to do colourwork through YouTube tutorials, after you admit it’s something you aren't interested in yourself. He figures out what he likes and doesn’t like in his crafting.

Just as Dieter’s path along sobriety has entwined with yours, your lives become more and more entwined over time.

For his six month pin you knit him a slouchy beanie.

For your 14 year pin he crochets you a little stuffed heart, which he presents to you with a shy smile.

For his 1 year pin, you crochet a little stuffed raccoon (his favourite animal) holding the stuffed heart he gave you last year. You’ve embroidered a little word “yes” on the heart.

For your 15 year pin he knits you a simple lace shawl.

For his two year pin, you knit him a handsome scarf and a matching pair of fingerless mittens. (Not too long in the cuff, his tattoos like to be free to breathe.)

For your 16 year pin, he knits you an intricately cabled scarf that he designed himself.

The next year you crochet an afghan together, using your combined stash scraps to make wildly colourful granny squares and crochet them together. Dieter drapes it proudly over the couch in the house you’ve bought together.

When he met you, Dieter was desperate for a hobby to keep his hands busy, to distract himself from the cravings and needing to chase his next high. Thanks to you, he found a different path to the high. Now he chases the euphoria of sinking into a trance as his hands move unconsciously in rhythm with the yarn. The way his brain hums peacefully as he reaches a meditative zen state. He craves the feeling of creating something and watching it grow in his hands.

He loves you, and he loves that you’ve been with him to celebrate every finished project, and every milestone date. Together.

With you, he thinks he can actually do this sobriety thing.

Part 2 is here

Tagging some peeps who were interested in this as a wip!

@toomanytookas @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork

@grogusmum @jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @dieterbravobrainrotclub

@ghotifishreads @covetyou

[jasmines-library]

May I ask for platonic batboys x paramedic reader? The reader works the night shift, so they meet each other pretty often when dealing with criminals as she and her colleagues are doing damage control. They share gossip and find the best all night diners. Sometimes, if they're in trouble and too far from home, they can usually find her in her house.

In short can I just have some fluff of batfam with a civilian friend?

This is my first time requesting anything, plase forgive me if it's a little vague as English isn't really my first language.

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Note: hi hi hi. Before I start anon I just want to say thank you so much for waiting patiently. You requested this like two months ago and i've been so busy that i've only just got around to writing it. Thanks so much for being awesome. This idea is so cute. I also hope that HCs are okay, I really wanted to write this for you quickly (although im not really sure i can call it quick after how long it took me to get round to it) p.s your English is perfect!

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

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The first time you met the boys, it was almost like fate. You instantly clicked.

Like usual you were working the night shift; a shift usually expected to be long and gruelling. But never in city like Gotham.

You had received the call from GCPD, but that wasn't uncommon.

They were dealing with some criminals in the city centre and some bystanders had got caught in the crossfire and needed medical attention.

Again, not unusual. You were a paramedic after all.

What was unusual was the gaggle of masked vigilantes milling around the scene. Not one, but four.

Usually they would have fled by now; moved on to solving crime in another part of the city, but the night was slow and so they were there to help.

Though, I would use the term 'help' loosely. They spent more time getting in the way as they tried to help.

Especially the small one, who you later learned was Damian.

You saw them more often after that.

Weather it was fate working her strange magic or weather it was the fact that you found yourself actively seeking out a swish of their capes.

They were a good laugh; witty and unafraid to tell you what they think.

If nights were slow, you would wander round the streets together, trying out all of the different diners that claimed to have the best pie in the city, but were really just as shit as the next ones.

As your relationships between the vigilantes grew and you came to know them more personally, they would often come to you for help.

Gunshot wound to the shoulder? Jason would be tapping on your window as he pleaded that you would let him in before dripping blood all over your carpet.

Feeling nauseous? Dick would be at your door with a list of his symptoms.

They grew to trust you to help them, and you were glad to do so.

(Although, you would be less than pleased when they show up on your doorstep at two in the morning on your day off)

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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[ilguna]

☼ borrowed time (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; finnick made sure you made it out of your games alive, and now its time to pay back the favor. all good deeds come with a price.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, injuries, blood mention, ehh gore, death, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 11.8k

--

It was a sunny August morning when you were first officially introduced to Victor’s Village, two years ago. The mayor’s secretary had been designated to give you a tour, and to explain how the house would work, now that you were a part of the community. 

“Unlike some of the other districts,” She began. “Four likes to keep their village neat and green.”

She motioned to the grass, which had been so healthy and bright that it almost looked artificial. The flowers in bloom were designated to beds with bricks. There was a cement fountain, and as you grew closer, you could see just how clear the crystal water was.

When you peeked inside, you found coins sitting at the bottom, as if the victors in the village regularly made wishes.

“You don’t have to worry about upkeep, though. We have a groundskeeper for that. If you have any issues or you see plants that are beginning to go, he needs to be notified immediately.” She said, continuing down the path. “The Capitol likes our garden the most, we frequently have photographers come to take pictures for their magazines.“

“Why?” Your mother asked.

“Because we’re one of the nicer districts.” The secretary told her, going up the steps to a house. “We’re here.”

A hand was then placed on your shoulder, as your father went to move around you, to head in first. The secretary held out her hand, shaking her head. 

“It’s customary that the victor enters first. It’s her house, after all.”

“It’s our house.” Your father said back. 

“No, it’s hers. If she were to die tomorrow, you would be moved out the same day. Come, (Y/n).” She said.

You followed her instructions, despite knowing how your father felt about control and being the head of the house. You went up the staircase, to the front door, where she encouraged you to open it. After living in a small house, barely scraping by with every paycheck your parents earned, you could finally sleep in peace knowing that your home wasn’t going anywhere.

When you opened the door, it was like opening a new chapter to your life, a new beginning. There wouldn’t be a need to look over your shoulder, to worry about how your life would turn out. It was solved. You won the Hunger Games.

The house was nice for the first month, before your family decided that they hated you. They didn’t like the circumstances in which you had been given the home. And they would rather be far away from you, in the house you’d grown up in, where you were no longer welcome. 

Now, you live in a place that sits cold, still and quiet. Despite it being a beautiful summer day, there is a weight that sits on this house. It came when the Quarter Quell had been announced in the winter, and it hasn’t left since. As if you’d forget what would be coming for you in a few months. 

How could you, though? President Snow read the card live in front of the entirety of Panem without an ounce of hesitation. He told you that victors would be reaped this year. Everyone heard it, and it’s been echoing in their minds since.

Especially you, considering for the past couple of days, you’ve done nothing but weigh the pros and cons of going back inside of the arena. It would not be for the fun and the honor of having a second title. It would not be for the benefit of more money, which had originally pulled your family out of a dark hole they were desperate to leave.

If you were to volunteer today, it would be for the family you found after you won and your family had abandoned you. It would be for the woman who showed you the love you should’ve received from your mother. For the girl you see as an older sister. For the boy who mentored you, and saved you from becoming just another tribute face from Four that didn’t make it.

There has been a lot of talk among the District Four victors about who would have to be the two tributes to go inside. There isn’t a lot of room for conversation regarding the boys, but the girls are a different story. No one can agree on who it should be, it’s a hard decision to make.

And a decision that shouldn’t be made at all. 

Which is why you have gotten closer and closer to making up your mind about being the female tribute for the Quarter Quell. If it’s not you, then it’s Mags, and she shouldn’t have to go back inside. She won over sixty years ago, she doesn’t know how vicious the arena can be, and her body won’t be able to handle the excursion.

And from what you heard, Finnick is supposed to be the male tribute. He’s agreed to volunteer, not that anyone has any real opposition. But that means he’ll be taking care of Mags inside of the arena, which can slow him down and get killed.

While you, on the other hand, can help him. You won recently, your body is still in shape, you can keep him alive. The same way he kept you alive when you needed him the most. 

You’ll be paying back the favor by doing this, making sure he gets out of the arena alive so he can come home to Four, where he’s loved the most.

It won’t be easy, but it’s what has to be done. 

You step out of your house, pulling the door shut quietly behind you. As soon as the sun touches your skin, you begin to sweat. The July heat in District Four is no joke, if you spend too much time outside, you’ll get sunburnt. And there is no affordable remedy for those who are living at the bottom.

As you leave the village, you eye the houses, half of them barren like yours due to the reaping. Everyone else has already left, they made no effort to be quiet. You would’ve gone with the group, if it weren’t for the fact that you wanted more time alone to think, before you were forced to be on camera.

The journey to the Justice Building starts alone, but the closer you get, the more people appear, coming together to walk in a crowd. Except, it doesn’t matter how thick it gets, because no one comes close to you, giving you space. A halo.

Once you get close to the stage, most of the people disappear to go to their designated spot. While you get to continue forward, to the Peacekeepers, who are awaiting your arrival. You can see the other victors have made it, standing in groups on the stage, making you the last one to arrive.

The Peacekeepers don’t need your name, they recognize your face. They move aside when you’re close, allowing you to pass. You head up the steps one at a time, taking deep breaths. The cameras will be on soon, or maybe they already are, hungry to catch the reaction on your faces.

You half-expect the regular row of chairs on the stage when you make it to the top of the staircase, but you’re met with something new, different. Usually, there’s a long row of chairs, and the victors of Four sit in the order of which they won. With you joining two years ago, it makes you the chair on the far right, one after Annie. While Mags is the first chair on the left, since she’s the oldest surviving victor. 

Well, this year there are no chairs. There are two pens on opposite sides of the stage, one for the female victors, and one for the male victors. Just like how it usually is for the teenage boys and girls of the district. However, they’re allowed to intermingle for this reaping, considering they’re not the ones going to be chosen. 

You wander to where Finnick is, with the few other male victors. He’s got his attention set on Annie, who’s being comforted by a few of the other girls. He breaks away to look at you, eyebrows already raised.

“It took you a while to get here, everything okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, I was just clearing my head.” You tell him, moving your hair out of your face. “Is Annie…?” You trail off, letting him assume what you were going to ask.

His face drops a little. “She’s having a hard time standing in the ropes, it’s bringing her back.”

“Does she know the plan?”

Finnick nods, eyes finding the ground. “Yes, and I think that’s what’s making it worse.” He clears his throat. “Mags is going to volunteer.”

“Wasn’t that always what she was going to do?” You ask, not bothering to correct him. Mags will try to volunteer, and fail, because you will move faster than she does. But that will only work if you’re not the one picked out of the bowl.

“Yes,” Finnick murmurs. “I wish it didn’t have to be her.”

You open your mouth to speak, but a voice calling your name cuts you off, causing you to look over. It’s your Capitol escort, motioning for you to join the rest of the female victors. She taps the empty spot on her left wrist to tell you that it’s almost time for the reaping to start.

“You should go. She’s been pretty anxious this morning.” He tells you.

“I’ll see you later.” You tell him, leaving. 

You join the others, who hold the rope up to help you slip underneath it easier. Mags places a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to make eye contact with her so she can check on you. With her, you almost never need to tell her how you feel, she can see it. It’s nice most of the time, but right now, she might see something different, more than just sorrow.

“Your family?” She asks, speech slurred. 

“They didn’t come to visit.” You tell her, causing her to frown. You shrug, “I didn’t expect them to, anyway. I wouldn’t have let them in the house.” You give her a smile. “Besides, you’re my family, Mags.”

She touches your cheek with the back of her hand. “My daughter.”

The Capitol escort then appears, “They’re going to start in less than a minute. You’ll be on camera, do not make a scene.”

She then hurries to the boys side to give them the same warning. You wonder if these are her instructions, the mayors or Snows. You can only imagine what will happen to those you love if you were to step out of line and say something they don’t want you to.

Although, at this point, you have nothing to lose with your family. They’re out there, somewhere. You can’t find them in the sea of faces that watch the stage. A part of you knows they’re waiting to see if you’ll get chosen so they can swallow up your home. Since you won’t be there to occupy it and tell them no.

You have a feeling that the other victors of Four might tell them to leave, but they might be too caught up in the Quarter Quell to care. If only you could get the chance to tell them, yourself. They lost the right to be in that house when they decided you were a monster for fighting for your life. What else were you supposed to do, die?

Before your thought can continue, the mayor comes up to the podium, causing the citizens of District Four to hush. They listen as he tells the history of Panem, like he does every year. The speech only takes a couple of minutes. When he’s done, he reads the names of the past District Four victors, ending with you.

The escort, Chesna, replaces the mayor at the podium. She places her hands flat on the podium, a habit she started after Annie won. It was like she finally realized the impact the Games had on the survivors. Or so Finnick says.

“Happy Hunger Games,” She speaks smoothly, not an ounce of excitement in her tone. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” There’s a moment of silence. “We will start with the gentlemen.”

Chesna moves away from the microphone, heading to the glass bowl to her right. It’s not entirely unusual for her to start with the men first, sometimes she likes to change the order. She says that it keeps things exciting in the Capitol, and it keeps her from being replaced. 

As much as Snow likes order, he can appreciate unpredictability on occasion. Chesna doesn’t push her limits.

She stops in front of the table, reaching her hand inside for one of the few papers that sit at the bottom. She stirs them, giving everyone a fair chance, before picking one off the side. She carries it to the podium, where she carefully unfolds the paper.

Her shoulders fall, “Finnick Odair.”

In the matter of seconds, his life has changed. And so has your mind, solidifying your decision. No one will volunteer for him, and no one does. He steps out of the pen, taking a few steps forward to stop behind the glass bowl his name was just picked from. 

He looks over, meeting your eyes, and giving you a nod. 

“Now for the ladies.” Chesna says, voice quieter. 

She takes Finnick’s paper with her to the girls bowl. She repeats what she did for the boys, sticking her hand inside, stirring the papers, and then picking one from the middle. She pulls it out, takes it with her to the podium, and then unfolds it.

There’s a pause for a few seconds, you can hear her take a breath through the microphone. Your heart begins to beat in your chest, morbidly curious if your luck is so bad to allow you to get picked twice when given the opportunity.

“Annie Cresta.”

There’s a scream from beside you, coming from Annie. You wince at the pitch and intensity, right in your ear. Mags reaches over to comfort her, probably before she officially volunteers. This is her mistake, because it gives you the perfect window without having to rush to do it.

“I volunteer.” You speak, just loud enough to get Chesna’s attention.

She turns, eyes landing on you. “You volunteer?”

“Yes, I volunteer.” You tell her.

A hand grabs your arm, squeezing tightly. You turn to see that it’s Mags, who seems to have forgotten about Annie. She’s sobbing into her hands, either out of horror or gratitude that the female victors of Four would come to her rescue. 

Mags taps her chest, face screwed hard, shaking her head at you. Disappointment. This is not how she wanted the reaping to go. She wanted to be the one to go, to protect the girls she sees as her daughters. This was not part of her plan.

“I’ve got this.” You tell her in a quiet voice. “Trust me.”

Her lips are pressed in a thin line, unhappy. She lets you go, you step over the rope and head to your spot behind the bowl. Chesna turns back to the microphone. 

“Our tributes this year are (Y/n) (L/n) and Finnick Odair.” She moves back, away from the podium to allow the mayor to wrap up.

All he does is read the Treaty of Treason before turning in your direction, motioning for you to shake hands, keeping custom. You turn to Finnick, and find the same expression that Mags had, on his face. You hold out your hand, he takes it.

You shake once, sealing your fate.

—

“Let’s take a break.” Katniss suggests, looking between the three of you. “I need to get another look from above.”

Finnick gives her a nod, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He briefly looks at the wetness on his thumb before rubbing it off on his jumpsuit, shaking his head. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s thinking, because you have the exact same thing on your mind; it’s hot.

And this is coming from a pair of people who are no strangers to the heat. There have been countless times where District Four has almost broken its own blistering record. Which shouldn’t be possible. You can feel it the most in the summer, especially if you’re out there working on the water.

While golden tans are common, so are deep sunburns.

The arena is a different type of heat, it doesn’t have the dryness you get back home. It’s the opposite, actually. It’s humid, partially due to the jungle, partially because you’re trapped in a giant terrarium. Between the saltwater lake, the luscious greenery and the white hot sun—you’re being boiled alive.

There’s nothing you can do about it, either. The shade provided by the tall trees and the giant leaves are no relief from the temperature. You’re stuck dealing with wet hair and sticky skin.

It doesn’t help that you can’t find any water.

This is what Katniss will look for while she scales the tallest tree. It’s on all of your minds. You watch her wedge her toes and fingers into gaps in the bark, pulling herself up. Once she reaches the branches, she disappears, moving quicker.

This leaves you, Finnick and Peeta to enjoy each other’s company. The four of you have been running away from the Cornucopia for over an hour, trying to get distance from the Careers. You’re thirty, and you’d do almost anything for a glass of cold water.

”How’re you feeling?” Finnick asks, leaning against a nearby tree. He’s got his trident gripped in his hand loosely, tired of carrying it.

“Better.” Peeta says, rubbing his legs. “The more we walk, the less stiff I feel.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t die.” You tell him, shaking your head. 

It took you all by surprise when the sparks flew after he hit the force field with his machete. For a second, you thought he might’ve swiped at a rock, and you were briefly impressed before he got thrown back, knocking you all down. 

“I’m lucky you’re our allies.” Peeta agrees, motioning at the gold bracelet on Finnick’s wrist, referencing Haymitch.

He got a bracelet, while you have nothing to show. Finnick has done everything in his power to make it clear to everyone that you’re following his lead. You weren’t meant to volunteer, Mags would never have been so cruel to agree to it beforehand. 

Haymitch listened to Finnick, despite the many times you asked him to include you on the rebel plan they were figuring out. He never did. He told you he has enough on his plate with Katniss and Peeta, the last thing he needs is another teenager to protect. 

He didn’t necessarily call you Finnick’s problem outright, but he definitely heavily implied it.

You’ll take it for now, but you have a feeling you’ll be more help than they could’ve imagined, later on down the line. You’re an extra pair of fighting hands, while Mags would not have been. And anything she can build in a moment's notice, you can too. It’s not an exclusive skill.

Besides, you don’t think Finnick actually wanted to bring Mags into the arena, he knows what would’ve inevitably happened. There’s less risk with you. You can keep yourself safe, and more importantly, him.

“We wanted to be allies from the beginning, but Katniss has more of a…” You trail off, looking into the trees, trying to find the word, “Cautious palette.” Your eyes land back on Peeta. “With others our age, that’s not really the case. Besides, Finnick can come off strong.”

Finnick scowls at you, mostly because you’re undermining him, but Peeta lets out a sigh and nods. “I think Katniss will come around to that, though.”

“We hope so.”

The rustling of leaves overhead halts the conversation, causing you to look to make sure that it’s Katniss coming down the tree, and not some jungle bird. She’s carefully lowering herself, one arm length at a time. Peeta stands at the base, hands outstretched to catch her, just in case her hand slips.

She makes it though, landing on her feet in the grass. She brushes debris off the front of her jumpsuit before turning to face you. “The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don’t know how high it goes. There’s the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large.”

“Did you see any water?” Finnick asks.

“Only the saltwater where we started the Games.” She answers, shaking her head.

“There must be some other source,” Peeta frowns. “Or we’ll all be dead in a matter of days.”

“Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere.” Katniss suggests, but she doesn’t seem all that convinced, herself. “At any rate, there’s no point in trying to find out what’s over the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing.”

“There has to be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel.” You insist. 

Collectively, the four of you agree to head back down the slope a couple hundred yards, still circling to see if you’ll come across water. Katniss leads, determined to come across something. By midafternoon, it’s clear you have to stop, because all you’re doing is exhausting yourselves.

Finnick decides he wants to keep close to the force field, so Katniss takes her time to make a hard line in the spongy dirt to ensure no one gets close enough to accidentally hurt themselves. Peeta goes around nearby trees, digging in the grass to collect nuts, which Katniss initially refuses to let him eat. 

It isn’t until you’re allowed a closer look, are you able to tell them that they’re fine and the nuts are edible. You can’t place your finger on what kind they are exactly, all you remember is your time in the Training Center a couple years ago. You took the time to memorize every little detail you could for a forest arena, because that would be your biggest bet to survival.

Since you’re able to identify the nuts, Katniss lets Peeta continue to gather them. He even goes on to roast them by bouncing them off the force field. Once he’s done, he peels off the shells one by one, placing the meats on a large leaf.

Katniss guards, walking around occasionally, wiping the sweat from her face. You sit at the base of a tree, near Finnick, plucking long leaves from jungle plants to weave mats. They’re hard to get started, but once you get a pattern down, it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Before you know it, you’re working on your third.

“Finnick, why don’t you stand guard and I’ll hunt around some more for water.” Katniss suggests, shaking her head.

“You want to go off alone?” Peeta asks, lips pressed together.

“It’ll be faster that way.” She reasons. “Don’t worry, I won’t go far.”

“I’ll go, too.” He says, starting to move to get to his feet.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can.” She tells him, raising her eyebrows. “I won’t be long.”

“Stay within shouting distance.” You tell her. “I’m a quick runner.”

Katniss nods, and then heads off into the trees. It’s fairly quiet between the three of you, besides the sound of nuts singeing. You keep a careful eye on Finnick, watching how far he goes, when he hesitates to move away. 

You want to tell him that there’s no reason to patrol just yet. The bloodbath is still going on, meaning a majority of the tributes are fighting for their lives. And if you do run across anyone in the jungle, there’s a seventy percent chance they’re an ally, rather than some district that got left out.

More importantly, the Careers aren’t going to be out here roaming quite yet. If you were him, you’d be saving your energy. Especially since the more he paces, the more he sweats out the water he drank this morning. You all have a better chance at sitting it out right now to see if the heat dies down before wasting your energy on meaningless tasks like guarding.

The real challenge will come tonight, when you’ll wish you could be sleeping, but you’re flinching at every little noise instead. True paranoia comes out in the dark. You remember what that was like.

It has to be another hour before the first cannon comes through, causing your fingers to freeze in place so you can listen properly. They come one at a time, making it easy to count, until it finally stops at eight.

Your hands lower to rest in your lap as you turn to look at Finnick, who has his eyes set on you. One-third of the competition has been taken out already, and you won’t be able to know who for a few more hours. 

“Sixteen left.” Peeta murmurs.

Neither of you say anything back to him.

After making a few mats out of the grass and leaves, you begin to tie them together to form one large hut. It has three walls, a floor and a roof. You’ve made it just big enough to fit three people in it at a time, assuming that one of you will always be on watch.

When you’re done, Peeta asks if you’ll make him bowls, which you agree to. They’re small and easy to put together. He fills them with handfuls of the nuts he’s been roasting, setting them aside for later.

With nothing else to do, you offer for Finnick to lay down in the hut while you take watch, but all he does is give you a look before turning away. It’s cold of him to do, and it would mean more if you didn’t know that it won’t last long. Once he’s exhausted, he’s going to look to someone else to keep an eye on Katniss and Peeta. 

You’ll let him think that he can wait until you’re with Johanna and Blight, two people who are older and more responsible. You know better than that. As soon as the sun goes down, he’ll feel the effects of the day, including the heat, and then he’ll be asking you to take over.

The sound of rustling leaves causes all three of you to turn toward the noise. It’s only Katniss, bow on her shoulder, carrying something at her side. She shakes her head. “No. No water. It’s out there, though. He knew where it was,” She says, holding up a skinned rodent for you to see better. “He’d been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn’t find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius.”

“Can we eat him?” Peeta asks.

“I don’t know for sure. But his meat doesn’t look that different from a squirrel’s. He ought to be cooked…” She trails off, you press your lips together. 

You all very well know the danger of lighting a fire in an arena. It’s like waving the white flag. You’re going to signal to everyone that you’re here. Sure, you could probably get some time with a fire before they show up, but it won’t be worth the effort of putting it together. Besides, it’s so hot in here that sitting next to one will be torture.

Peeta has a different idea, though. He has Katniss cube the meat, and then he skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick. He lets the stick fall into the force field, causing the meat to sizzle. It’s black on the outer layer, but upon pulling the meat apart, it’s well cooked on the inside. 

It takes time for Peeta to char each chunk of meat, but by the end, the four of you are hungry. He takes his bowls and joins you in the hut, allowing you to start. You take turns on the meat, since it’s in such scarce quantities. As for the nuts, you take handfuls and pop them into your mouth.

While you eat, Finnick has many questions regarding the animal—which they settle on calling a tree rat. How high it was, how long did she watch it for before killing it, and what it was doing? She tries to make her answers detailed, but she honestly doesn’t remember the tree rat doing anything that stood out. It was just climbing on the trees, snuffing around.

The sun sinks into the horizon, bringing on the night. The conversation between Finnick and Katniss fizzles out as you gather at the mouth of the hut to watch the sky. It brightens when the Capitol seal appears, and in the far distance, you think you can make out the notes of the anthem.

The first face to appear in the sky is the man from District Five, the one that Finnick killed at the Cornucopia. This means the tributes from Districts One through Four have made it out alive. All four Careers, Wiress and Beetee, and obviously, you and Finnick.

The next is the morphling addict from District Six, then Cecelia and Woof from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten, and the woman from Eleven. The Capitol seal reappears in the sky with the ending notes of the anthem, and then the sky goes dark. Only the moon remains.

There’s a moment of silence after. You close your eyes, hands flat on your knees as you take a breath. Cecelia and Woof are a tragedy, especially to you. You know—knew—both of them very well. You met Cecelia while you were mentoring for the first time, and she provided a lot of insight for you. As for Woof, she talked about him a lot, how he was one of the reasons why she did so well in her Games, even at his age. You were happy to meet him this year, even though you knew what would be coming.

If Mags had come instead, she easily could’ve died like Woof. Finnick would have done everything in his power to make sure it didn’t happen, but it would’ve been a possibility regardless. Nature will run its course, no matter what you do to step in the way of it.

You open your eyes.

A silent silver parachute appears in the air, landing at the feet of Peeta. No one immediately moves to grab it.

“Whose is it, do you think?” Katniss asks after a few seconds.

“No telling.” Finnick says. “Why don’t we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?”

Peeta lets out an amused breath. He unties the cord, flattening out the circle of silk. In the center sits a small metal object, unfamiliar to you. Your face twists, you look at Finnick to see his reaction, and find it just as quizzical.

“What is it?” Katniss asks, picking it up off the cloth. 

She turns it over in her fingers, examining it, feeling every inch of it before passing it to Finnick, who does the same. He passes it to Peeta, who finally hands it to you. It’s a metal tube, tapered at one end. On the other end is a lip, a tunnel, that curves downward.

Peeta blows air through it to see if it makes noise, it doesn’t. Finnick sticks his pinky in it, testing it out as a weapon, ridiculous. 

“Can you fish with it?” Katniss asks, looking at you.

You shake your head. “It’s not anything I’ve seen before.”

Katniss rolls it back and forth on her palm, thinking to herself. She stares off into the trees, making various expressions. She wipes the sweat from her face, holding it out in the moonlight. No matter how many angles she looks at it from, it makes no sense. 

She lets out an irritated sigh, jamming one end of it into the dirt. “I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out.”

Katniss stretches, laying down in the hut, staring at the metal object in the dirt. Peeta massages her back. You slide out, wanting to stand up. Finnick watches as you take a few steps away, knife in your hand. You cross your arms, looking down at him with your eyebrows raised.

He shakes his head at you.

Less than a minute later, Katniss gasps. “A spile!” She says, sitting upright.

“What?” Finnick asks. 

Katniss grabs the object, brushing the dirt off. She holds it up to the light again, running her finger over the lip. “It’s a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out.” She lowers the object and looks at the trees around her. “Well, the right sort of tree.”

“Sap?” You ask.

“To make syrup,” Peeta clarifies. “But there must be something else inside these trees.”

They get up at once, eyes wild and eyeing the trees, which must have water in them. Finnick plucks the spile from Katniss’s hands and goes to hammer it into the green bark of a large tree with a rock, when she stops him. “Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first.”

You reach into your waistband, grabbing out one of the smaller knives you don’t mind parting with. Peeta takes it, and gets to driving it into the tree. He takes turns with Finnick opening up the hole. Once it can hold the spile, Katniss carefully wiggles it in, and then takes a step back.

The four of you stare, waiting for something to happen. It takes almost a full minute for a single drop of water to come rolling out of the tube, dripping off the lip. Katniss goes to readjust it, changing angles, which allows a thin stream of water to begin to come out.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips at the sight of water. You each take turns drinking from the spile, desperate to combat the amount of sweat that has been leaving your body these past few hours. When you finally step away from your turn, coughing, you head to the hut. 

There’s a bowl with a few nuts still sitting inside, so you shake out the meat onto the flooring, and then head back to the spile. It’ll be easier to drink out of a bowl, you’ll be able to take in more after it’s been filled. The others back off long enough for you to get it halfway full, which is when thirst takes over again, and you begin to take several gulps.

Once drunk, the bowl is refilled, and the water is used to clean the sweat off your faces. The water’s warm, a disappointment, but when a breeze blows through, it cools your skin. When your thirst is quenched, you return to the hut, sitting inside with your knees pulled to your chest.

Everyone is clearly exhausted from the workout of hiking through the jungle all day. Katniss pulls the spile from the tree and ties it to her belt using a thin vine. She then comes to join you in the hut, with Peeta and Finnick following close behind.

“I can take first watch.” Finnick says, fiddling with the trident in his hands. “Let you get some rest.”

Katniss nods, no arguments coming from her. She and Peeta curl up together on the left side of the hut, leaving the entire right side to you. You and Finnick have a staring contest for a long while, and right when you go to tell him to wake you when he’s tired, he turns away and leaves.

“I’ll take next watch.” Katniss says without rolling over.

“I’ll wake you when I’m tired.” Finnick tells her.

You grit your teeth and hold your tongue. Katniss is younger than you and less responsible, but he doesn’t have an issue with her taking watch? You swear he’s completely backward. 

Either way, you take the opportunity to sleep. It doesn’t take very long, with the sound of Finnick shuffling through the grass, and the insects in the background. The background noise lulls you to sleep in the matter of seconds.

And you’re woken just as easily a few hours later by the sound of a bell echoing through the arena. You jerk into an upright position, knife in hand, squinting into the darkness. Finnick is a few feet away from you, paused and listening. 

When it stops, he turns to face you and Katniss, the only other two awake. Peeta has slept through the bells entirely. “I counted twelve.” Finnick says.

Katniss nods, agreeing. “Mean anything, do you think?”

“No idea.” You murmur.

You wait in silence for an announcement that never comes. You’re just beginning to relax, when a sparkling bolt of lightning strikes a tree across the arena. Thunder cracks, you jump at the intensity, wincing. 

“Go to sleep, Finnick. It’s my turn to watch, anyway.” Katniss says.

Finnick makes a face, even gives you a look, but he comes to join you and Peeta inside of the hut. Katniss gets up, loads her bow, and wanders over to a large rock to lean against.

You watch for a few curious minutes as the lightning continuously strikes the same tree, never moving from that one spot. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to remember this, and then suddenly it becomes insignificant enough for you to go back to bed.

A part of you doesn’t allow you to fully sleep. You drift in and out of consciousness, as every little change in noise brings you off the brink. You can hear when the lightning comes to an end, which can’t be more than an hour later, only for rain to start after. This keeps you awake for several minutes, wondering why the rain hadn’t begun sooner.

A cannon goes off, a sigh of frustration leaves you. You turn on your side, clamping your arms over your ears to block any further noises from reaching you. It works for maybe thirty minutes, before your eyes pop open at the realization that the rain has come to a sudden end. All at once.

You sit up, unhappy and groggy. Katniss spares you a glance, but she’s more focused on the trees. It’s not normal for rain to stop altogether, it’ll slowly fade out to a drizzle first. This means that the rain was artificial, started by the Gamemakers. And with how quick the lightning stopped, you’ll even bet that they did that, too…

Suspicious, you open your mouth to speak to Katniss, but the words die in your throat when you watch fog begin to slide in your direction, coming from where it was raining just moments ago. It’s thick and white, and its pace isn’t slowing, it’s steadily coming for you.

Your hand grabs Finnick’s thigh, squeezing tightly as you begin to shake him awake, hard. Katniss doesn’t really move from where she sits on the rocks, watching as the fog comes closer. A sugary smell invades your sinuses, Katniss blinks as if she’s been slapped.

You watch in horror as the fog begins to wrap around Katniss’s legs, she jumps to her feet, “Run!” She screams, which is all the confirmation you need. “Run!”

The fog is engineered.

Finnick snaps awake, on his feet in a single second, trident in hand as if he’s going to defend your camp against an intruder. You fly across the hut to pull Peeta to his feet, but it’s not easy. He’s heavy and half-asleep. It isn’t until Finnick steps in to help, do you need the Twelve tribute up.

You grab Finnick’s wrist, yanking him out of the hut and diagonally downward to the beach, away from every direction the fog comes at you. Katniss and Peeta are right behind you.

“What is it? What is it?” Peeta asks.

“Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!” Katniss urges.

You cover a good amount of ground, occasionally looking back to check on Katniss and Peeta to make sure they’re coming, but they’ve lost momentum. Peeta has to follow directly behind Katniss to watch her feet, but even then, his prosthetic leg is getting stuck in the snarls of roots.

“We’re going to have a problem on our hands.” You tell Finnick, releasing the grip you have on him.

“What?” Finnick asks, pace slowing to see what you mean.

You both turn in time to watch as Peeta takes a hand fall, almost smacking his face on a root. Katniss tries to help him to his feet, but completely freezes as she stares at him. For a second, you’re sure he’s dead, until a spasm runs up her arm, uncontrollably twitching.

“Shit.” Finnick spits, turning to run back to help.

Katniss jerks backward, causing Peeta to stumble again. By the time Finnick gets there to help, the both of them are a mess. Katniss’s arms are out of commission, and every step Peeta takes is chunky and out of character. Katniss has to wedge her shoulder beneath Peeta’s arm to help even slightly.

They make it down another ten yards before Finnick tells Katniss to run, while he carries Peeta. You don’t move from where your feet are planted in the dirt until Finnick is keeping a decent pace in front of the fog. 

Together, you travel as far as your legs will allow you. No matter how careful you try to be, the fog manages to swipe at you in several places. Your arms, your legs, up the side of your neck, on the heels of your feet. No matter what you do, you don’t stop moving, pushing past the burning pain in your thighs and calves.

Katniss trips over a root, hits the ground hand, and rolls down a hill. It’s not even thirty seconds later when the same happens to Finnick. Peeta goes flying, Finnick’s entire front half slams into the dirt, and he’s too exhausted to pick himself up. You try to slow your pace to avoid joining them, but your foot tangles in Finnick’s boot.

The impact doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. All your thoughts scramble as you roll several times before coming to a sudden stop. You’re stuck gasping for air, staring into the foliage above, not an ounce of energy left to pick yourself up to keep running.

Katniss mutters out something incoherent, and then clears her throat. “It’s stopped.”

A wave of bliss runs over your body, you close your eyes. You’re not going to die, at least not tonight.

—

The arena’s a clock, and you had a feeling it was something along those lines. After what happened early this morning, you knew the Gamemakers were up to something, there had to be another twist. It couldn’t just be the fact that victors were reaped to be this year's tributes, they had to do something to the arena, too.

You tried telling Finnick about your theory after the monkey mutt incident, but he didn’t want to listen, of course. It wasn’t until you came across Johanna, Wiress and Beetee, did it begin to really click. Especially since Wiress was stuck on loop, repeating, “Tick tock”. 

Katniss listened to what Johanna had to say about the rain last night, which had turned out to be blood. Which had her thinking about what you had to say about Gamemaker interference. And with Wiress losing her mind, she pieced it together, herself.

“(Y/n)’s right.” Katniss suddenly said. “The arena’s a clock. And Wiress knows it, too.”

The validation from them was nice, but the look on Finnick’s face was priceless. You couldn’t help the smile you gave him. It was a way to say, “See, I can be smart and helpful”. But you think that irritated him more than anything.

Peeta carefully lays Beetee in the little bit of shade the Cornucopia provides. Beetee calls out to Wiress, causing her to come over and crouch beside him. He passes a coil of wire to her—which he had risked his life to get out of the Cornucopia during the bloodbath—and asks, “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods, and then heads to the edge of the center island to dunk the coil in the water. She starts to quietly sing to herself, some song about a mouse running up a clock. You’ve never heard it before.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna says, heavily rolling her eyes. She’s had enough of them. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

Suddenly, Wiress gets to her feet, ominously pointing to a part of the jungle. “Two.”

You follow her finger, and find that the fog has just begun to creep onto the beach. “Yes, look, Wiress is right.” Katniss says. “It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.”

“Like clockwork,” Peeta says. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

Wiress smiles, as if she already knows that, and goes right back to singing to herself and dunking the coil. 

“Oh, she’s more than smart,” Beetee tells you. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks Katniss, causing several heads to turn in her direction.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” She says.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks morbidly.

“It stops signing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” She says, walking away to look through the weapons in the Cornucopia.

Johanna is right behind her, poking around, overturning boxes. She’s searching for something in particular, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s an axe. She comes up with a pair of them, and launches one at the sun-softened gold of the Cornucopia. It sticks.

Peeta squats on the ground in the sun, using the tip of a machete’s blade to draw a large circle, a smaller circle at the center, twelve spokes, the waterline. He moves quickly, as if he’s been waiting to do this all day.

“Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.” Peeta tells Katniss.

She wanders over, standing over his shoulder to look at his map. “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.” She says.

“Right, so this is the top of our clock,” he says, writing the numbers one through twelve around the circle. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He goes on to write lightning in the wedge it belongs, moving clockwise to add blood, fog and monkeys in the next three sections.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” Katniss says, he adds it.

Johanna and Finnick join the three of you, curious of what you’re up to. You glance at them out of habit, but have to do a double-take when you realize just how many blades they have strapped to their bodies. Tridents, axes, knives. You think Finnick even has an extra sheath of arrows for Katniss on his back.

It makes you feel unprepared, even though you took your time to select your spread of knives yesterday, during the bloodbath. While Katniss and Finnick were searching the water and fending off the Careers, you meticulously went through every set until you found the one that would be perfect for you. A match made in heaven.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks Johanna and Beetee. They shake their heads, only mentioning the blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing a diagonal line on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.

Everyone nods in agreement, you look out to the jungle, curious on what else could be out there. You’ve just barely scratched the surface…

Your heart seizes in your chest at the sight of a dripping Gloss, sliding his knife across Wiress’s throat. In two jerky movements, you’ve thrown a knife at him, at the same time that Katniss has shot an arrow. While your knife slams into the center of his forehead, her arrow pierces his heart.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Cashmere running up the side of the island, but before you can even think of grabbing another knife, Johanna has buried an axe in Cashmere’s chest. 

You turn, attention focused on Finnick and repaying the favor, when you see Brutus. All you can do is tackle Finnick and Peeta, bringing them both down to the sand, narrowly missing the spear that ricochets off the Cornucopia. 

As you get up to follow them, Finnick pulls you back down, keeping you from moving from your spot. You watch helplessly as Katniss runs after the Careers by herself. In quick succession, three cannons sound, one after the other, confirming the three obvious deaths.

Right as Finnick’s grip loosens, and he begins to pull himself upright, the ground beneath you jerks, and you’re thrown on top of Finnick. The island the Cornucopia sits on top of begins to spin, gaining speed with every passing second, turning the jungle into one big blended blur.

You begin to slide through the sand, toward the water, due to the sheer amount of force. You try to save yourself by digging your fingers and shoes into the sand, desperate to hang on to anything, but it barely works. You almost make it to the edge of the island, feeling the mist of the saltwater on your face, when you come to a hard stop. 

You pull yourself to your knees, rubbing the sand out of the corners of your eyes, squinting. Katniss comes stumbling around the side of the Cornucopia, using it to hold herself up. From what you can tell, Peeta, Finnick and Johanna have managed to hang on.

None of you move from where you are, trying to catch your breaths and come back to reality. The dizziness begins to subside after a minute, enough to the point where you feel comfortable to be on your feet. The others are quick to follow.

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks.

Her question causes you to take a lap around the island, searching the saltwater for the man. You find him about twenty yards out, paddling hard to come back to the group. You shed your knives onto the strip of sand, diving into the water to save him without a second thought.

It doesn’t take long to reach him, and he’s still calm enough to allow you to tow him back to land. There was one time when you were in grade school—one of the younger kids was still learning how to swim. He swam out too far and he was struggling to swim back to shore. 

There’s an unspoken rule in District Four when it comes to people drowning, especially children. Even if they don’t belong to you, you go out there and save them. Their guardians could be a foot away, but if your eyes catch them first, then you need to be the one to fish them out.

Anyway, you were clearly the first to find the boy, so you went out there to get him, thinking that it was going to be easy. Obviously, the citizens of Four know a variety of swimming techniques, and you expected this kid to at least know a few. So, when you got to him, you let him grab you, thinking nothing of it.

And you almost drowned because of it.

It turns out that when people are struggling to keep their heads above water, their self-preservation kicks in. The fight or flight response. In this case, he used you as a human ladder to climb himself higher above water, pushing you down in the process. It took another two adults to come and save you after that.

Needless to say, you’re overly cautious when it comes to pulling people out of water, now. You have to be. And with a grown man like Beetee, who weighs more than you, he could push you under and keep you there. It’s a dangerous game to play.

Once you get him back to land, Peeta and Finnick work to help pull him back on the sand strip. You pull yourself up, and ring out what little clothes you have on. After the fog, the suits you were sent into the arena with completely disintegrated. You collect your knives from the sand, and follow the others back to the mouth of the Cornucopia.

Katniss is soggy now, too. She holds the coil of water in one of her hands, and the bow in the other. She probably had to pull it off of Wiress’s body. In one fluid motion, she sets it on Beetee’s lap, while he cleans his glasses. When he’s done, he unravels a small bit of the wire to inspect it.

Katniss moves to be with Peeta.

“Let’s get off this stinking island.” Johanna says, adjusting the axe in her hand.

The others grab their respected weapons, and you watch as Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off to three different spokes. Neither you, Katniss or Beetee move from where you stand.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta says. “The tail points at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick says. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.” Katniss informs him.

“I think Katniss’s point is, knowing the time doesn’t mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of jungle as well.” Beetee pitches in.

Katniss pauses for a moment, “Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.”

They circle the Cornucopia, inspecting the jungle, looking for a difference in each wedge, but they can’t find any. Katniss mentions something about how the lightning tree was huge and impossible to miss last night, yet now it seems like there’s a tree like that in every slice. Johanna thinks to follow Enobaria’s and Brutus’s footsteps, but they were blown away by the wind when the Cornucopia was spinning.

“I should have never mentioned the clock.” Katniss shakes her head. “Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“Only temporarily.” Beetee says. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta rubs her shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna sighs impatiently. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She pops out a hip, crossing her arms. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

A path is chosen at random, with Johanna leading, and you and Finnick taking up the rear. You look back at the Cornucopia, eyeing it to make sure that what’s left of the Careers isn’t following your group. It’s clear.

“I bet you’re glad that I’m here.” You tell Finnick, who’s walking in front of you. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be injured by now.”

Finnick comes to a dead stop in front of you, turning around to glare. The others don’t notice, continuing down the sand strip. He waits to make sure there’s a distance between you two and them before he lowers his voice, eyebrows turned downward.

“No, (Y/n), I’m not happy you’re here.” He snaps. “Why would I be? I’ve been babysitting you the entire time to make sure you don’t run off and do anything stupid.”

“Who was awake when the fog came rolling in?” You shoot back, face twisted. “And who was the one that tackled you and Peeta to keep you from getting hurt by Enobaria and Brutus?” 

“I don’t need you.” He suddenly says, squinting. “In the case that you wouldn’t have been here, Johanna would’ve had my back just the same. I don’t need another teenager to watch over, and that’s exactly what you are.”

“You don’t need to watch over me.” You tell Finnick, “I can take care of myself, and I’ve done just fine this entire time.”

“Wonder why.” He says, his tone sarcastic. 

He turns around, going back to following your group.

“You’re going to eat your words, Finnick.” You tell him.

—

You watch as Beetee calls Finnick over to assist him with the lightning tree, continuing with the rebel plan. He crouches down next to the coil of wire, unrolling yards upon yards of it, putting it off to the side, but never detaching it from the rest. While he does this, he has Finnick secure the loose end tightly around a broken branch that he lays on the ground when he’s done.

They then stand on either side of the tree, passing the spool back and forth as they unravel the coil. They spend a good five minutes just aimlessly wrapping it around the trunk before Beetee begins to create a pattern out of where his wire hits. Like it has to be in a certain spot in order for it to work properly.

By the time the wave begins, they’re beginning to finish. Beetee waits for the rumbling of the water in the distance to stop, and then he reveals the rest of the plan that he’s been keeping to himself. 

Since you, Katniss and Johanna move quickly through the jungle on your own, he wants the three of you to take the coil down to the center water, unwinding the wire as you go down. He’s very specific when he tells you to lay it across the beach at the twelve spoke, and to swim the coil out as deep as you can, making sure that it sinks when you let go.

After that, you have to run for the jungle. 

“If you leave, right now, you should make it to safety.” Beetee finishes, adjusting the glasses on his face.

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says immediately.

“You’re too slow. Besides, I’ll need you on this end. Katniss will guard.” Beetee tells him. “There’s no time to debate this. I’m sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now.” He hands the coil over to Johanna.

“Remember what happened during the fog?” You ask Peeta, raising your eyebrows.

A small frown comes over his lips, Katniss closes the distance between them. “It’s okay.” She murmurs. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“Not into the lightning zone.” Beetee reminds her. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two o’clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.”

Katniss gently cups Peeta’s cheeks with her hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She kisses him, and then turns to face you and Johanna. “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs. “You two guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

They begin to head down the slope, you hesitate, looking in Finnick’s direction, only to find that his back is turned to you, disinterested. He’s probably just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you for the next hour. If you had to guess, he had a conversation with Johanna early this morning about keeping an eye on you. And you know she won’t hesitate to ‘put you in your place’ if she sees fit.

It’s an unfair advantage.

You follow behind Katniss and Johanna, knife in hand, keeping an eye on the trees around you. A lot of things need to happen tonight in order for you to reach the goal, which is being rescued out of here. Haymitch has been sending you signals, as he promised, through the forms of district bread. He’s confirmed the day and time several times already, so there’s not a question in your mind when it’s happening.

Tonight, at midnight.

Haymitch has specific instructions to keep Katniss and Peeta unaware of what’s going on, because Katniss has a tendency to overthink and fuck up. And Peeta performs best when he doesn’t know that people are moving around him. In the start, it was yours and Finnick’s job to ensure that they made it out of the bloodbath alive.

Beetee and Wiress were necessary in the long run for the plan to leave the arena. It’s a shame that Wiress didn’t make it, but in the state she was in, she wouldn’t have been much help anymore. Besides managing to confirm what you said about the arena possibly being a clock.

As for Johanna and Blight, they were tasked with finding your group and joining it. They happened to come across the Three tributes in the bloodbath, rescued them, and got stuck with them. Of course, you all came together eventually, but you think if Johanna had joined any sooner, that the alliance would’ve fallen apart.

After all, Johanna had slapped Katniss not even five minutes into their conversation, yesterday. 

Anyway, you think Beetee’s trying to cause a blackout with the lightning tree. It’s no secret that the arenas are domes and it’s all a facade. Supposedly, the lightning from the sky will hit the tree, which is connected to the wire that brings it to the water. It’ll fry everything in the center, but at the same time, it should destroy the dome. 

All cameras will shut off, the rebel hovercraft will come in, take all of you in, and then take you to… wherever it was that Haymitch and Plutarch had in mind.

In the meantime, while this is happening, the trackers in your arms need to be taken out. More importantly, Katniss and Peeta’s trackers. They will be the first people the Capitol will try and capture, with the rest of you following behind in varying degrees of importance, based on your role. 

In theory, this is straightforward and easy. In action, if even one unpredicted event happens, it could screw the entire plan.

“Better hurry.” Johanna says. “I want to put a lot of distance between me and that water before the lightning hits. Just in case Volts miscalculated something.”

“I’ll take the coil for a while.” Katniss says, glancing over her shoulder. “You can take it next, (Y/n).”

“Sounds good to me.” You nod.

“Here.” Johanna says, passing the coil over to Katniss.

Neither of them have let go from the coil, when you watch as the wire vibrates. And then suddenly, it springs back at you. You’re barely able to jerk out of the way before the end comes snaking up to your feet, the wire wrapped in tangled loops and curls around their wrists.

There’s a moment of silence between the three of you, which is when your heart starts to pound in your chest. Someone farther up has just cut the wire on purpose, and it’ll be a matter of minutes before they’re here.

Johanna’s eyes dart to yours, and she mouths, “Now.”

For a moment, you’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to do, until Katniss lets go of the wire, leaving only Johanna to hold it. Just as Katniss begins to load her bow to  protect herself, Johanna swings the coil back and slams it into the side of Katniss’s head.

Oh.

Johanna drags a half-conscious Katniss down the slope and underneath a ledge of dirt, where the grass and ferns hide her well in the dark. She sits on Katniss’s chest, knees pressed to her shoulders. There’s not even a moment of hesitation when she slices through Katniss’s forearm, right where they insert the tracker.

The sound of greenery rustling is what breaks you away, eyes narrowing on some dark figures coming down the jungle. You get into a crouch, carefully backing down to be next to Johanna, who’s crushing the tracker against a root. When she’s done, she wipes her bloody hands on Katniss’s face.

“Stay down!” Johanna hisses, getting off of her.

“They’re coming.” You tell her, pointing at the tributes that are getting closer, it has to be the Careers. “Let’s run this way and try to lead them back up.”

“I’ll go first.” Johanna says, just before taking off.

She makes a lot of noise, you think you can even hear Enobaria and Brutus shouting after you two. You try to keep close, but some of her movements are unpredictable, trying to lose your opponents in the darkness of the trees. However, they must have planned for a chase, because you watch Enobaria split off, heading back to the lightning tree.

“She’s going back to the tree!” You shout to Johanna.

“Split off!” She yells back at you. “I got him!”

At the next opportunity, you round a tree and begin to haul ass back to where the other half of the group should be. It sounds like Brutus continues to follow Johanna, so you don’t bother with waiting to make sure she’s okay. She’s got her axe, and she’s one of the fiercest tributes there are.

You’re nearing the tree when the sound of clicking begins—the insects from the eleven sector have come to life. You have less than an hour to gather everyone and get out of the arena alive.

You can see the back of Enobaria’s ponytail swishing, as she breaks through the treeline and goes hurdling to the only person in the clearing. It’s Beetee, the figure is too short to be Finnick.

“Hey!” You shout, trying to defer her attention, but she’s already swung her sword at Beetee, and she’s got him good.

He falls to the dirt, groaning, gripping a spot on his side. When Enobaria turns to face you, the blood at the tip of her weapon shines in the moonlight. She bares her pointy teeth in a sick smile.

“You want a taste?” She asks, coming toward you.

“Bring it.” You tell her.

You let her swing at you, and you deflect her with the blade of your knife, which holds up well under the momentum. You shove back at her, causing her to stumble, giving you enough time to lead her away from Beetee, and back out into the trees. 

You don’t go far when a blast of electric air comes through the jungle in a wave. The hairs on the back of your neck stand, goosebumps covering your arms. The last time this happened, Peeta drove himself into the force field, and it almost killed him.

Did Beetee…?

A cannon blasts.

You stop and lunge back at Enobaria, knife aimed for her throat, but she blocks you off, throwing you to the ground. You tumble, and get back to your feet in time to jerk away from her blade, which slams into the dirt.

“Katniss! (Y/n)!” Finnick shouts. “Johanna!”

“Finnick!” You call back, Enobaria glowers.

“(Y/n)!”

“Quick!” You shout back at him, jumping to tackle Enobaria.

She doesn’t move in time, allowing your shoulder to slam into her stomach. You hit the dirt, almost flying over the top of her, but you manage to catch yourself on a root, grounding you. With the knife in your hand, you go to bring it down to stab her anywhere.

She almost grabs your wrist, but her hands are too slippery, either from blood or from sweat. The knife slams into her side, and you manage to pull it out and stab her again before there’s more shouting, making you look up.

“Katniss!” A different voice calls, it’s farther away. “Katniss!”

“Peeta!” It has to be Katniss responding, judging by the way she’s screaming. How did she get so close to the tree? “Peeta! I’m here! Peeta!” She shouts. “I’m here! I’m here! Peeta!” 

You watch as Finnick comes barreling through the trees, right past where you are with Enobaria. She’s still struggling beneath you, fingers reaching for her sword. You bring back the end of your knife, slamming the butt of it against her forehead with as much force as  you can muster, knocking her out, and hopefully giving her a concussion.

You trip over her body, falling into the leaves. Finnick stops several feet ahead, turning back to see who it is.

“Go!” You motion for him to keep running. “Get Katniss, I’m fine!”

He hesitates, but ultimately ends up listening to you, going for the lightning tree. You manage to follow loosely, taking your time, assuming that it's another ten minutes before the lightning is to begin.

Just as you cross the treeline again, the hair on your arms fly up, stick straight, warning you of what's to come. You can see Katniss’s arrow is aimed in Finnick’s direction, but he’s cluelessly walking into it.

You open your mouth to shout a warning, but the words die in your throat. Suddenly, she changes her mind, turning robotically to the force field behind her, pulling an arrow back. It isn’t until she releases it, do you see the shimmering gold wire attached to the arrow.

The lightning strikes the tree, a flash of white flies up the wire and straight back into the dome, causing it to burst into a blue light. The shock wave just a few minutes ago has nothing on this one.

You’re thrown through the air, crash to the ground, breath sucked from your lungs. As you try to get a hold of your breathing, you go to reach for your knife, just a few inches away, but you’re stuck. You can’t move. 

All you can do is watch as the dome shuts off, blacking out the arena for just a few seconds, and then it explodes. In the blink of an eye, the forest lights on fire, the heat of the flame licking at your sensitive skin.

Just as the sky begins to fall, a hovercraft materializes, a claw dropped. It has to be the rebels, coming to save you. You watch as one tribute is saved, it vaguely looks like Beetee. A second one is scooped up, bronze hair shining in the blaze, that has to be Finnick. On the third time, you think it’s Katniss, she’s the only girl that was in the area.

You watch as the claw disappears inside of the hovercraft, and you wait for it to be sent back down again, but the longer the seconds drag on, the more you begin to worry. They’re going to come back down again, right? They’re going to get everyone out of the arena, that’s the plan—

Until the hovercraft blends back into the sky and disappears, leaving you behind.

[pbelfz]

Title: Lessons in Submission Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader Includes: daddy kink, teacher/student, controlling behavior, stalking? PB's Masterlist

You peered through the crack between two books on the shelf.

He smiled again as he leaned over her, offering that gentle, warm chuckle you loved. You watched him gesture to something in her textbook, and the girl followed his finger diligently as he spoke.

An underclassmen. You didn’t know her.

You pulled back, sighing through your nose as you finally placed the book you were holding in its correct spot, blocking your view of Izuku. Wrapping your fingers back around the metal of the bookcart, you pushed it from behind the stacks, out to where Izuku could see you.

His current pupil was too enthralled in her work and didn’t notice the sudden slack in Izuku’s attention; he glanced at you, intending to catch your eye. His gaze lingered on your choice of clothing today, wondering if it was allowed to wear such a short skirt on campus. You paid him no mind as you reached upward, placing another book on the higher shelf. You felt the burn of his stare as you stood on your tip-toes, purposefully pushing your lower back out slightly, almost teasingly, as your skirt rose a little.

Izuku shifted in his place, looking back down at his student’s progress. He tapped his finger on the polished library table, pressing his weight into his palm as he watched her complete the rest of her trigonometry. Tutoring was one of his many side-gigs – one that led him to you. Izuku was a teacher at U.A. full-time and a pro hero part-time, but he found he enjoyed the art of helping others in more mundane settings. You started working at the Tokyo University library just a few months ago, and you grew closer with Izuku due to having to share the same space. At first, he hadn’t been here too frequently because of his other jobs, but now it was difficult not to run into him. You read him accurately upon first meeting, seeing him as the fidgety young staff whose button-ups fit his muscles just tightly enough.

So, this is the hot tutor that all of the girls have soaked panties for, you thought when you first saw him.

Except your soaked panties were the only ones Izuku wanted. You knew that now.

Something about keeping what you two had a secret always made Izuku want to push the boundaries. He glanced at you again; if you were in the same room as him, he always kept you in sight. He’d always been that way since before you introduced yourself.

You moved. You were no longer by the bookshelves. Where are you, my angel? Izuku peered around the library. Oh, found you. You’re back by the front desk. The inside of Izuku’s cheek rolled between his back teeth; if he were alone with you, he would’ve reminded you to let him know before you left his sight. You had a bad habit of wandering, and when you two were together, Izuku often found himself keeping a hand or arm resting on you to keep you near him. That, and maybe it satisfied a need to touch you.

“Mr. Midoriya?”

Izuku’s head snapped down to see that his student had finished her trigonometry worksheet a few moments ago.

“Are you okay? You just started staring off,” she observed. Izuku shook his head, leaning back over her to check her worksheet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” he skimmed her math, but it wasn’t exactly registering, especially as his gaze continued to flicker up to you.

A male student approached you at the front desk, giving you a familiar smile and nod. Izuku’s chest thrummed when he saw you return the gesture with your own lively magnetism, giving the boy a smile as he took some books out of his backpack. Izuku’s jaw tightened, and his student noticed his finger tap on the table again. Her gaze crept up his arm to his face, but by then, he had already looked back down, masking his previous irritation.

“I think you should look this one over again, Sai-san,” Izuku uttered, pointing to an equation in the middle of his student’s worksheet. “It looks like you mixed up your ratios for–,” your laughter over by the front desk suddenly cut Izuku off. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was definitely over the preferred volume level of the library. Izuku’s eyes quickly found you, leaning forward in your chair, pushing your chest up just a bit against the library table, as that same boy from earlier continued to chat you up. A grin was plastered on your face as you talked to him, and Izuku knew you were doing all of this on purpose.

This is because I’m not giving you attention, isn’t it, (Y/n)?

Izuku sighed, standing upright and no longer leaning over his student. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode over to where you and that boy were at the front desk, and you saw him coming as soon as he left the small study table in the corner. He placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he approached.

“Excuse me,” he spoke professionally and quietly in tone. This was a library, after all. Other students were studying and reading here. You were already watching Izuku, but the guy you were talking to – one of your classmates – turned his head to see the tutor standing behind him a few paces. You sat back in your chair, almost trying to appear like the well-behaved library assistant Izuku knew you could be.

“I’m trying to teach one of my students over there, and you guys are just being a little loud,” Izuku flexed his authority, the same way he flexed the forgiving tug on the corners of his lips. Your classmate turned away, looking to grab the books he was checking out.

“I was just leaving, sir,” your classmate says before bowing and, true to his word, taking his leave. He must hate confrontation.

Unfortunately, that left you and Izuku together. You shifted in your seat as you glanced back up at him; his small grin fell into a frown, something you didn’t see often when you two were in the school buildings.

You anticipated a further scolding or at least a disapproving sigh. You didn’t expect him to simply turn around and head back to where his student sat in the corner of the library, hands in his pockets.

Somehow, that upset you more.

Izuku waited in his car about two blocks down from the campus.

Classes ended, and the extra study sessions were over about twenty minutes ago. He scrolled mindlessly through his phone, glancing up occasionally each time someone passed on the sidewalk. You were taking longer than normal today…

Gentle taps on his passenger side window broke him from his thoughts.

You smiled at him, waving and gesturing to the locked door. Izuku wordlessly unlocked the car for you.

You plopped down into the seat beside him, and with you came all of your temptations. You must’ve dabbed your perfume on rather generously this morning because Izuku could easily identify it as the Chanel Chance Eau Tendre you keep on the top of your dresser.

You place your backpack between your feet on the floor. Izuku doesn’t give much of a greeting as he starts his car, but you lean over, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t look over at you, only giving a small smile.

You’re cheeky. Eyeing him, you place a hand on his inner thigh, close to his groin; you always loved how dense with muscle he was. You hold back a giggle, biting your lower lip, as Izuku keeps his gaze forward on the road. He knew you wanted attention. His brow became taut as he brought a hand to his chin, letting the other one rest on the steering wheel, and that was your only hint that, perhaps, you should give him space.

“Izu,” you hummed, pulling your hand back from him. Izuku didn’t answer, but it was only because he was trying to decide how to best approach this.

“Daddy,” you mewled, turning more towards him. That got him to glance at you before looking back at the road. As he came to a stoplight, he ran a hand through his forest curls and down the back of his neck.

“Your new friend seemed to like your outfit today,” he grumbled, turning his head away from you. You blinked.

“What?”

Izuku turned a corner as the light turned green.

“At the library.”

“That’s just Kujou. We take Logic together.”

Izuku’s lip tightened. “When’d you get that skirt? I didn’t buy that for you,” he redirected the topic slightly. His tone was no louder than a mumble as he dragged on, his face contorting into a scowl as he kept his eyes on the road.

He heard the pout in your voice without even looking at you. “You don’t like it? I went shopping this weekend. I thought–,” Izuku cut you off.

“We’ve talked about wearing things like this outside, (Y/n).” He was stern, and you often struggled with reading between the lines of your relationship: was he actually upset about this? So, you did what you do best around him. You froze. You shut your mouth. Getting a little huffy, you settled further into the passenger seat, your arms crossing in front of you as you gaze out of the window.

Izuku shot you a glance out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head.

You looked down at your outfit. It’s not even that short, you wanted to argue, but you knew it would’ve been in vain. The hem of the cotton came up to your mid-thigh, and if you tried to tell him you honestly just wanted to tease him while he worked, it would somehow backfire on you. It has in the past.

Izuku unlocked his apartment, stepping back to allow you inside first before closing the door behind him.

You dropped your backpack on the floor and kicked off your shoes before pivoting, meeting Izuku’s eye, while Izuku neatly hung his messenger bag on the coat rack by the door. You were used to the routine. He vaguely gestured to your clothing.

“Strip.”

You did as you were told, keeping your eyes on him, gauging his reaction. Izuku looked unimpressed as he followed your hands as they first pulled your crop top over your head, exposing your chest and tummy. Izuku’s own hands found themselves inside of his pockets – perhaps as a self-handicap – as yours pushed your skirt down your hips. You shimmied, and the skirt fell down your thighs to your feet, soon followed by your panties. You reached behind your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor with your other articles of clothing, before you stood completely bare in front of your boyfriend.

Izuku approached, his gaze zeroed in on your chest, foremost. You stood proud and tall, even though he towered over you, letting him inspect you. You felt his eyes drink you in as he looked you over, searching for any imperfections. He circled you slowly, the tips of his fingers coming to gently stroke your side. He was around the back of you now. His light touch traveled to your neck, brushing your hair to the side, admiring the few hickeys he left the last time you were here. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to show him better, like a prized purebred. He always talked about how proud he was to have his very own virgin, after all. How lucky he was to have scooped you up – such a pretty, little, dainty thing. He cupped your neck, offering a small, loving caress as a reward for your compliance as he slowly moved to the other side of you.

He did this each time you came over. You knew to get naked as soon as you entered his apartment now. He always told you he just wanted to take time to admire you, but sometimes, like today, he didn’t seem happy about doing it. You often questioned what his true intention was.

Circling back to stand in front of you with a hand stroking his chin, Izuku finally pulled his eyes away from your nudity. He sent a nod towards the back of his apartment.

“Bedroom. Leave your phone on the table.”

You sat naked on the floor with your feet underneath you, just like he trained you, waiting for him to enter. You always found your nails digging into your thighs while you waited for him, wondering if today would be the day you two would go all the way; he normally pulls back after foreplay, insisting intercourse should be something memorable for you, considering it would be your first time. You didn’t know how tonight would go, considering he still seemed to be in a bad mood.

He entered the room a few minutes later, tie removed, and you straightened your posture for him, watching him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t looking at you, though. He was scowling down at your phone, scrolling through your texts, contacts, pictures, anything he could find.

He did this from time to time. You let him. It was within the boundaries of your relationship.

He stood right in front of you as he clicked on one of your contacts. “Arata? That’s a name I haven’t seen before.”

You piped up immediately. “That was the boy at the library. Sir.”

Izuku’s frown deepened. “I’m deleting it.”

“Yes, Sir,” you nodded, keeping your head down. It was against the rules to make eye contact unless told.

Izuku set your phone down on the bed behind you two before finally taking you in. How perfectly docile you were, propping yourself up on the wooden floor for him. He gripped your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him.

“All contacts have to go through me first. You know that, baby.”

Your eyebrows screwed upward as you tried to defend yourself, tried to tell him you two just had to work on a project together, but Izuku drew his free hand back and brought it down in a quick, sharp slap across your cheek, sending your neck in the other direction.

Your face stung with red hot pain as you winced, keeping your eyes closed. Still, you persevered, allowing him to yank your head back to face him.

“Tell me what you did, sweetie,” his tone carried a sweet remedy underneath his usual timbre, but you knew better. His thumb gave your aching cheek a light stroke. You blinked up at him.

“I,” you took a breath, steadying yourself as you tried to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time he struck you like this, but each time, you were always on the verge of pulling your safe word. “I got his number without your permission,” you met his eye, giving him a pout to lessen the punishment even the slightest amount.

Slap.

This time, there was no coddling. He let your head hang there for a minute, and it took everything in you not to cry in front of him. You knew if you took this, he would reward you. Your ears rang, and you felt the skin of your cheek swell this time. Still, you eventually straightened in front of him, lowering your head to appease him.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Izuku was your first exposure to a relationship like this, and while he respected your desire to take things slow, he couldn’t help but push. He had needs, too, you know? Plus, he was a teacher of sorts, and teaching you about the world of pleasure made him feel that much more control over you.

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he guided, his head nestling between your thighs. You always became timid with his face so close to your core like this, even with the sunset dimming the light in his bedroom. He tied your arms behind your back in an armbinder knot with the shibari rope you two use. You ached, but the blankets beneath you provided some sort of comfort that Izuku didn’t give you.

Alas, you did as he told, and opened your legs more, welcoming the pecks he gave down your inner thigh which eventually reached the lips of your cunt. You shuddered, your back arching.

“Already dripping, I see…,” Izuku muttered. He liked to talk to himself, and you only answered with a whimper as one of his thick, scarred fingers swiped up your cunt, collecting some of your slick. Izuku sucked it into his mouth with a satisfied moan. He leaned up, giving you a deep kiss so you could taste yourself.

“You like when I’m a little rough with you, don’t you?”

You nod anxiously, wriggling beneath him. The mattress dipped as he moved back down between your legs, his lips fully enveloping your pussy. You gasped, your legs tightening around his shoulders.

Izuku liked to take his time with you. He could be mean, but fuck, did he worship you. His tongue lapped at your lower lips, dipping inside from time to time and sucking at your clit. He pulled back only to add his fingers, slowly finger-fucking you as he watched his work with hungry eyes. You wanted so badly to grab his head and shove it back down into your needy cunt, but the rope only dug into your skin, preventing you from moving. So, your hips made up for your lack of control and gyrated against Izuku’s fingers, circling them in time with the curl of his digits. Izuku licked his lower lip, coming back down to flick his tongue against your clit as he sped up his pace.

“Cum on my face, baby. Now,” it was a command.

You let out a throaty moan as you came, shuddering and pulling Izuku closer into you with your legs. He sucked on your clit, relishing in how you gushed on his fingers, down his wrist, and all over his mouth. Once he felt your thighs loosen around his head, he sat up, removing his briefs fully, as they’d been the only things left restricting him.

He lifted both of your legs to rest on one of his shoulders, and your stomach fluttered. You two have grinded before, and as you come down from your high, you felt yourself almost flinch at how the head of cock brushes against your clit. You almost wanted to push him away from being too sensitive, but yet again, the rope prevents you.

“Izu–,” you started to say, but the man in front of you – the man with your legs hoisted on his shoulder – glances up at you, sending you a scowl you weren’t prepared for.

“Daddy,” you quickly corrected yourself, wriggling your hips against him, feeling his cock catch on your cunt before pushing up between your thighs. Izuku bit his lip, his gaze flickering between your pussy and your face.

“Yes, babygirl?”

You didn’t want to break your role, but you sent him a knowing look, one that asked him, ‘Are we doing this?’

Izuku didn’t offer a complete answer, only bending forward and giving you a slow kiss on the lips, followed by another peck. “You know the safe word.”

Your stomach tightened, even as Izuku glided his cock up and down your slit. You practiced breathing. Deep inhale, deep exhale. Izuku watched his cock slowly enter you, your pussy lips stretching so beautifully around his thick cock. He felt your body tense, and that was when he glanced up at your face. You strained, eyes closed as you tried to make room for him.

“You’re doing so good, my good little girl,” Izuku praised as you slowly, very slowly took him in inch by inch. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “So fucking warm.”

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as Izuku just couldn’t keep his mouth from overflowing with praise.

“Fuck, look at you swallowing me up,” he shifted, leaning over you and pressing your legs back, exposing both of your sexes. “Look,” he demanded.

You opened your eyes, tears quickly coming to the surface as you looked down between you two. His cock was only about halfway inside of you; he didn’t know how your tiny little cunt could take him. He pressed your thighs back against your chest as far as he could; he wanted to watch your pussy as he fucked you for the first time.

Once he was entirely seated inside of you, his jaw tightened, and he relished in your warmth. You breathed through your mouth, throwing your head back and feeling so, so fucking full. Izuku tested the waters, pulling his hips back slowly, and you whined.

“It’s Daddy’s turn now, okay?” Izuku reassured you, coming down to kiss away the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You nodded, your eyes clamping shut as you felt his cock slowly stroking your inner walls.

“Fuuuuck,” Izuku dragged, leaning back and watching as his cock disappeared inside of your cunt with each thrust. He held back for you at first, but it was getting harder and harder with each buck of his hips.

His pace increased, and eventually, the pained expression on your face loosened to one of pleasure, and Izuku knew he had you. He felt his balls tighten as the sloshing sounds of your pussy echoed throughout the room.

“Such a sloppy little cunt,” you heard him grunt from above you. His endless pounding had your eyes rolling closed.

“Just,” his thrusting interrupted your speech, “Just for you, daddy.”

Izuku’s grip on your thighs tightened as his hips slammed into you at an unforgiving pace, leaving you almost screaming his name.

You felt his thick cock twitch as his pace suddenly slowed, his hips only rocking steadily as he shuddered. He let out a deep groan, and you gasped as you felt warm spurts of cum hit your cervix for the first time. Izuku pressed his legs into your chest, trying to catch his breath as a light sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies. He gazed down at his cock still inside of you, letting himself finish releasing inside of you. You whimpered as he slowly pulled himself out of you, and as his cock left you, his cum dripped out and down your cheeks, making him groan.

You watched the sight with him, wriggling your hips as best you could.

“Daddy, you made a mess…,” you managed to whine, still breathless.

Izuku couldn’t tear his gaze away from your beautiful, dripping core, covered in a mixture of your juices, as he slowly knelt between you two, releasing your thighs. You let your legs rest on the bed, and Izuku pulled one over his shoulder as he gave a kiss to your clit. His tongue swiped up your messy cunt.

“Shhh, Daddy will clean you up, babygirl.”