#bathing/washing

[warcats-cat]

Feathers 💜🪶

Summary: So, you found yourself dating an ancient Greek god. Who had now been gone for almost a month. Who you hadn’t actually ever gotten around to talking about your mental health…. Or your previous relationships…

A/N: PLEASE READ ALL TAGS. THIS IS BASED ON SOME VENTING I DID A WHILE AGO. PLEASE BE CAREFUL AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.

Ok, this is the big one. Technically this is the first xReader I wrote before making this a "series", so it's going to be put at the top of the list here and on Ao3 but the fics can be read in any order. The reader in all of these is based on me, but I try to keep everything as gender neutral as possible for readability. I promise there is hurt/comfort and fluff in this, but its a but of a journey to get there. PLEASE if there are any tags you believe I missed, comment or message me and I will correct it if I can.

Of course, I have to give a HUGE thank-you to my beta reader @lickoutyourbrains (also on tumblr) for reading this one before I even thought of any of the others and encouraging me to keep going. The silly and sweet fics in this series would NOT exist without them <3 As always, thank you for reading and I do hope you enjoy this one. I hope it brings a little catharsis, like it did for me.

Read on Ao3 here!

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It had been a miserable week, to be perfectly honest. You laid in your little bed, the blankets haphazardly wrapped around you. Somehow, though the rest of your body was hot to the point of sweating, the blankets had managed to avoid covering your butt, and now said area was stinging cold under the breeze from the ceiling fan. You were still in your work uniform from yesterday. 

Yeah, a pretty miserable week. 

And you felt a little stupid, all things considered; you were miserable because your boyfriend had been gone almost a month. The Messenger of the gods was busy running errands because the egotistical bastards couldn't be bothered to have a meeting in the same damn room, but ‘something something treaties something something maintaining peace’ had pulled Hermes away from your side. 

It was only supposed to have been one week, but that had turned into a text message saying two, which had turned into another text message saying three. Two more days and it would be four, and Hermes had been so busy he hadn’t been able to say anything to you since two days ago. 

And unfortunately, you had a little secret from your lover. 

See, you’d been dating only about six months; you’d met when this random weirdo came into your workplace and commented on the necklace you were wearing. A little silver feather with some weird scratches down the shaft. You’d found it in a one-dollar jewelry bag at the thrift store, tarnished to hell, and taken some time to really clean it and polish it. The poor thing just needed some TLC, and it was good as new!

And then some random weirdo wearing sunglasses indoors shows up at your workplace the next day asking about it. 

“It’s just pretty, I guess,” you said, when he asked about the little feather. “Maybe it’ll bring me some good luck.” It was also fun to fidget with, just large enough to run your thumb across the delicately chiseled lines of the feather representing its fluff. Something you found yourself doing more and more throughout the day when customers began getting annoying or worse, abusive. 

And the weirdo had seemed content to just sit there. And watch you, and occasionally chat. All day…

The day after, the weirdo returned, and sat there next to your counter watching you again; this time glaring at the customers who were rude to you, which was nice at least. He brought up your necklace again; this time saying he thought it looked like real silver; probably worth loads more than you had initially paid for it. You got a little giddy at the thought of some extra spending money, fiddling with the little charm and chatting some more with him. And yet. He seemed to know something about it, something important, more so than its value. 

When he showed up for a third time and bugged you about it, you asked; and the man sighed and admitted his interest - it looked like one he had had a long time ago, right down to the scratches on the feather shaft. And in that moment, your heart felt a little heavy; something about the way he talked about it - maybe it had belonged to a family member or a close partner. You couldn’t see his eyes from the dumb sunglasses, but his voice sounded so wistful. 

Your mind was made up right then and there; money be damned, you didn’t want to let someone be sad when you could do something about it. You’d carefully undone the clasp and slipped the necklace off, and held it out to him. 

He hesitated at first; “And what do you want in return?” he asked. You shrugged. 

“I paid fifty cents for it. I’ll take the quarters if you have them.” he made a confused, disbelieving face at that. 

“I told you yesterday it was probably worth five-hundred. Or more.” he replied. You shrugged again.

“It means a lot to you, obviously. I don’t think you’re gonna just go and sell it. If it means that much to you, I want you to have it. Besides, I want a gumball.” you said simply. He chuckled at that, shaking his head and pulling two coins out of the bag at his side. Catching a glimpse, he had an awful lot of papers in there - why did guys just throw every scrap of paper into their bags instead of taking the extra ten seconds to put them in a folder or something --

Quarters in hand, you turned away from him to get back to work, and he left without you thinking any more of it, looking over his shoulder and saying “I’m Henry, by the way”. 

But a week later he came back, saying he had changed his mind, he wanted you to have the charm. Maybe it was good luck after all. And then every day you started looking forward to his visits. And then he asked if you wanted to get pizza one night after work, his treat. And then a few days later he brought you lunch from your favorite fast-food place. And then, and then, and then…

You’d known each other about two months before he asked you out; sitting on a bench outside at the park by your apartment, close together under the shade of a large tree. He asked if you wanted to see a magic trick, but he needed to borrow your necklace again. You handed it over as easily as you had the last time, and he smirked as he looked it over. It was hard to see his eyes; he’d initially told you he was a little photosensitive, hence the sunglasses all the time, but even then it seemed you could never quite see his eyes in full. Something always blocked the view. Still, you watched as he carefully studied the charm. He ran his fingernail down the side of the feather shaft, and quietly spoke, 

“It says Luckbringer. It’s Greek.” You leaned a little closer to look, but then smiled wryly.

“Is that your magic trick?” you asked, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. He smirked, and huffed a little chuckle,

“No. This is. Don’t freak out.” he warned, before taking the bottom of the feather’s shaft between his index finger and thumb, and sliding up towards the tip. 

The feather did not remain silver. 

You couldn’t help the startled gasp as what was once a silver feather charm fluffed out and grew into a long white real feather, from barely two inches long to at least six! He was watching you, no longer smirking, and your eyes flicked between the feather and his face a few times before you started giggling from shock.

“What?” you asked, nervously laughing. 

He ran his index finger back down the feather, still bearing the now delicate-looking etches  that formed a more easily seen word, even if you couldn’t technically read it. Wordlessly, he handed you the feather, and you held it carefully, not unlike you would have held an unexploded bomb.

“How familiar are you with the old Greek pantheon?” He asked, faux-casually. You started laughing again.

“If you start sparkling or something I’m gonna lose it.” you replied. That brought a big, impish  grin to his face, and he finally pulled down the sunglasses, showing off almost totally white eyes, clear for you to see. You also noticed from the corner of your eye that his head had sprouted a little pair of wings…

So, you found yourself dating an ancient Greek god. 

Who had now been gone for almost a month.

Who you hadn’t actually ever gotten around to talking about your mental health…. Or your previous relationships…or lack thereof…

You shuffled in bed, adjusting the blankets to at least be off your chest so you could breathe. You felt hollow, exhausted, but you couldn’t sleep. Insecurities and Questions digging tiny thorns in your soul every moment. 

You’d never asked him why he’d asked you out. You weren’t really sure. 

The old stories of the gods were all about lust and glory and sex, and you weren’t really into all that. You loved the romance; the cuddling and kissing and spending time together. Holding hands was possibly your favorite activity ever. And Hermes had never pushed you; he was surprisingly chaste compared to most of his (and his father’s and siblings’) mythology. He was gentle and sweet, and eager to make you laugh. He walked you home from work almost every day, watched movies with you and snuggled tight against you every Friday, texted you during his own working trips as often as he could. 

But you were wondering when it would end. He’d seen the purple and gray button on your work backpack at least a hundred times, and you���d had that conversation at least twice; he knew he wasn’t going to get between your legs. You’d tried, once or twice, to get in the mood; but it just ended with awkward stammering and blushing scarlet red and a moderate amount of embarrassment. You didn’t want it. And he was a god.

So what the hell did he want with you?

Your coworkers, as wonderfully terrible as they were, had been weirdly eager to point this out; to tease you about the whole situation. 

“Oh, he’s going on a work trip, I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.” you had explained one day when Leslie asked where your ‘hot guy’ had gone off to. She’d half-covered a smirk, and asked faux-gently,

“Are you sure he’s just on a ‘work trip’?” she asked, air-quotes and all. You had shrugged her off at the time; rolled your eyes and put your focus back to the counter. But as you stood there, fiddling with the feather charm, her question itched in the back of your thoughts, despite your best efforts. 

This was your first relationship in a long time. You were pretty ordinary, all things considered. You didn’t think of yourself as ugly or anything so drastic, but you were pretty plain. Rounded cheeks and soft waist and comfortable tee shirts and all. Not someone likely to catch many people’s eye. 

And to the outside world, even not knowing who he actually was, Hermes was athletic. Toned, thin, muscular. A little wiry, definitely a runner. Plus, the messy, semi-wavy hair, the mysterious sunglasses covering his eyes all the time, and the fact that he had expensive fashion tastes even when trying to look casual. His ‘mortal disguise’ had that aura of ‘rich enough to not care.’

Trying to explain that to him had been a nightmare, but whatever. You loved him enough to ignore the occasional Hermès track suit, which he wore with the pun fully intended.

So you wondered, just a little. You brushed off the questions as they popped up in your head, but they started to stick around, nagging in the back of your mind. What was he staying with you for? What did he want that he didn’t already have in abundance? You tried not to let other people make comments on your relationship, but most of the store had gotten used to seeing him around almost every day, and were now wondering where ‘Henry’ had gone. And you were starting to wonder too.

He hadn’t taken anything with him; he didn’t often sleep over at your apartment, usually having to run errands in the middle of the night or go meet with other gods or nymphs or whatever other magical creatures you couldn't begin to fathom. He had a handful of times, though, and had left a few miscellaneous things around - some of the afore-mentioned expensive clothes were clean and neatly folded in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Some trinkets he had given you were scattered around on different surfaces. At one point, he had apparently swiped one of Apollo’s lyres and hidden it in your closet. There were a handful of pictures of the pair of you that you had printed out on fancy paper and hung up on the fridge. 

Lying in bed now, surrounded by the memories and beginning to drown in your self-loathing, your stomach churned. You hadn’t moved in at least 36 hours; you were probably dehydrated and you definitely hadn’t eaten anything. You would be alone when he left you; your parents long out of the picture as you had fended for yourself. You were an adult, and supposed to act like it, and they had decided they didn’t actually like the person you had grown into. Your friends were all work friends, and you didn’t spend a lot of time going out with people. Your life was a pattern of work and home and work again, unending. 

You were going to be alone. The realization started swirling around you like Charybdis swallowing sailors, dragging you deeper and deeper into the dark thoughts you’d  been fighting off for a week.

And who’s to say he wasn’t gone already? Cutting off text messages like a final cut to the cord - the things he left behind were meaningless to someone who could have literally anything they wanted at their fingertips. He knew you’d always been tight on cash and had rather too much pride, wanting to do and pay for things yourself; maybe all the expensive odds and ends were a last gift to help you along. Some of those clothes were worth over a thousand dollars.

Your whole life wasn’t even worth a thousand dollars.

You weren’t interesting to him anymore; he’d had his fun hanging out with a mortal, been denied the ultimate prize, and was now bored. He’d probably get a better time of it out of Leslie from work! You squirmed on the bed again, burying half of your face in the pillow, physically unable to cry. You’d have to go back to work tomorrow, the routine beginning again, and you knew you needed to do something at some point, but right now you just couldn’t move.

In and out of consciousness you floated a while, half-heartedly turning off an alarm reminding you to get dinner. You barely dreamed; trying desperately to think only about the good memories. 

“Y/N…”

Hermes’ arms wrapping around you, his hands brushing through your hair. His voice, saying your name. 

“Y/N…”

His face lighting up when he used to walk in and see you at the counter, bringing sandwiches to share at the little corner lunch table in the break room. Thirty minutes just the two of you together. Going for your favorite hot drink after a hard day. His voice, saying your name over and over again.

“Y/N I swear on Styx I’m gonna call my brother if you don’t answer me!” his voice, panicked?

“Huh?” you replied eloquently, and oh he actually was there, one hand delicately wound through your hair and lifting your head, and the other pressing two fingers firmly on the pulse point of your neck. His sunglasses were off, and this close, you could see the barest hint of a silver ring that marked where his irises were. You’d asked him about them, once or twice; being the god of travelers meant it was usually hard for people to focus on his eyes - something about mortals not always knowing the people around them and not paying attention or something. Your brain was a little sluggish at the moment. 

“Your eyes are my favorite,” you said, out loud; and his face turned up in a wry, almost fearful smile. 

“Awesome! I’m calling Apollo.” he said, leaning in and kissing you on your forehead before beginning to move away.

Panic shot through your body; the sudden release of adrenaline making you tremble as you moved to grab him, almost shouting, “No!” Don’t leave, not yet. Please.

Quickly, but weakly, your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he looked back at you, startled by the sudden outburst. He paused a moment, taking a deep breath of his own, and moved his wrist out of your grasp before taking your hand gently.  

“You need help,” he said softly, “My brother is an ass, but he’s also a healer. Let me get my phone. See? You can still see me.” He spoke like one would to a startled child or pet, placating and gentle, and you wanted to agree, but you couldn’t help the new burst of tears slipping out of your eyes as his hand left yours. He was telling the truth, of course. He’d dropped his messenger bag by the door to your room, it was barely five feet away. He walked slowly to the bag and retrieved his phone before returning to the bed, never leaving your line of sight. 

The next half hour(ish) was a little blurry. 

At some point, he picked you up (one handed, of course he could) and brought you out to the couch, settling you carefully in his lap with your head resting on his shoulder. You shuddered, feeling ten times more filthy against his pristine clothes, but he held you there with a firm hand on your arm, like a little treasure that he was protecting. His bag was slumped by your feet, and he was talking to presumably Apollo on the phone in his other hand. 

Against him, you began to relax; the adrenaline was wearing off, and your body and mind were both well past exhausted, giving in to the haze that led to unconsciousness. You only caught a few words of the conversation - ‘dehydrated’, ‘fever’, and ‘drugged’ being prominent. If you had been a little more aware, you would have protested the thought that you had taken anything, but as it was, you were just drifting in and out of sleep once more. 

At some point, someone held a glass to your mouth, and carefully coaxed you into drinking some water. It was amazing, probably the best water you’d ever had; probably because you hadn’t had any in 36 hours. You wondered if thirst affected water’s taste, and you would argue to the death that yes, water had a taste, and where it came from affected that taste.

And then there were two new hands on your face.

You’d met Apollo a few times since beginning your relationship with Hermes; the messenger god loved to be a nuisance to his older brother (actually, he loved being a nuisance to most people, being the god of mischief and all,) but they stayed surprisingly close. The god of the sun ran fairly hot, as to be expected, and his hands were warm against your face as he inspected you.

Gold eyes looked intently into (e/c), and the other god murmured to himself. He laid the back of his hand on your forehead. You soaked in the touch and care from both men, slowly becoming more and more aware of the apartment around you. Hermes' arms were holding you just a touch too tight, your feet were cold hanging off the couch, but they’d removed the oppressive blankets that had wrapped around your body and there was another glass of water nearby. 

You zeroed in on it, leaning back slightly to look up at your lover intending to ask him to loosen his hold. Both gods reacted to your movement.

“Are you back with us?” Apollo’s rich, slightly deeper baritone voice cleared the last of the fog, and you nodded. 

“Yeah, I think so…” you replied softly; all you had to do was turn towards the water glasses for Hermes to lean over and grab one, holding it up for you to drink once again. You were a little more embarrassed, this time, but Hermes was gentle in guiding you to drink the whole glass, and buried his nose in your greasy hair once you were finished. 

“What were you thinking?” his muffled voice was hitched, still full of worry. The question was genuine, not condescending. He was well and truly upset; your stomach churned again. You looked up at Apollo, who shrugged; “I think he means, ‘what was on your mind?”, he supplied, also unsure. Your shoulders hunched a bit, as if you could curl up and hide in your own skin right there in Hermes’ lap. You felt helpless, trying to think of an answer.

“I just…I don't know…” you started, after a minute, but couldn’t find the words. Your eyes burned from crying, your head was pounding, your body trembling from low blood sugar. You really wanted a third glass of water, possibly a fourth.

After a long period of silence, Apollo coughed to break the tension, first passing a hand over your hair affectionately, and then ruffling his brother’s much more roughly, leading Hermes to swat at the offending hand. “Good news is, they're not sick and not dying,” he emphasized the last word, as if teasing Hermes about his panic. You smiled a little, and the sun god took it as a win. “Go slowly with the water, because if you drink too much you could actually get sick, and try to eat something like toast or crackers before you move back up to real food. No work tomorrow.”

He winked, and handed you a slip of paper with a (fake?) doctor’s note. Of course he could just summon those. He flashed a sunny (pun intended!) smile; and gestured for you to call him, assumedly if you needed anything, before walking out the door and leaving in a bright flash. You and Hermes sat in silence another long while. 

You could have happily sat there for another six months, but his face was still buried in your unwashed hair, and his arms still wrapped around your sweat-soaked, presumably gross body, and you wanted to spare him at least a little of the nastiness of being with a mortal. 

“Let me up,” you said softly, wiggling in his grip. Instead, his hold tightened, and you realized with cold shock that his hands were trembling now. “C’mon, I’m sticky,” you tried again, your tone gentler; this time hearing him take a deep, settling breath. His arms loosened, but his head only moved over your shoulder. You twisted, trying to look at him, and you were startled to see him crying.

“I thought you were dead.” he spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, and the admission sent a chill down your spine. “I wanted to surprise you coming home, but you didn't reply to my message to pick you up. I called half a dozen times and didn’t get an answer. I knocked and you didn’t hear me. I had to pick the lock on your door just to get in, and you were laying there totally unresponsive. I thought something had happened.” 

In the time you had known him, Hermes hadn’t really cried. He teared up along with you at sappy movies, and he had tears in his eyes from laughing, but you hadn’t ever heard so much anguish in his voice until that moment. Your eyes became watery again, feeling so much of his emotion along with him; feeling the tiniest bit guilty, too, for making him worry, even if you hadn't meant to…

You distantly wondered just how many lovers he had lost whom he had wept for. How large a heart to break when a god mourned.

So, you came clean. You told him about your fears, the little horrible thoughts that came up in the night. You told him how you looked at yourself in the mirror and felt embarrassed for him, how you compared yourself to every other person around you. You cried and told him how you just felt like you had spiraled out of control so suddenly over the last week, worried he would never come back. You told him how you felt undeserving of him; how you felt that you couldn’t give him everything he desired, how your relationship looked fake or immature to others. 

He held you tight as you cried anew, both of you breathing heavily in tandem. You felt his heartbeat matching yours. His warm hands ran up and down your arm, soothing, and he placed little pecks and kisses over your forehead and cheeks. It was probably another hour of gross sobbing and soft murmurs of reassurance. 

Your body still felt dirty, but your soul felt clean. Minus the headache…

The pair of you dozed a bit after the outpour; at one point, he had gotten up and grabbed a few slices of toast and more water, but it was barely a flash of an instant before he was back and holding you again, feeding you little bites of toast and laughing at your half-joking attempts to bite his fingers. He called your manager at work and told them you were sick, and that was that. 

You slept a while, deeply and dreamlessly. It was almost sunset by the time you actually woke up, and this time, the two of you were tangled in your tiny apartment bed. But you were still in your nasty clothes, and at the thought, you attempted (for like the fifth time) to wiggle free of Hermes’ arms.

They tightened, once again.

“Okay, let me up for real,” you said, pushing lightly on his chest.

“No.” he said simply, pretending to still be asleep.

“I’m really gross, babe, I need a shower,” you pressed, and he huffed, frowning and finally opening his eyes. He stared at you a while, taking in the dried tears and red splotches of your face. (At least when gods wept they didn't have to deal with mucus…) He brought a hand up to rub one thumb gently across your cheek.

“I love you.” he said softly, earnestly. 

It wasn’t that you two hadn't said it before, but up to that point it felt like more of a crush; like the way two close friends said those words. This was honest. This was chase-away-your-nightmares and wipe-your-snotty-tears-clean. This was full stop, no room for doubt.

“I love you too,” you said, trying to convey the same genuine emotion. He sat up with you, leaning forward and giving you a kiss. “I’m sorry I scared you.” you said, looking into his eyes.

He sighed. “It isn’t your fault. I wish you’d told me some of this earlier, but it wasn’t all your fault.” he looked away from your face, thoughtful and sad.

“What do you mean?” you asked, now confused. 

“I hear a lot more than people think I do. I mean, obviously; several of my senses are a little heightened. But I've also just…learned to be more aware of what's happening around me. What people are saying, or not saying in some cases. I've heard the rude things those girls say about you, and the filthy things they say about me, and I haven't done anything. I see you as so much better than them, so far above them; like what they say wouldn't even touch you because they mean nothing.

“I just wish I had known you felt that way. I love you. I don’t want you to feel that ever again.” he looked right into your eyes, right into your soul, and you knew that hearing everything you had said had pained him as much as it had you. 

You started to apologize, but he quieted you with another kiss. “I’m upset with myself that I could let you think that. Yeah, our relationship is different from the ones I’ve had before, but I’m happy with you, okay? I’m happy when I spend time with you. I love just sitting together and watching movies and having dinner. I love going out and walking in the park or shopping at the craft thing you like.” you giggled a little, as he began to tease with his words and poke your ticklish spots with his nimble fingers. “I love that you're you. You’re kind and you have a big heart and you take care of everyone you can, regardless of whether they deserve it or if you even know them! You’re beautiful to me. And trust me, Aphrodite may keep up on human beauty standards but I really don’t care. You are enchanting to me.” he became serious, and tears came to your eyes again. 

After a beat, he continued, “I want to show you how much I love you. Do you trust me?” he asked, and that pit of worry in your stomach churned just a little bit but you pushed it away and nodded. You trusted him not to cross your boundaries, whatever he was planning. He smiled, and got up from the bed to root through your closet for a moment. 

From the bed, you could see the lyre still tucked into the back corner of the closet. You should probably give that back at some point. Maybe Apollo or Hermes would teach you to play it.

While you mused, Hermes had pulled out his prize - a bathing suit?

“Uh?” you asked eloquently. He smiled again, trying not to laugh. 

“Just put it on. Trust me.” 

After a minute of staring, waiting to hear the punchline of his joke and not getting one, you shooed him out of the bedroom and slipped out of your filthy clothes (considering just burning them instead of trying to wash them in the shitty washing machines in the complex’s basement) and into the colorful waterproof garment. 

You carefully avoided the mirror (you could deal with that later), and walked back out into the living room area, finding Hermes in his own swimming trunks. (You did take a minute to appreciate his bare chest before affirming that you were ready to do whatever it was.)

Carefully, he picked you up, holding you once again like a treasure, and spoke low in your ear, “Hold on tight.” 

His super speed (what else could you possibly call it) wasn’t foreign to you, but it was an experience you would have preferred to skip out on at that moment. Moving at mach one tended to make your ears ring, and no matter how secure you felt in his arms, the one time he’d taken you speeding over the top of the ocean was the last time you would be willing to do so. At least you didn’t get motion sick from it…

You would accept the flying. Not necessarily the running…

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it was only moments before you arrived. It was a little house, in the middle of the woods. Not creepy at all! 

He laughed when you said this to him, but walked up to the door with little care. “I’m borrowing this place from one of the lower gods for the night. Don’t worry, everything is clean and the servants aren’t staying. It’s just us.” he said. Several of these statements raised more questions, but oh well. 

It was a cute little place, and you heard the afore-mentioned servants wandering around and prepping something. You tried to get down, but Hermes only hummed and held you fast in his arms. Damn divine strength. He carried you down the beautifully decorated hallways towards what looked like the master bedroom, and certain enough, there was a person finishing up something in the bathroom there. Whoever they were gave a polite nod to the pair of you and left almost silently. 

Hermes paused in front of the bed, and asked again, almost as if he was nervous, “Do you trust me?” 

You didn’t have to think about it this time; “Yes, I do.” 

He smiled, and carried you into the bathroom. Inside was nothing short of opulent; it was a massive bathtub set mostly into the floor, with a bit of a lip to set things on, if the glasses of pink liquid and plate of cheese and grapes were anything to go by. Finally, he let you down, and gestured for you to get into the tub. 

The water was perfectly warm, soft and sweet smelling on your skin, and even just being touched by the water made you feel cleaner from sweat and grime. You sighed, almost involuntarily, in relief or pleasure or something in between. You couldn’t see, but Hermes was grinning behind you, happy to know the surprise would go over well. 

You looked up, expecting him to join you, but instead found him kneeling behind you. He must have seen the question on your face, because he smiled gently and gestured to another large pot of water and a cup. 

“When I was very young, I leaned more mortal than divine. I was sick a handful of times, though not nearly as often as fully mortal children. But I remember my mother made a point after the worst had passed that we would take a bath, wash the memories of sickness away. It always made me feel better.” As he told the story, he took cupfulls of water from the pot and eased you down, wetting your hair thoroughly. His fingers ran gently through your hair, over and over, passing first water and then shampoo, and then water again. You were surrounded by the smells of fresh lavender and mint, and laying there with your head in his careful hands felt almost hypnotic. 

At one point, he paused, and offered you a drink from the glass. You struggled not to spit it back out in shock - “Is this Gatorade??” you asked, a little hysterical. 

He laughed, that devious grin you loved so much returning to his face, and he exaggeratedly waved his hand, “My brother said you needed electrolytes and stuff! I thought you liked this flavor!” 

You snorted, and took another actual drink, “Yeah, but you had them set it out so fancy and I thought it was, like, champagne, or something!” Your laugh was hearty and genuine for the first time in a week. You supposed this was one of the hazards of dating the god of mischief. 

The giggles mostly subsided, and he went back to his washing - when done with your hair, he began to simply rub the tension from your shoulders and arms, surprisingly knowledgeable in how he massaged your muscles. You took deep breaths, feeling calm and more than a little sleepy, and he murmured words of love and care in your ears. You were half-asleep by the time it was over, and he woke you with an upside-down kiss on your forehead. 

A god just took the time to wash your hair. What universe was this?

He showed you how to drain the bathtub and helped you dry off with a fluffy towel, and then handed you a soft, new set of pajamas to change into; drying off himself and moving back into the bedroom to change into his own nightclothes which turned out to just be some loose cotton pants; allowing you plenty more time to enjoy the view. 

The bedroom had music playing softly from some unseen speaker; a lullaby swirling around and cradling you in its sound. You shared the platter of crackers and cheese, and you playfully fed him the grapes, posing like renaissance paintings for an imaginary camera. Finally, he wrapped you again in his arms, warm and soft and safe, and you felt whole and content. 

“I love you,” you whispered in the dark, cuddled up to him.

“I love you too,” he said with a last kiss, and you knew in your heart it was the truth.

[wangxianficrecs]

Heart of hearts by apathyinreverie

Heart of hearts

by apathyinreverie (@apathyinreverie)

M, WIP, Series, 23k, Wangxian

Summary: It won't be until several days later that Wangji will know to be grateful for Jiang Wanyin’s insistence to split up in their search. (Or, JC and LWJ spend those months searching separately and LWJ ends up finding Wei Ying a little earlier. Wei Ying who doesn’t remember anything beyond his own name. So, LWJ takes his chance and takes Wei Ying home. To Gusu.) Kay's comments: AO3 user apathyinreverie has done it again and left me absolutely devaststed. When I originally bookmarked this, it wasn't a series yet and more of a WIP (?) but now, a second work has been posted and it's probably going to be finished soon. I love this start to a canon divergence, where Lan Wangji is the one who finds Wei Wuxian after his time in the Burial Mounds, without Jiang Cheng being there and with Wei Wuxian suffering from memory loss. As devastating as it is, Lan Wangji gets to see the full extent of the hurt Wei Wuxian suffered in the Burial Mounds and also gets to be beside him before he managed to build his walls up again. Really loved this, so heart-breaking, so soft. Excerpt: Wei Ying. Wei Ying is here. Alive. Wei Ying who looks terrified of him. Wei Ying who drips resentment as though oversaturated. Wei Ying who looks barely present but still, somehow, desperately unbroken. “Wei Ying,” Wangji breathes, aching at the terror swimming in his zhiji’s eyes. There is the slightest falter in Wei Ying’s posture at the sound of his name, a sudden uncertainty in his eyes, dragging to focus quickly on Wangji’s hand that had so briefly lingered against his shoulder, as though uncertain whether what he felt might have been real. “Wei Ying,” Wangji repeats, desperate and joyous and devastated at the state he is in. He watches Wei Ying’s grip on the blackened flute loosening, the dark swirls of energy around his feet calming slightly. There is silence, a careful sort of quiet as neither of them speaks. “You know me?” Wei Ying finally asks, voice roughened in a way that speaks of no words spoken for months and entire weeks spent screaming at the same time, a helpless uncertainty vibrating within. There is no recognition in Wei Ying’s eyes. As though Wangji were a stranger. “You’re real?” he adds carefully, softly, breaking Wangji’s heart further.

pov lan wangji, canon divergence, not cultivation world friendly, memory loss, amnesia, hurt wei wuxian, possessive lan wangji, protective lan wangji, domestic lan wangji/wei wuxian, caring lan wangji, caring, bathing/washing, golden core reveal, golden core transfer fix-it, wei wuxian goes to gusu, sunshot campaign, wei wuxian's three months in the burial mounds, hurt/comfort, wei wuxian has ptsd

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[ninjigma]

DinLuke Week Part 6/7 - Previous / First / Next

Day 6: Bathing/Hair Washing Track: 'Kiss Me Slowly' - Parachute (Spotify / YouTube)

Bubblesssss! Intimate and fun honestly. A bath on a warm day with a cool breeze. They probably have fruit and drinks too that are about the be very forgotten about hehe.

@dinlukeweek

[darthbloodorange]

Thor likes taking care of Steve after missions. Soothing and tending his hurts until he feels better.

For the: ✦ @thundershieldbingo 2024 Mini Bingo - Service Top [Card #4 "Kink"]

Word count: N/a - Moodboard Title: After Mission Care Rating: Mature Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: Steve Rogers/Thor Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor Warnings: Implied Sexual Content, Partial Nudity Major Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Post-Mission, Caretaking, Candles, Hurt Steve Rogers, Service Top Thor ~ Summery: Thor likes taking care of Steve after missions. Soothing and tending his hurts until he feels better.

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic, chapter 4

Chapter 4 is live folks! Please heed the warnings on this one. We're diving deeper into the Winter Soldier trauma, so take care of yourselves.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

chapter warnings: non-graphic discussion of past non-con, description of Bucky's underweight body and scarring, brief panic attack

The morning of the seventh day, Natalia comes to see the Soldier at breakfast. She congratulates the Soldier on its progress so far, and then unveils a sleek, black tablet. She explains that if the Soldier asks JARVIS for information, it can be sent to the tablet. The tablet also has a clock and a calendar built in. The Soldier learns that it is March 3rd, 2014.

“This,” Natalia says, pulling up a page with hourly time blocks, “is a schedule my team and I have developed for you.” The Soldier looks it over. The waking, sleeping, and meal times are the same, but more of its time has been filled with ‘visits’ from other people. Natalia’s name is next to the breakfast time, Sam’s name is on the schedule twice, and the last visit scheduled is from someone called Steve.

Steve…the name is familiar, but the Soldier brushes this feeling aside to focus on what Natalia is saying. “You don’t have to have these visits, but we do have things planned that we think will help you.”

“For…field preparedness?” The Soldier asks. It has not been given a new mission beyond the optimal levels of food and sleep. Maybe the visits are for training, perhaps new protocols must be established here.

Natalia shakes her head. “You are not being prepared for fieldwork. You are…restructuring. Does that make sense?”

A voice in the Soldier’s head mutters clear as mud, but the Soldier says instead: “Confirmed.”

When Natalia leaves, the Soldier returns to a worksheet that the doctor, Rebecca had given it. ‘Cataloguing your inner rules’, it reads at the top. She had said that the point of the homework was self-maintenance, so the Soldier starts with its most blatant malfunction: thinking it is a person.

What did you do that broke one of your inner rules? The worksheet asks. The Soldier referred to itself as “I” multiple times, it writes carefully.

What rule did your behavior break?

The Soldier is not a person.

Why did you feel bad after engaging in that behavior?

The Soldier should not break rules.

Where did this rule come from?

HYDRA.

What makes you think the rule is good or right?

The Soldier pauses at this question. This rule had been harshly enforced at HYDRA, but here…no one has taken any notice when it had referred to itself as a person. In fact, people keep asking the Soldier for a name, referring to it as “him”. Maybe…maybe the rule is void here. Maybe it isn’t right here.

How does this rule help you?

It keeps the Soldier from being punished.

How does this rule hurt you?

It makes the Soldier’s handlers teammates confused.

Should you keep, modify, or trash this rule?

The Soldier considers everything it–he–it had written above. The purpose of the rule is to keep the Soldier from being punished, and yet…the Solder has not been punished here. And the rule had come from HYDRA, which is no longer active. He–it– he– checks the box for “modify” and moves on to the last question.

What is the best possible version of this rule?

The Soldier might be a person but has not been gifted a name.

He hopes Rebecca will be proud of his self-maintenance.

***

Sam's no occupational therapist, but he did get to watch and learn from them pretty closely in his Master's, so at this point, he's the best person to teach Bucky how to be a human. It's a tragic paradox: the man can fly planes and speak a dozen languages, but he's never been taught how to take a shower or cook or do laundry. Well, he doesn't remember being taught that. Which is where Sam comes in.

Sam's first step is to ask JARVIS if Bucky's okay with him visiting during his afternoon slot. Sure, Sam could just go up to Bucky's floor with just an announcement, but he wants Bucky to have as much say in the matter as possible. Autonomy's some good shit.

JARVIS informs Sam that, yes, Bucky says Sam can visit, and so Sam grabs his backpack and steps into the elevator. When he walks onto Bucky's floor, he sees Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, a worksheet in front of him. Not standing at attention, which is a massive improvement.

“Hey, man, whatcha working on?” Sam asks.

“Self-maintenance,” Bucky says, sliding the paper so Sam can see it. “Identifying thinking errors.”

“That's cool,” Sam nods. “Remember our bet?”

Bucky nods, and Sam could swear his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Well, I've been thinking I could teach you some things. Things a person would know, like bathing and cooking.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “So you can win the bet?”

“Nah, man,” Sam laughs. “Just so we're on a level playing field. I think it's a bit unfair to measure yourself based on ‘what a person does’ if you just haven't had anyone teach you.” Bucky nods slowly in understanding. “If you get through my little bootcamp and still think you're not a person, I guess I owe you twenty dollars.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, “what is the first task?”

“Well, I was thinking we should start with bathing. The most basic ‘person thing’ you identified not knowing. Is that okay with you?”

Bucky nods, standing immediately and beginning to shuck out of his clothes.

“Okay! Hold your horses, let's head to the bathroom first, yeah?” Sam is so thankful at this moment for his classes on aging and dementia, because this is surprisingly not the strangest thing he's seen a patient do. Bucky looks at him, a bit confused, but follows Sam to his apartment's bathroom.

“Alright,” Sam says once they're in the privacy of the bathroom. “There's a couple different ways people bathe themselves. You could either take a bath, which means we'd fill up that tub with water and you sit in it, or you could take a shower,” Sam taps the showerhead, “which means you'd stand under running water from here. Which do you prefer?”

“Shower,” Bucky says immediately, reaching again for his t-shirt before Sam's hand gently stills his.

“Still not nakey time yet,” Sam explains, before pulling several bottles from the shower. “I figure it's easier to explain this without you being all wet. This bottle,” he points to a tall bottle with a pump, “is body wash. You can use your hands or put it on a washcloth. This one is shampoo, and this one is conditioner. These are both for cleaning your hair.” Sam sets the bottles back in the shower before turning on the spray. “I'm going to set it to a temperature I like, and you can tell me if you want it hotter or colder, yeah?”

Bucky nods, studying the way Sam turns the nobs and then switches the water to come out of the showerhead instead of the tap. “Come test this, stick your hand in the spray.” Bucky does, pulling his hand back after a few moments and asking, “hotter, please?” Sam fusses the nobs some more, and the next time Bucky sticks his hand under the spray, a pleased look crosses his face.

“Alright, so I'm gonna stand out here and walk you through everything, does that sound okay?” Bucky nods, his hand creeping slowly to the hemline of his shirt, and Sam laughs. “Yeah, that's right. Now it's time to take your clothes off.”

Bucky does so, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on top of the closed toilet. He steps under the spray, and for a long few moments, he just…stands there.

“Is this how you would clean, before?” Sam asks, and Bucky nods. “Never had hot water, though.”

“Well, you can have all the hot water you want now,” Sam smiles at him before handing him a washcloth. “So, get some body wash on there, yep, then rub it together and get it all soapy, yeah perfect!”

Bucky's a quick study, washing down his arms, chest, and legs at Sam's direction. Bucky's certainly put on weight in the last week, but he's still a bit gaunt, collarbones showing at his chest, hip bones still too sharp. Sam can also now see the myriad of scars across his body. Knowing how badly Steve has to be injured for it to leave a mark, Sam can only imagine what led up to every scar marking Bucky's body. The worst of the scarring is concentrated where the metal arm meets Bucky's flesh shoulder. Bucky hands Sam back the washcloth, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“What's next?” Bucky asks, and Sam walks him through using shampoo and conditioner before shutting off the shower. “Okay, here's a towel for you,” Sam hands him a plush white towel. Bucky takes it with a shocked look on his face. “I get a towel?”

“‘Course, man. There's a whole stack of them in the closet. We can do a lesson on laundry, too.”

“Oh, thank you.” Bucky takes the towel tentatively, drying his hair and the rest of his body, before reaching for his clothes again.

“One more thing,” Sam pulls a bottle from the counter. “Lotion,” he explains. Sam's fine with bathing a brainwashed assassin, but he draws the line at him being ashy. “You might not need it all over after every shower, but I'd recommend it over your scars every day at least. It'll hydrate the skin and should make you more comfortable.”

Bucky accepts a pump of the lotion from Sam, working it into the scars at his shoulder. “How often do people shower?” He asks while getting dressed again.

“Well, it depends on things like how sweaty you get, the kinds of exercise you do, but I'd say a good starting point is at least once every three days.” Sam pulls a wide-tooth comb from one of the bathroom drawers. “Do you know how to use this?” Sam could swear Bucky almost rolls his eyes at him.

“When am I expected to be operational?” Bucky asks, working the comb through his hair.

“Operational?” Sam asks.

“Service-ready,” Bucky replies, turning to face Sam. “Natalia said I’m not here for fieldwork.”

Oh. Still in the Soldier mindset, then. “That’s right. You’re not here to go on missions with us,” Sam says carefully.

“I understand.” Bucky puts the comb down on the counter before turning to Sam. “Who am I servicing tonight?” He asks meekly, eyes looking at Sam’s shoes.

Sam’s stomach drops and feels like it keeps falling for at least three floors. “That’s–we’re not–” he can’t find the words, so he pauses and takes a breath. “When you say ‘servicing’, do you mean…sexual favors?”

Bucky nods, his eyes still not leaving the floor. Sam wants to punch a wall, but instead, he says: “That wasn’t in your files.”

Bucky shrugs, a sad gesture. “It wasn’t an official function.” Sam feels white hot rage. This whole time, had Bucky felt like…like Sam was preparing him? Primping him like some kind of show dog?

“Okay,” Sam takes another breath in through his nose, trying to bring his emotions under control before Bucky thinks he’s mad at him . “Can you look at me for a second?”

Bucky’s eyes flit to his, and Sam can see the apprehension written clearly across his features. “ No one ,” Sam says, softly but firmly, “is going to ask you for that here. Okay? If anyone touches you, and you don’t want it, that’s not okay. Do you understand?”

Bucky’s eyes dart between the floor and Sam’s face. “I–I don’t have wants ,” he locks eyes with Sam. “I don’t understand, I don’t–” his breathing quickens, and suddenly Sam’s catching him, guiding the both of them to sit on the bathroom floor.

“Okay, breathe with me, alright?” Sam exaggerates his inhales and exhales. “We’re just gonna breathe for a few minutes.” Bucky does his best, gulping back air and forcefully exhaling it, and after a few minutes, his breathing evens out, though it remains shaky. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Sam has to resist the urge to take Bucky in his arms and hold him, because goddamn does he look so sad and frail at this moment. “Got nothing to be sorry for,” he says instead. “Nothing’s wrong with you either. You’ve just gone through a lot of shit and you’re figuring it out.”

Bucky’s head leans back, hitting the side of the tub with a thunk, and his eyes close. “I just, I don’t know how to know if I like or dislike or want or don’t want, but everybody’s asking me questions like I do know. ”

Sam shifts so he’s sitting with his back against the tub too. Not caging Bucky in, but still present. “Well, even if you don’t have a label for it, your body is pretty good at telling you what you like and don’t like.” Bucky gives him a quizzical look, so Sam continues. “For me, I hate mushrooms. Don’t know why, always have. If I accidentally get some mushroom in my food, I can tell, I smell it or taste it and my stomach feels all kinds of bad. You ever feel like that?”

Bucky nods. “I don’t know why, but I know the shakes, the ones here? They taste better than the ones at HYDRA.”

Sam nods. “There you go, that’s one thing you like. Your body’s telling you that there’s a difference between the food here and the food before. And today! You wanted a shower instead of a bath, you could tell you wanted the water to be hotter, because your body told you. Same thing with touch, with everything else. Sometimes it can be hard to hear what your body’s telling you, but I promise, your body knows, okay?”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath and picks his head back up. “Is that going to be part of person bootcamp?”

“It can be,” Sam replies. “Or you can ask Rebecca about it. Or both. Or neither. We’re going at your pace here, alright? It’s whatever you want. And no one's going to be mad at you for wanting or not wanting things.” Sam moves to retract his hand, still holding onto Bucky’s bicep from where he caught him.

“Can you–” Bucky starts, then shuts his mouth almost instantly.

“What?” Sam asks, gently.

“Can you…stay?” Bucky flicks his eyes between Sam’s and the hand on his arm.

Sam presses his hand more firmly back against Bucky’s skin, brings himself closer to the man so they’re pressed together at the sides. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, closing his eyes once more. “I think I like it.”

[sharkbeneaththelotus]

He doesn't look, while Xiazi is gently --how did he learn to be so gentle? In all his long life, Xiao Hua knows he has been handed guns and knives and scalpels, who handed him this voice, soft as a summer breeze and reaching into your guts to tell them it's alright? --gently peeling Xiaoge's clothes away with very little help from the man himself.

HeiHuaPing got into my brain and.wouldnt leave, so I gave them a nice bath and a cuddle as a reward for emotionally eviscerating me before breakfast

[asmuchasidliketo]

[fruitncream]

rose and berries (and leafy vegetables?) is such an underrated scent combination. i recently mixed crabtree & evelyn rosewater shower gel with dr. teal's kale, spinach, blue spirulina, and acai berry body wash (to shower with) and it was so bright and refreshing i loved it! X3

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 flowers from ash by hauntedotamatone

💙 flowers from ash

by hauntedotamatone (@hauntotamatone)

E, WIP, 27k, Wangxian

Part of WLW Wangxian Week 2022

Summary: “There is the matter of a certain individual.” “That Wei Ying from YunmengJiang.” A protracted Sunshot campaign spanning six years ends in a victory hardly worth the cost. With the former Five Great Sects whittled down to three, two of which have been devastated, the Jin Sect seeks to hang itself up in the place of the sun. The first step in their climb to power is to get the woman who killed Wen Ruohan from within his own palace well out of the way. Lan Zhan is not someone who schemes, but she cannot allow Wei Ying to meet such a fate. That she has loved her since they were fifteen is secondary. Kay's comments: This story is so incredibly soft in its grief. Like. The hurt/comfort of it. It never fails to hit. I am so weak for it. And WLW Wangxian too? Lar never misses. In which, everything in regards to the Sunshot Campaign went worse and in some ways better? Hard to say, but Wei Wuxian ended up a prisoner of the Jin Sect and Lan Wangji, who is the effective sect leader of the Lans, manages to scheme her to be handed over to the Lans instead. What follows is dealing with grief, healing and so much tender hurt/comfort. Excerpt: “Well she can’t simply be allowed to run amok!” The mask slips. The primary lust of his, that clawing greed for any power he does not possess, rears its ugly head. It’s a pity that he had not been so concerned with Wen Ruohan and his sons, their nearly infinite wealth and unrestrained power. It is not fear, as so many others will surrender to, she doesn’t believe that Jin Guangshan has ever been properly scared, and one person can do very little to move against him now. GusuLan teaches its disciples not to deceive. Thus, her words must be chosen carefully. She does not lie, not exactly. “I do not mean to leave her on her own.” This is true, she will not abandon her. “GusuLan is experienced in the liberation of resentful spirits and well equipped to contain them.” This is also true, though its relevance to the conversation actually taking place here is debatable. It is a necessary misdirection, but Wen Qing’s glare grows harsher and the timid looking young man behind her wavers between the verge of tears and the verge of violence. “Our healers would take responsibility for her care and supervision.” His brow twitches. There is no sound argument to make against GusuLan handling this, none that will not drag his true motives into the light However, she knows that he is only irritated, not cornered. Even if his motives were exposed, Lan Zhan does not think that there would be anything more than a token protest, if any objection at all. Never mind that Wei Ying had been well liked amongst their peers and that many of the young masters of their generation had admired her. How cheap their admiration had turned out to be in the end, for those that remain to sit here and say absolutely nothing.

pov lan wangji, rule 63, female lan wangji/female wei wuxian, canon divergence, post-sunshot campaign, captivity, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, recovery, bathing/washing, past character death, sect leader lan wangji, sharing a bed, lan wangji/ wei wuxian get a happy ending, getting together, touch-starved wei wuxian, misogyny, genius wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[mellosdrawings]

So... heat waves are fun (not)

(Bonus : Mama Jamil)

[hoofpeet]

Baby spots 💛

[14dayswithyou]

This Angel has another question! \o

What's it like taking a bath with RENACTED?

✦゜ANSWERED: Hell on earth T_T he takes up soooo much room and won't give you a moment to yourself dshjgjds /silly

cw: It gets NSFW towards the end!! MDNI!

"Think we need more bubbles?"

When you're met with nothing but silence, you look up from your bubble sculpture to see your partner sporting an all too familiar pout on their face. His tattooed arms were crossed over his bare chest like he wanted to prove a point — and as if to fully emphasize their current disdain; Ren turns his head away the moment you make eye contact.

You couldn't help but let out a puff of laughter at the silliness of it all.

"Why are you pouting?" You nudge their leg with your own. "What's wrong?"

"...Why are you all th'way over there?"

'Over there', being on the opposite side of the tub from your beloved boyfriend. Which... didn't make much sense now that you thought about it, seeing as he was the one who (silently) volunteered to take the side with the faucet and drain, which left you with all the space and legroom your heart could desire. Though... it wasn't much, given how massive of a mountain your partner was. Ren was all long, lanky limbs and thick muscle; but it wasn't exactly evident with all the baggy clothing they often chose to wear.

In an attempt to make your beloved hacker feel better about the (albeit childish) situation, you carefully scoot over so that you were resting against one of their legs instead of the tub. But apparently, Ren still wanted more, as a familiar tattooed arm emerges from the water the moment you draw closer and silently beckons you to join him at his side. When you accept — in what world would you ever say no to him and that trademark frown? — Ren pulls you flush against his chest with a content sigh.

They were acting like the cat who got the cream, no doubt.

You barely have a moment to adjust to your new position before you feel Ren's arms wrap around your waist, and his chin finds its place atop your shoulder. Now, your hacker has the perfect view of you rebuilding your bubble castle once more — only this time, you were right where he wanted you.

"There." Your tone is laced with something mirthful and lively as you lean into his embrace. "Is this better?

"Much."

"Just make sure you don't fall asleep. Elanor told me that it's not safe to do that." You purposefully ignore how their arms tense up at the mention of your coworker. However, you don't miss how they dip further under the water to run along the inside of your thighs instead.

Ren's real name slips from your lips in warning. You knew exactly what he was trying to do right now. Their hands were ghosting dangerously close to your—

"...'M not doing anything."

"Liar, I can feel you— Ah!"

His fingers casually brush past your most sensitive part, and it has you flinging your head back and clutching onto his forearm. From that reaction alone, you can hear Ren let out a curious hum from behind as their hand moves back to your sex once more.

"Just making sure you're all nice 'n clean down there."

"I-I somehow doubt that..."

"Isn't that the point of baths? T'get clean?" He muses, voice ghosting along the shell of your ear. "...Why were you talking to your coworker about taking baths in the first place, anyway?"

One of the rubber frogs you added ('for ambience!' you recall telling your boyfriend) innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the intimate scene. Ren still had one hand firmly placed around your stomach to keep you steady while the other was shamelessly running up and down your—

"...Think I'm gonna need to do a thorough inspection. Bend over the tub f'me?"

[darthbloodorange]

Steve and Bucky spend time in the bath together during their Avengers mandated time off.

For the: ✦ Stucky Bingo - Free Space [N3] (Card: 5054)

Word count: N/a - Art Title: Time off Taken Together Rating: Teens Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Warnings: Partial Nudity Major Tags: Canon Divergence AU, Domestic Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Established Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Cuddling & Snuggling, Rubber Ducks, Plants, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Happy Bucky Barnes, Happy Steve Rogers ~ Summery: Steve and Bucky spend time in the bath together during their Avengers mandated time off.

The rubber ducks on the shelf are Captain America and the Winter Soldier. I thought it would be cute for them to have in their bathroom.

[IMAGE ID: "Steve and Bucky sharing a bubble bath. Steve rests against Bucky's chest, holding a yellow sponge, knees sticking out of the bubbles. Bucky's hands rest on Steve's shoulders. Their expressions are happy and peaceful, and their skin is flushed from the warmth of the bath. A small indoor garden bed is built in to the left of the tub shelf. On the right-side shield are a small bar of soap and a pair of rubber ducks styled after Captain America and the Winter Soldier. The blinds are drawn halfway."]

[emacrow]

There a ghost in the Watchtower vent!

Batman could only sighed in defeat as the Justice league were searching in the vents again, after Superman heard a odd small screeching sound of an animal coming from it this morning.

Which lead to the Justice league searching around the vents to find the source of the sound. He internally blamed Damian for this after he snuck a odd animal in the batcave, and is still looking for that animal whom may have snuck itself into the watchtower teleportor and got beamed there.

So far they been searching for 8 hours straight with no luck whatsoever. Batman could only sighed and calls comms to get Damian to get his newest attempt of pet adoption.

Which only took 7 minutes as Damian in his robin suit just put down one of alfred's special cookies in front of the vent entrance as the Justice league watch along side as a small odd cat lik-, oh that a tiny alien feral child nawing on the cookie.

He looked 4 year old at most, glowing lararus green eyes feral and dilated with long elvish ears, sharp tiny fangs, white but dirty dust covered hair that look like a rats nest, wearing a toddler sized suit that look otherworldly yet similar to a hazmut suit if it weren't so skin tight looking. He was wearing a glowing green skull on his smol middle finger and a floating crown that remind superman of the fairy odd parents except this was black with blue aurora light fire.

"You are so losing chew toy privileges, danny." Damian huffed as he just pick danny up by his armpits and just begans walked away through the hallway door.

The justice league could only look a bit gaped.

"Where did Robin found that?"

[4bath-time]