#but eating this in the sun on a chill (but not freezing) day is genuinely improving my mood

[bunnyboy-juice]

i was having a really bad day/morning but I got a hoagie from a new (to me) place and getting it was weird cause of a silly mishap but also i am stoked cause ive literally only wanted turkey avocado sandwich for the last 4 days :3

[steddieas-shegoes]

“You could help, you know.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

Steve was standing in the shallow end of the pool, wearing only his tiny bathing suit shorts, attempting to do the first big clean of the year.

The water was still cold, but it had to be done so they could host the annual pool party to welcome summer.

Eddie was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, drinking a beer and eating the chips that were supposed to be for the party.

Steve was glaring at him, net in hand, visibly shivering from the chill in the water and the air. Eddie had warned him that it was still too cold at night, that the water was gonna be uncomfortable, that the breeze in the air was still too frequent and cold to get in.

But did Steve listen? No.

So instead of helping, Eddie sat and watched.

“We should push the party out a couple more weeks.”

“Ah, but you promised them.”

Eddie kept munching on the chips, knowing that the party would get pushed out because Steve would last maybe five more minutes before giving up.

Steve was a determined son of a bitch, but even his stubbornness wouldn’t get him through this, Eddie was sure of it.

But five minutes passed and Steve remained in the pool, scooping leaves and other debris from the deep end.

His lips were starting to turn blue, but he didn’t complain.

Eddie finished his beer while he watched Steve’s back muscles shift as he moved around the water.

He loved watching Steve’s muscles.

He didn’t love watching Steve freeze to death.

“Sweetheart, maybe we can call it a day. Tomorrow is supposed to be warmer, the sun might heat the water up a little.”

“No, I promised.”

Ah. Eddie had been somewhat joking before; He knew the kids would understand if they had to postpone because of it being too cold.

But Steve would never break a promise to them. Not when he could instead suffer greatly.

“Steve.”

Steve ignored him.

Eddie got up from the chair and moved to the edge of the pool, only a few feet from where Steve was focusing on his task much harder than he needed to.

“Steve.”

“I’m more than halfway done. I might as well finish.”

“They’ll understand. Maybe we can try next weekend.”

“No. I can do it.”

Eddie managed to grab the end of the net when it got close to him on Steve’s next swipe through the water and tugged so Steve was forced to come closer to him.

“Sweetheart, you need to get out.”

“But they’ll be upset.”

“They’ll understand.”

“I can’t-“

“You can. It isn’t letting them down.”

“It is.”

Steve was finally close enough for Eddie to cup his face between his hands. He felt how cold his cheeks were and they weren’t even wet, he couldn’t imagine how the lower half of his body and hands must’ve felt.

“I’ll call them tomorrow and reschedule. You’re gonna get sick and end up having to cancel anyways if you stay in this water.”

“But they won’t wanna just come over to hang out.”

Eddie pushed aside the sudden heartbreak at the realization that Steve genuinely believed the kids used him for his pool as if they don’t spend at least one to two nights a week at his house all winter long for movie nights and dinners.

“They come to hang out all the time without the pool. They love you. They don’t care about your stuff.”

“But they were so excited.”

“I think that excitement would go away if you die from hypothermia.”

Steve sighed.

Eddie smiled. He won. Thank God. He really thought he was gonna be pulling a frozen solid Steve from the pool in the next ten minutes.

Eddie took the net from Steve’s hand and got up to hang it on the hook along the side of the fence while Steve got out of the pool.

Neither of them had brought a towel outside, and Steve’s shivering was getting progressively worse every second.

“Alright, strip.”

Steve snorted, but his teeth had started chattering, so Eddie just raised his eyebrow at him.

Steve sighed and removed his bathing suit, leaving it right on the ground as he rushed in the sliding glass door to the warmth of the house.

Eddie hung them on the back of a chair so they could dry and followed Steve inside.

Steve was already going upstairs, so Eddie yelled to him to start a hot bath while he grabbed his trash from outside.

When he got to the bathroom, Steve was already sitting in the almost full tub, head leaned back and eyes closed.

Eddie watched him for a moment.

He was a self-sacrificing idiot who didn’t understand his own worth without his rich-boy things, but Eddie loved him.

He loved him enough to strip down and get into the bath behind him, holding him against his chest to help him warm up more. He loved him enough to wash his hair and body because he was already exhausted from working all day and trying to take care of the pool. He loved him enough to dry him off with the softest towel in the cabinet, and dress him in a pair of sweatpants and Eddie’s hoodie. He loved him enough to call Dustin when he was asleep and tell him that there’d be no pool party this weekend, but they could still come hang out.

As expected, Dustin (and everyone) loved Steve enough to show up regardless of anything else except being able to spend time with Steve.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Tome of Fate - Vol. 2

Masterlist - Loki masterlist

Sequel to Tome of Fate

Summary: This is the continuation of the AU story about Loki, prince of Jotunheim, and the reader, princess of Asgard, after their fateful summer in Jotunheim.

Chapters: 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - Bonus chapter

Words: 1653

Warnings: none really

Chapter 1

As the chilling winds of autumn swept through the Asgard, a deep sense of longing settled in your heart. The impending winter brought with it a heavy weight of sadness and loneliness, made all the more unbearable by the absence of Loki. You had found solace in his company during your time in Utgard, but now, returning home without him by your side made the world seem colder, emptier. The prince was sent to the mountains with his fellow warriors to complete the final part of his traditional training, both of you vowed to keep in contact through letters. However, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the promise became increasingly difficult to uphold. Time seemed to stretch endlessly and so you found yourself yearning for any word from the prince as half of winter had already passed.

As the usual Yule dinner at the palace approached, you couldn't shake off the looming sense of despair. It was a time of celebration and togetherness, yet, the absence of Loki cast a shadow over the festivities. Much to your dismay, your father extended an invitation to the king of Vanaheim. The news filled you with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. You had hoped that this year's guests would be from Jotunheim. Instead, fate had dealt you a different hand, and you found yourself dreading the arrival of the Vanaheim royals. To make it even worse, the king of Vanaheim was insistent on bringing his son Odr, a bratty and ignorant prince around your age. The very thought of spending the Yule dinner in the company of such an insufferable individual made your stomach churn with unease, declining your brother's well meant offer to punch him at your command, though the proposal brought at least a small grin on your face. But the worst was that the prince's father seemed far too eager to entertain the idea of a union between you and the prince, much to your absolute rejection.

As the evening of the dreaded dinner finally arrived, the sweet temptation to run away grew almost unbearable and the exaggerated pompous arrival of the guests from Vanaheim didn't help strengthen your resolve to sit through this torture. Thor positioned himself across from you at the dining table, strategically placing himself within the ideal range for his knife-throwing plans, as he amusingly pointed out. Your affection for your brother was deep and you valued his eagerness to protect and help you, even though you would never allow him to cause a major diplomatic crisis on your behalf. Should the need arise, you were inclined to employ more subtle and mischievous methods to handle the troublesome prince. Amidst the elaborate festivities and the forced smiles during the dinner, your gaze locked with that of Odr. In that brief moment, something shifted. A glint of genuine curiosity and mischief gleamed in his eyes, a stark contrast to the arrogant facade he had worn until then. It was as if, in that fleeting exchange, you glimpsed a different side of him, a side that intrigued you despite your initial reservations.

A silent sigh escaped Loki's lips as he sank onto his small bed inside the cramped tent. Despite being a prince, his only luxury on this journey was a bit of personal space. The instructor had already driven them through the freezing snow before dawn, forcing them to spar with each other for hours until the sun set again. They were given a brief respite to eat and regain their strength before venturing out into the bitter cold of Jotunheim's mountains, clad in nothing but thin leather armour. Though Loki had a natural resistance to the cold, each passing day made him feel more desolate. Despite his Jotun heritage, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't destined to be the formidable warrior everyone expected him to be, particularly in such harsh conditions. He would willingly surrender his title, his lineage, and even the entire kingdom if it meant he could sit comfortably in a warm library, immersed in a book while you curled up on his lap. He closed his eyes, focusing on that mental image, exhaling slowly as he imagined the sensation of your touch on his skin and the tender caress of your hands against his cheeks.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself engaged in unexpected conversations with the prince. The icy barriers that had separated you from him seemed to thaw, giving way to spirited debates and shared laughter until Odin had proudly stated that you were most skilled in mastering your seidr and had therefore spend the entire summer in Utgardhall, helping prince Loki to master his. The mood shifted as the Vanir prince's expression twisted into a sneer of annoyance.

"I'm not surprised", he spat, his tone laced with hate, "Jotun are known to be nothing but brutes. How could they master anything this delicate without help?"

In an instant, Thor swiftly seized the knife positioned beside his dinner plate, his gaze meeting yours with intensity. He let out a frustrated exhale upon observing your disapproving gesture and put the knife back. Fury rose inside of you as you took in what Odr just said. Loki and the Jotun you had encountered during the summer were many things, perhaps even rough at times, but certainly not brutes. You prepared to unleash your anger and confront the impolite prince, but before any words could escape your lips, Odin rose from his seat and forcefully slammed both hands onto the table.

"I must remind our esteemed guests that Jotunheim is not only a valuable ally", his voice reverberated through the grand dining hall, his barely concealed anger palpable, "but King Laufey is also a dear friend to our house, the very house in which you are honoured guests this evening."

The king of Vanaheim swiftly rose to his feet and stepped away from the table, bowing deeply in deference.

"Allfather, please pardon the disrespectful behaviour of my son", he directed a harsh glare towards Odr while keeping his head lowered in submission.

Your father might have been wise but you surely didn't know him to be neither a patient nor a forgiving man, so you prepared yourself for the imminent outbursts of anger from him. However, to your surprise, they never came. Instead, your mother placed her hand gently on his and smiled at the Vanir king.

"We are grateful for your presence at this dinner but you should leave now. We wish you a safe and pleasant journey back to Vanaheim", she spoke politely.

Observing the Vanir royals bowing respectfully and hastening towards the exit, you couldn't resist snapping your fingers. A mist of emerald green materialised at Prince Odr's feet, causing him to stumble, before dissipating without a trace. You couldn't help but chuckle, though your laughter was drowned out by the closing of the magnificent doors. Odin muttered something in annoyance before dismissing you and your brother from the dining hall.

"Are you alright sister?", Thor asked, looking worried.

You nodded and gave your brother a quick hug, thanking him for offering his support this evening before you made your way back to your chamber, a glimmer of hope sparked in your chest, yearning for a letter from Loki awaiting you on the vanity in your room. You hummed a cheerful tune as you strolled through the palace corridors. Despite feeling lonely without the Jotun prince by your side, the events of the evening made you appreciate the relief of not being bothered by the Vanir King's proposal for his son's hand in marriage anymore.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Loki's mouth until a sudden weight of a packed bag crashed onto his stomach. He opened his eyes and glared angrily at Bjalki, who had barged into his tent with a smug grin on his face.

"Get dressed, prince", he chuckled, "there's a small village not too far away. They have hot springs and, as my most reliable sources inform me, some lovely ladies waiting to be wooed."

Loki rolled his eyes, pushing the bag off his belly before rising from his cot.

"I might join you for the hot springs but I have no interest in whatever women await in that village."

"Aww you're still thinking about that tiny Aesir princess, aren't you?", Bjalki poked playfully him in the chest.

"I happen to like her and she likes me too", the prince answered dryly.

"And yet you've received no letters from her", his friend pointed out, "and you haven't written any either."

"I barely have the time, considering we're being relentlessly chased through these wretched mountain passes."

"It was just a fling, prince, so you have no obligation towards her", Bjalki's gaze remained fixed on Loki as he traded his armor for more comfortable and warmer attire, "furthermore, you are both far apart. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. You deserve to have some fun, my prince. I am only concerned about your well-being," he added, shrugging innocently.

Loki let out a frustrated sigh. He would never admit it, but he struggled to cope with the anguish caused by the absence of your letters. Then again, he was travelling through the mountains, which would certainly delay the arrival of your letters. For all he knew, you could be pondering the same thoughts, as he had not found the time to write to you in the past month. He draped a fur over his shoulders and made his way towards the tent's entrance, stealing a glance back at his friend.

"I'll join for the hot springs", he muttered before heading out.

Loki and Bjalki had only been away from the camp for a mere thirty minutes when a messenger arrived. Dismounting swiftly from his horse, he made his way directly towards Loki's tent. There, he left a small package containing several sealed envelopes on the cot.

[bittermarrow]

Bubba , Jason and Michael chilling with their S/o drinking slushies when suddenly, Boom! The slashy bois have brain freeze?

CHARACTERS : BUBBA SAWYER, JASON VOORHEES, MICHAEL MYERS.

BUBBA SAWYER

— Sweet things are a rare treat in the Sawyer household with money being so tight, and their… unique appetites. However, ever since you decided to start pulling your own weight and got a job not too far out of town to help keep the house afloat, you’ve been able to afford the occasional sweet treat for your boy!

— You find that Bubba really likes sugar, and gets so excited when you bring anything sweet home for him to try—seeing as he likely hasn’t been introduced to a lot of treats. It was a particularly punishing hot summer day, and he’d been working so so hard on the farm today. It was only right to reward him!

— So you come sauntering out from the house, two rainbow popsicles in hand and a jug of sweet tea. When you approach, he’s lugging around a bin of chicken feed, which gets dropped the moment he sees you. You giggle as he picks you up in an eager hug, only practically bouncing up and down when you offer him a frozen treat.

— The two of you lean up against the fence, licking eagerly at your popsicles before the blistering sun melts them. Bubba might have been a little too eager though… you have half a mind to tell him to slow tf down before he gets a—

— it’s too late, he’s bitten a big chunk off of the popsicle. There’s an ominous silence and anticipation as you watch him worriedly, tongue sticking out of your mouth. And then he seizes, whimpering and tossing the frozen treat away from him like it had burned him. He holds his head, and you almost drop your own popsicle as you leap forward to comfort him.

— “Hey hey woah! calm down, bubs it’s just a brain freeze!” You wheeze, trying hard not to laugh as he wiggles and scrunches his face up underneath the mask of flesh. “It’ll go away soon, just relax.” You press a smiling kiss to his masked cheek and rub his back as that cold sting finally ceases.

— When Bubba recovers from the frosty attack he frowns at the melted rainbow puddle and stick in the grass, the remains of his dessert.

— “Aw c’mon don’t be sad. You can have some of mine.” That brings a smile back to his face.

JASON VOORHEES

— Jason doesn’t really need to eat, but you still like to feed him. And he likes to, you think. It’s hard to tell if he only eats because you insist or he genuinely enjoys your cooking— or takeout if you’re not deft in the kitchen. He humors you though, and that’s all you could ever ask for.

— You’re so used to him eating dinner with you at this point that you don’t think twice when you make an extra slushee for movie night. He looks a little confused when you pass him the frozen drink, but takes it without protest, as always— the sweetheart <333

— You sigh as you sip at your slushee, smiling around the straw as your favorite cold mix of flavors dance across your mouth. Your eyes are glued to the TV watching the two protagonists of the western romance flick dance around each other in that shy teenager like way you always see in movies before they’re thrown into a horseback gunfight.

— It startles you a little when you hear a loud slurping sound, eyes fluttering over to see that Jason’s downed a third of the slushee in one go and your eyes widen in thinly-veiled horror. Oh no.

— The response is immediate. You see his good eye wince and he goes rigid beside you, and when a hand on his forearm doesn’t settle him you try to hold in a grin when you realize that your hulking zombie boyfriend is experiencing a very human brain freeze.

— Your humanness demands you to laugh though, and so you burst into a fit of giggles when you see him look accusingly at the cup. You roll onto the floor as laughs wrack your body, hands on your stomach. What’s even more hilarious is that he has no idea why you’re laughing, just staring with that concerned baby blue eye as you lose your shit.

— Once you’re done rolling around on the floor you key him in on the importance of sipping. He still doesn’t entirely understand.

— What’s even cuter though is the way he watches you whenever you take a sip of your own slushee throughout the night, worried you may get this notorious “brain freeze” and you might not survive it.

MICHAEL MYERS

— Please show him what actual food is… you know before actually introducing him to sweets. Otherwise it’s all he’s going to eat. You’re pleasantly surprised when you discover that Michael actually has a sweet tooth! It’s not something he’s going to admit if you ask, but you’ve got candy jars stashed all over your house for a reason. He can never really stop at one either. He’s the type to just sit there and eat a whole bag of candy.

— Chastasizing or scolding him does little to amend this. Michael just does what he wants.

— Unfortunately that means he doesn’t listen to you when you tell him to take slow sips with the slushee you offer him one fateful night. And it’s exactly why he downs half the fucking cup in one slurp, just to spite you.

— Michael doesn’t realize why you’re looking at him so smugly until it hits him. Cold, it’s cold!! It feels like his ears are ringing and his brain stings, a cold stabbing in his head.

— He’s PISSED, it’s literally so funny pls. He throws the rest at the wall, letting it drip down the wall as he flicks his head this way and that. Very much those videos of cats when they get brain freezes. Just kind of walks away, very offended. Like why would you betray him this way, he trusted you???

— “I told you to sip, Mikey! AHAHAHA,” you holler as he retreats to the other room to brood. You’ve got a mess to clean, but that performance was worth it!

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Camping

Prompt: You, Fred, George, Ginny and the trio decide to have some fun over summer break and go on a camping trip, except without the magic tents. Just some friends and some nature. Well, except for you and Fred, who are both pining over each other while thinking the other doesn't share their feelings. That is until you get particularly cold one night.

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!, Camping, Swearing, Fluffy ending, I think that’s it.

A/N: Oh, to be fucked in a tent by Fred Weasley. The dream really. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! LMK if you have any requests!

You let out a sigh of relief as you let your heavy backpack fall to the ground. The hike had been long, almost three hours, but the scenery from the mountain top where you and your friends were currently standing made it worth it.

It was Hermione's idea to go camping. She had talked about how fun it was when she had gone with her family, and thought it would be a good way to get out and spend some time together over the summer, and the twins only having been wizard camping with magic tents wanted the full muggle camping experience.

You were looking over the view when your eyes landed on Fred’s as he was looking at you, a smile on his face.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer” You joked to the older red head.

“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view” He replied

You only smiled and rolled your eyes, moving to unpack your bag and start setting up the campsite. You and the twins were in the same year, and had been friends ever since your first day at Hogwarts, but you only saved your flirty jokes for Fred. 

“How in the bloody hell does this work?” Ron mumbled to Hermione, stretching out the fabric of the tent he would be sharing with Harry.

“You have to put the poles through it” Hermione explained, taking the fabric from him and showing him how to set up the tent, Fred and George watching from the side.

You and Hermione's family's had both had some camping supplies, so you brought everything you thought you would need, including four tents. Three doubles for Fred and George, Harry and Ron, and Ginny and Hermione, and a single for you. You honestly didn’t mind the solitude though, in fact you were pretty excited to get some uninterrupted sleep.

A few hours later, and sleep was the last thing that you were expecting to get. The temperature had gone down with the sun, and your sleeping bag was doing little to protect you from the cold that filled your tent.

You were just about to see if you had packed another sweater to put on, when you heard shuffling from outside, causing you to freeze up. You clenched your teeth to stop them from chattering as you strained your ears, trying to hear what the sound could have been before-

“Hey Y/n, you awake?” Fred’s voice whispered from outside the tent, causing you to huff out a breath, opening your tent flap to glare at the red head.

“Fred! You scared the shit out of me what's wrong with you?” You whisper yelled, backing up as Fred came to sit inside the tent with you, his sleeping bag wrapped around him.

“Oh stop it you love me” Fred shot back, now fully inside the tent and sitting cross legged across from you. “George wont stop snoring, can I bunk in here with you?”

“Fred... It’s tiny in here you wont fit” You tried to argue.

“Just scooch over, it’ll be fine” He said back, already moving to one side of the tent and pushing your sleeping bag over to lay his down, unwrapping it from around himself to reveal he was shirtless underneath. 

You averted your eyes, trying to hide the blush on your face.

“Fine, but I swear if you kick me-” You started.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise” Fred joked, causing the light blush from earlier to now heat up your entire face.

You shifted a bit, making more room before laying back down, facing away from Fred. A few minutes past and the cold had seeped into your bones, causing you to start shivering again. You pulled your knees into your chest, trying to preserve your body heat until you fell asleep, but you were interrupted.

“Y/N...” Fred whispered from behind you.

“What?” You whispered back a bit angrily, irritated that the cold was keeping you awake.

“Are you cold?” Fred asked, completely ignoring your tone. 

“No it’s a fucking sauna in here” you replied sarcastically.

“Come here” Fred said after a moment, causing you to roll over to face him, your eyes widening.

“What?” You asked

“Come here, I’ll keep you warm” Fred said simply. 

You looked at him dumbly. The possibility of somehow embarrassing yourself in front of your longtime crush was very real, however, you could already feel the heat radiating off of him, and your toes were practically numb-

“For Merlin's sake Y/N, your teeth are chattering, would you just come here so maybe we could both get some sleep?” Fred asked, lifting the edge of his sleeping bag.

“Fine, but no funny business” you said, trying to be casual, like you weren't about to practically cuddle your long time crush.

“You insult me, I’m a gentlemen” He replied

You opened your sleeping bag and carefully shifted yourself until you were in Fred's, turning so your back was once again facing him. Once you were inside, Fred lowered his arm, encasing the both of you in the sleeping bag before wrapping his arm around your waist, causing the butterflies in your stomach to erupt.

A few minutes had past, and you were still shivering a bit, Fred's body heat taking its time to seep through the three sweaters you were currently wearing.

“You know” Fred started “If you took your clothes off you’d get warmer faster” He said suggestively, causing you to roll your eyes.

“If you’re just going to make fun of me I can go, I’m sure Hermione and Ginny could make room” You shot back, your nerves getting the better of you.

“I’m serious!” Fred defended, any hint of joking from his voice leaving “Your feet are freezing and you’ve barely warmed up at all, but if it makes you uncomfortable you don’t have to” Fred finished. 

You pondered for a minute. Fred sounded genuine, and it was unlikely either of you would get any sleep with you practically vibrating from the cold. So without saying a word, you sat up and began to strip the layers off your body until you were only in your bra, underwear, and socks, laying down again, with your back facing Fred.

“Bra stays on” You mumbled, causing Fred to chuckle from behind you, before returning to his original position with his arm wrapped around you, this time his skin coming in direct contact with you.

You warmed up fairly quickly, both from body heat, and the fact that you and Fred have never been this close and your heart was racing at a trillion miles per hours. You had just started to get a hold on your jitters, when Fred moved his hand, trailing his fingers up your side and making small patterns on your arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.

“Is this ok?” Fred asked, a gentleness to his tone

“Mhm” You mumbled, the action starting to lull you to sleep, before you felt his hand move from your arm to your shoulder, then to your neck, then to the side of your face, his feather light touches almost tickling your skin.

“Is this?” Fred asked once again.

“Yeah” You replied, a bit more awake now, then again, you could be dreaming. However the possibility of this moment being in your imagination was quickly whisked away when you felt warm lips connect to your shoulder, before moving up toward your neck, leaving short wet kisses in his wake, he finally landed just below your ear.

“Is this ok?” He whispered, 

You turned in the sleeping bag so you were now facing him, “Yes” You said before moving your hand to cup his face, and closing the space between you. Fred took no time to react, moving his arm to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, your chest now fully pressed against his.

Without breaking the kiss, you moved your hand from his face down to his chest, when you gently pushed him backwards, so he was now laying on his back, and you were straddling him, Fred's large hands coming to rest on your thighs. 

Fred gently bit your lower lip, and you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to intertwine with yours. As the kiss deepened, your hips began to rock against his, his hardened member now painfully obvious.

You trailed one of your hands up his chest, landing on his head before entangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a light tug. This sent Fred over the edge, gripping your legs to flip you over so you were now laying beneath him, a started yelp escaping your lips.

“Shh, darling. We need to be quiet” Fred rasped into your ear, placing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, causing a chill to run down your spine, before his reached around behind you, unclasping your bra which you quickly discarded

Fred continued to kiss downwards, his hand coming upwards to grasp your breast as his lips met the other, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh, before continuing the attack on the other, most likely leaving marks for the morning.

He continued kissing downwards, stopping once he reached the elastic of your panties, looking up at you and kissing the inside of your knee, your thigh, your hips, everywhere except where you needed him.

“Fred please stop teasing I- oh god!” You started, protesting his slow pace before quickly moving the fabric to the side, licking a long stripe from your core to your bundle of nerves.

Your head fell back against your pillows, one hand moving to cover your mouth while the other went down to run your fingers through his hair, Fred moaning as you pulled on his fiery strands, sending the vibrations straight to your core.

As Fred continued to eat you out, you struggled to remain quiet, the hand covering your mouth doing almost nothing to contain your moans. You were just about to reach your high, your head rolling back and your toes curling when Fred pulled away.

“What the fuck Fred?” You almost sobbed, frustrated that he had stolen your orgasm. Fred crawled his way back up your body, quickly pulling his wand out from beside the sleeping bag, and casting a silencing charm on the tent.

“I want to be inside you when you come, and I want to hear you screaming my name” Fred whispered into your ear, causing your eyes to widen at the boldness of his statement. Your surprise was quickly overcome with lust as Fred leaned down to re connect your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on him.

You broke the kiss and quickly kicked your panties the rest of the way off, Fred moving to remove his pajama pants, freeing his cock which slapped against his toned stomach. You gasped as Fred guided himself to your core, teasing your folds before slowly pushing into you, his size stretching you perfectly.

He waited a few seconds for you to adjust, only moving when you nodded that you were ready. He pulled out half way, before slowly thrusting back, bottoming out completely before repeating his movements, gaining speed with each thrust.

Fred brushed past your spot with each snap of his hips, making it impossible to contain your moans. Your hands moved up his back, digging your fingernails into his back desperate to bring him closer.

“So fucking perfect, you take my cock so well” Fred practically growled, sucking marks into the crook of your neck as his high approached.

“Oh fuck Fred, I- I’m close” You gasped, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each trust.

Fred reached down and lifted your leg over his shoulder, creating a whole new angle that hit that one spot perfectly every time, before moving his fingers to your core, making small fast circles around your clit.

“Cum for me baby” Fred said, and a few seconds later the coil in your stomach snapped, your back arching as you rode out your orgasm.

Fred’s thrusts became sloppy as he came shorty after you, helping you to ride out your orgasm, before finally slowing to a stop. You stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath as you came down from your high, before Fred pulled out of you, causing you to whine from the empty feeling. 

He laid back in him original spot, the both of you staring at the ceiling for a moment, before a chuckle escaped your lips, causing Fred to look over at you.

“No funny business” You quoted yourself from earlier, “That was a fucking lie”

Both you and Fred erupted into a fit of laughter, the sudden realization of ‘I just fucked my best friend, and it was awesome’ setting in.

“Bra stays on” Fred quoted you from earlier “Also a fucking lie” 

“Would you have rather it stayed on?” You asked through giggles

“Oh hell no, in fact, get rid of it I never want to see it again” Fred replied, sending you both into another fit of chuckles.

“That's what I thought” You said once the laughing had died down, suddenly becoming a bit self conscious about the whole situation as a thousand questions went through your mind. Was this a one time thing? Does he actually like me or did he just want to fuck? Should I move? Should I-

“I think I’m in love with you” Fred suddenly said from beside you, your head snapping to look at him, his eyes already on you.

“What?” You asked, not sure if you were hearing him correctly.

“I think I’m in love with you. I have been for a while actually” Fred started, causing your brain to short-circuit “Your so funny, and kind, and smart, and fuck you're so hot, but you’re also so beautiful and I just-”

You cut off Fred’s rambling by connecting the space between you once again, connecting your lips to his, one to show that you felt the same way, but to also double check to make sure you weren't dreaming. 

“I think I love you too” You said after you broke away from the kiss, a smile crossing the red heads face.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah” You replied, smiling back at him.

Fred leaned down and kissed you again, before wrapping his arms around you pulling you closer to him, your head now resting on his chest, his heartbeat beginning to lull you to sleep.

“Y/N?” Fred asked, whispering so he didn’t startle you.

“Hmm?” You mumbled back, already half asleep.

“Are you still cold? Because if you are we could always go for round two?” Fred asked jokingly, laughing when you smacked his shoulder.

“Fred!”

Needless to say... there was a round two.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: SMUT WITH PLOT??? In this economy??? 

Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed! I don’t write smut very often so I hope it was ok! Feel free to leave any requests or comments if you’d like. Also i have a taglist now so lmk if you want to be added! Love you all!

Taglist:  @levylovegood​

[galvus]

prompt: tepid • words: 1,299 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] only slightly warm; lukewarm.

Only once had Annette ever seen Zenos flinch.

Their chase began in Gyr Abania, on a particularly quiet night cut between those marred with tragedy, but it did not end there on the sun-bleached rocks or bitterly hot sand. He wanted a fight, and Annette — despite her better judgment — wanted time enough with him to explore the strange feeling in her chest.

So, they tore over Baelsar’s Wall and made haste over the width of the Shroud, losing hours together as the role of predator and the role of prey exchanged hands in unfamiliar territory.

Zenos was lost among trees, and Annette reminded him of that.

Infuriatingly often.

The duels that ensued were quick, breathless things that left the Twelveswood trembling in their wake. Leaves, charred and fallen. Ruins, split in two and crumbled beyond reason. Each time they clashed, the Garlean prince emerged even more determined than before, his windtorn locks dull with sweat and as caked with blood as the bandages he wore haphazardly wrapped around his limbs.

She had not fared any better. Her chocobo carried her well enough, but their frequent battles had left her bruised along one side of her body, making balance almost impossible to achieve. One good cut with the Swell — that was all it took to render her close to useless. One push that sent her flying into the trunk of a tree.

But paired with his own burns and bruises, the thump had only evened to playing field.

They did not slow down until Coerthas, until humid forest became snow-covered fields, until dull aches became genuine pains.

While Zenos’s feelings towards his injuries did not appear to be changed with time, the same could not be said for the Warrior of Light, whose initial fleet-footed escape had become a dogged trudge away from the man who dreamed of stopping her.

Not that either of them had slept in days. Or taken time to eat a proper meal, either.

A truce would have to be called. She knew that he had no interest in killing her, not when she was disarmed and at her absolute weakest.

Tossing her grimoire down onto the snow, Annette slipped from her chocobo’s saddle and raised her palms to him. The gesture wasn’t quite a white flag, but it was a plea for a moment’s break. The necessity of rest was obvious in the way she sank as she took a step closer to him, her knees threatening to buckle under her weight.

“An hour,” Zenos said, his callused hand curling at the handle of his katana. Anyone else might have seen such a thing and counted him as a threat, but she knew better. He held his blade differently when he planned to attack. “Then, we shall begin anew.”

An hour? The thought was enough to make her laugh.

“What total nonsense,” Annette spat back. “Give me the night. We can begin again at dawn.”

The prince tilted his head back, peering up at the sunset that colored the sky. Dawn would be in no less than ten hours. She spied displeasure pulled taut at the corners of his mouth.

“Two.”

Frustration bubbled in her guts. She could not fight him again without a proper meal, without a proper sleep, without a bath and time to tend to her wounds. He wasn’t the sort of man to hunt until his quarry was crawling on bloodied feet and impossible to fight back. That was not what he looked at her and yearned for — a lesson he had taught her early on.

“Just kill me now, then!” Annette shouted, her cry taking shape on the freezing wind. “Because I will not be any better off in two hours!”

Zenos paused.

The tattered hem of the cloth that trailed behind him blackened on the melting snow. If they lingered in place for too long, they would surely freeze; an unavoidable chill seeped into the both of them as they stood there in the wind, half-dead and exhausted, unwilling to budge on either side.

Until… he did.

“Dawn, then,” Zenos muttered, and then, he was gone.

Only then was Annette able to breathe. She limped to her chocobo’s side, rubbing a gentle hand over his pale blue feathers as she whispered to him an apology. It took feeding him the last remaining faerie apple in her pack for him to carry her again, but when he did, he carried her to precisely where she needed to be.

Tucked into the side of a crevasse, surrounded with sheer, black rock that was untouched by snow, was a spring.

She had been there before, with Olivier and Alphinaud, Estinien and Ysayle. Nothing had changed in the year that followed. Steam still billowed up from the water, filling the crisp air with a much-needed dew as well as heat. The surface was smooth rather than boiling, but Annette could tell by the massive amounts of fog that it was still as close as it had been back then.

She didn’t care.

Annette climbed down from her chocobo’s back with care, thinking of her weary knees and the likely slippery state of the stone.

Trembling with effort as she shed the coat and tunic she wore over a sweat-stained cotton slip, her thoughts pivoted and spun. Concern for the morning hours off, for the night, for the prince. Fury at having been so handily dispatched, at having run with such eager feet.

Sitting down upon the warmed stone, she unlaced her boots and tugged her woolen socks free from her boots. She set one of them down at her side, but the other…

She also felt guilt at enjoying herself, at wanting more.

Annette gave in to her own frustration and hurled the other boot blindly into the snow, only to watch as it landed at Zenos yae Galvus’s feet. He bent and picked it up without a word.

His armor had been discarded in favor of a simple, white shirt that hung unburdened by trousers around his shapely upper thighs. The look that he gave her as he passed was pity, unimpressed. But, still, she could see the dried blood clinging to his long locks of hair. Beneath his shirt, she could see the telltale sign of bandages wrapped around his arms, around his midsection.

“Be careful,” she called out after him. “The water is quite hot.”

Zenos stopped, turning. But where she expected a snide remark, there was only weariness that was easily cast aside as he stepped right down past the surface of the steaming hot spring.

In an instant, Zenos tugged his reddened foot back out of the water with a hiss, his broad shoulders tucked up around his neck.

The told you so died on her tongue in favor of a different approach.

Clad only in a cotton shift, Annette walked past him with as much confidence as she could muster after days of breakneck travel, only to submerge one foot into the spring, then the other. She stepped farther in, allowing the water to rise around her knees before slipping down to sit at the bottom of the pool.

Comfort came as if brought forth on wings, leaving Annette with only a relieved groan on her lips. She tipped her head back, resting the crown of it against the rocks.

“Used to sitting in water about as warm as spit, are you?”

She did not have to open her eyes to recognize the look on Zenos’s face, not when she could practically hear his molars creaking.

They would fight again in the morning once they had given themselves time to rest, but for a moment, there was peace between them… as long as you did not count sarcasm as an attack.

[dancingazaleas]

𖨆. 05 / all for us

summary: after the recent incident, you don’t feel a real reason to live. so why try to live?

note: this was supposed to be longer, but i loved how it ended. i’m also a suffering from headaches again. please be patient with me. also, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS IVE LISTED. this is a DARK chapter.

taglist: @the-sun-baby @voltairelesecond @baelo80 @uniquepickle @ascybous @saturnalya @messyhairday-me @stupid-stinky

word count: 1.4k

warnings/notes: cursing, suicidal thoughts, self harm, attempt of suicide, dark, panic attack

YOU lay on the floor of your closet once again, the scratchy carpet being the only thing that provided you with warmth. the only person you'd seen for the past few days was erwin. anytime he'd even mention levi, you'd beg for him not to see you.

you groan quietly, deciding to go lay in your bed for a while so your skin won't keep itching. your foot chills when it touches the hardwood floor of your room, and it distracts you from the task at hand.

you're dizzy now, only being able to focus on your foot. it didn't help much since you collapsed onto your side, breathing heavily through your nose as you stare blankly to the wall. you haven't stood up for hours, opting to leave the closet only to go to the restroom.

you blink while getting back onto your feet, hand pressed against your head as if you were soothing it. you decide to go to the bathroom, if you go now that means you won't have to go later.

you watch your hands afterwards, tired eyes watching your reflection in the crystal clear mirror.

your face was bruised, you have a black eye and a deep cut on your cheek from levi's wedding band.

you look back down to your hands, wanting to focus on something else in order to soothe yourself. you don't bother to dry your hands off with a towel, opting to shaking them around in the air.

your feet drag against the floor as you jump into your bed, body smoothly sliding across it so your head rests against a pillow. you curl up under the covers, genuine warmth crashing against your body for the first time in days. it's almost overwhelming, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

you watch a movie to help pass the first hour and a half of you being outside of the closet. you play another movie for background noise, getting off of your bed and walking to the bookshelf.

you grab a black book with white font, grabbing a smaller blanket and throwing it over your lap once you sit in a chair.

you’re going to read some of this book and then retreat back to your safe space whenever they come to feed you.

even though you’re reading the story, you can barely comprehend the words along with the plot line. everything seems to be a jumbled mess inside of your mind, so much that it makes your head hurt right behind your eyes. time stretches longer than you meant for it to as you keep rereading all the sentences, hoping to gain at least a tiny bit of understanding.

you’re attention is taken away by the sound of the door opening and closing. you’d been so focused you hadn’t even noticed that someone was coming to see you. and not only was it someone, it was levi.

the book falls out of your hands and onto the floor, eyes wide as you stare at levi with fear.

he’s holding your tray of food for lunch, which you don’t think you’ll be eating today since it’s not erwin who’s going to feed you.

levi tries not to get irritated at the way your body is trembling. he hasn’t even said a single word and you’re already cowering.

when levi steps closer, you jump out of the chair and into the corner furthest from him. you cry out for erwin, for help, anyone that will be able to take levi away from you.

it startles levi for a moment, but it’s soon replaced with frustration as he makes another step.

you scream while tears gush out of your eyes, nailing planting onto the wall you’re up against. levi angrily puts the tray of food down onto your windowsill, metal and glass clinking against one another in unsynchronized harmony.

for whatever reason, it has you screeching with you dropping to the floor and cover your head with your arms. levi’s worried and goes to make a move towards you, but you’re too frightened to think.

your screeching has his head pounding, so much that he’s silently praying that erwin would just come in already.

“i’m—i’m trying to fucking help!” he barks at you, stomping his foot onto the hardwood flooring.

you jump once more, protecting yourself more than before.

levi goes to scream again, but he’s interrupted by the door to your room slamming open.

erwin’s there, half dressed and messy hair while his eyes frantically scan the area. his eyes widen at the sight of your cowering, quickly rushing over to you to sit in front of you.

“what happened,” he asks levi while cautiously pressing a hand to your knee.

“i just walked in and she just went batshit,” levi says with exasperation, confusion and anger flashing on his face.

“get out. you scare her,” he orders with furrowed brows, stroking the skin of your kneecap with his thumb.

levi scoffs but listens anyways, shutting the door behind him.

“my love, everything’s okay. it’s just us now,” he murmurs sweetly, managing to coax you out of your panicked state just a bit.

“us? j... just us,” your voice is shaky as your hand absentmindedly reaches out for erwin.

“yes, just us,” he confirms with a smile, managing to gather you in his large arms.

you continue to cry, only this time you can breathe.

“can’t be with ‘im... i’m scared,” you admit while attaching yourself to erwin, “so scared.”

shushing you, he coos, “you can, i believe in you.”

wrong choice.

“no! no! NO,” you start to trash in his arms, once again entering the almost inconsolable mind state.

since he wasn’t expecting your panicked reactions, you manage to kick him in the chest and push him away. his body bangs against the stool of your vanity, knocking it onto his side with a loud crash.

levi runs back inside, watching how you jump to your feet and over to your vanity. erwin manages to scoot further away from you, slightly unsure of your next move.

you’re sobbing uncontrollably as you slam your fast into your vanity’s mirror. it’s so clean, not a smudge on it. not even a speck of lint. it’s perfect.

the shards cut your hand, but you don’t care, too high on adrenaline. levi and erwin go to disarm you just as you manage to grasp a particularly large and sharp shard of glass.

the moment it’s in your hand, you raise your opposite wrist to the glass while screaming at the two men.

“NOT ANOTHER STEP,” you cry as you push the glass against your skin, freezing both levi and erwin, “not another fucking step or i kill myself with this shard right fucking here.”

“(name), my love, it’s alright! it’s okay! no one’s going to hurt you,” erwin barely moves an inch while he pleads, but you don’t care.

“I SAID NOT ANOTHER STEP!!” you roar while slicing the glass against your skin, blood immediately pouring from the new wound.

dark red paints the glass as your finger swipes against the blood by accident.

“get out,” you whimper, “just leave me alone to die, please.”

“we can’t do that,” levi says calmly, accidentally taking a step out of instinct.

it feels comparable to flour whenever the blade slices through your pretty skin. it burns and you know that you might end up having to get stitches from just how deep it is if you want to live. and considering you can only really get stitches from hospitals, you say your goodbyes in your head.

“if you can’t do that,” your vision is starting to grow hazy as your breath comes out ragged, “then, i’ll just kill myself right here, knife at the vein.”

this is the only way you’ll be free again. the only way you’ll be away from them. the only way you’ll probably ever get to see your friends again.

your hope has dwindled into nothing. you know you cannot get away, not in a million years. now, there’s only one way to escape. death.

and by god if you let one of them slaughter you.

and so, you slash your arm once more right against the vein. blood oozes from the wound with ease while your eyes roll back and your knees hit the floor. the last thing you see is erwin and levi running towards you with panicked looks on their faces. it almost makes you laugh.

you hope to see them in hell.

[whereflowersbloom]

La tendresse

She wakes with sunlight bright in her face, body aching all over and a slight headache. She felt like she might vomit but swallowed it down. She had been worse off before from a little wine sickness and survived. Rhachel sat up slowly, closing her eyes when the world tilted dangerously. When she figured she was steady enough, she opened them again.

The sun was streaming in through her open window, painting pinks and orange hues in the sky. Though the shadow led her to believe it was later than she normally woke. How long had she slept? It’s usually the birds that woke her up, their chirping a sweet melody that reminded her of homeland or the warm, familiar sensation of Damian’s lips wandering the curves of her body. She looked around, and spotted a flower on the little table next to the bed along with a breakfast tray of something. There were a few thick slices of Ma’rouk bread, some figs and grapes, and something that looked like rice custard.

She picked up the white rose, noticing the little card tied to the stem with a delicate silver ribbon. ‘To my lovely Princess of thorns, this flower pales in comparison to your beauty and grace. I’ll come find you after my council meeting. With fondness Damian.” Immediately a smile was curving her lips and all she could think about was her Damian. ‘Love can blossom over time just as it can capture you in a single breathe’ Lady Z had told her once before coming to the land of Sand for the tourney. One moment with him had been enough to set her world ablaze. His eyes like wildfire ignited her soul and engulfed her completely in the flames of ardor.

The first fingers of the coming winter caressed her bare legs, a false spring giving way to chill. The thin robe she wore did little to help her chill from the open window, the ivory satin clinging to her torso and hips but providing no heat. The last days of autumn brought a freezing cold breeze and even behind the safety of the red mountains, the blistering hot deserts of Nanda Parbat were not safe.

Soon it would be winter and it meant her seven and ten nameday was coming as well. Much had changed since she married Damian, she thought dropping her hands to the soft curve of her belly. Almost unnoticeable but there was no doubt a life was growing inside her womb.

The reason of her morning sickness became obvious after the imperial physician asked when was the last time she bled. She had not bled for two moons, she realized then. There had been a look of such happiness on Damian’s face when she told him the wonderful news and suddenly he was the sun itself. Radiating joy the same way as the colossal star did warmth.

She proceeded to eat her breakfast slowly, keeping almost all of it it down despite her stomach protesting. Kori was missing at the moment. Perhaps she was letting her take a rest from court. Nonetheless, she still had duties to attend that could not be ignored. Just as she was finishing her meal, someone knocked on her chamber’s door.

“Come in.” She replied, assuming it was Kori and preparing to greet her. The door groaned when it swung open, protesting. To her surprise, she met familIar green eyes she knew too well.

Damian.

“Awake now?” He murmured with an slightly amused expression. Her cheeks warming faintly at his question.

“The babe seems to be restless just like his father.” She pressed a hand to her stomach where she imagines their child to rest. After a brief moment she asks. “Is the council meeting over?”

“I left for a moment.” Damian said with a twinge of disappointment as he was reminded they still had much to discuss. He parted his lips as if to speak, but closed it again, thinking carefully of his words as he didn’t want to stir her emotions. “I wanted to spend time with you before I ride north with Jon.”

Her chest tightened painfully. Damian was riding with Jon up the snowy Kunlun mountains to distribute thick garments and goods for the less fortunate. She tried to remain neutral and collected as the crown princess she was, but her voice faltered, betraying her distress. “You could take me with you.”

“I do not want to risk your good health.” Damian shook his head lightly, the tension evident on his clenched jaw. He understood that she did not went to part from him but given her condition. It was best his wife stayed in the capital as he could not risk his heir. “Conner and Jayson will stay behind to protect you.”

The thought that this child in her womb could die sent jolts of heartache through her bosom. She just nodded, shaking off such dark thoughts.

Even if she was raised to be dutiful queen, it took her some time after marrying into the Al Ghul house to understand such a responsibility bore a heavy weight. Watching her every step as Damian assured there were enemies between them at court. Life was filled with rules and expectations she was if being frank unprepared for.

“Come lay with me.” She pleaded gently, reaching out an arm and patting the empty space next to her. She was far too tired to do much else.

Promptly, Damian kicked the door shut behind him. Ghosting to the large bed, climbing on before lying next to his wife. She nestled close to him, enjoying the warmth he provided, letting her head fall to the side to admire his face, and he did the same, those otherworldly indigo eyes bright and alive, burning with pure devotion.

“I’ll think of you every day we are apart.” Damian grasped her left hand, kissing the palm. “Both of you.” He added as one of his hands slid to the swell of her belly, stroking it tenderly.

His fingers travelled up, ghosting along her jaw until he's cupping her face, like she’s fragile and precious, a treasure to be hoarded. Damian was a generous and passionate lover, mouth moving over hers tenderly only pausing to whisper words of love and reassurance. She reacted instinctively, responding in kind to his probing tongue.  

“I love you.” She breathed against his mouth. Damian’s expression softened, and for a beat he looks younger, much more like a simple young man in love than the future ruler of the Nanda Parbat.

He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, a gentle caress of his lips on her skin. “You are my queen, Rae. My only queen.“ His words achingly soft and genuine.

“After the babe is born. I promise to take you to Siodonna.” He murmured against her neck, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

The word piqued her Interest. Damian had mentioned it several times while narrating tales of his ancestors and foreign lands he wished to explore. It’s said to be so beautiful it took your breath away. The Homeland of his grandmother, lady Shyla, who came from the tribe of Four Winds. Faraway land of the gray wind and freedom. The city of Sidhe rumored to be built high in the sacred mountains of Rudrà.

“Truly?” Rhachel asked with glee in her voice. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a hearty laughter when Damian nodded solemnly.

Oh Gods, how she longed for the freedom to roam where she pleased with her husband. To have some time for themselves away from court and royal duties. It won’t be long. It won’t be long before their babe is born.

He gazed at her, his expression bore a twinkling smile. “You have my word.”

“You wish for a boy or girl?” The question slipped past unguarded lips. She never worried about the gender of her child before but the Azarathian queens gave birth to girls as the mystical gifts were inherited only by women. Perhaps Damian wanted a son as any ruler wanted a male heir.

His brows raised at the sudden question. For a beat appeared to be genuinely considering how to answer when he merely shrugged. “A healthy child.”

“Damian...” She pressed as nervousness palpitated in her chest. Chewing on her lower lip as she usually did when distressed. “What if it’s a girl?”

His furrowed his brows. “What would you like to name it if it’s a girl?” It shouldn’t have surprised her that he wanted to have her opinion on the name, but it did. She hadn’t thought about it.

“Manon.” The young woman answered. Would Damian like the name for their child? She envisioned a little girl with silver tresses and golden skin as the sun’s rays, and bright emerald eyes as the man she loved. “In my homeland it means blessed child.”

Damian smiled in content. “Our child is surely a blessing.”

“If it’s a boy, you can name it.” She ventured.

Damian breathed out a sigh. “Grandfather would want a strong name like Ra’ miel.” Rhachel immediately frowned. She was not entirely sure she wanted their child named after a past Al Ghul king as some of them did not have particularly great reigns. His green eyes flicked down to her belly, fingers caressing fondly and his smile widened. “We can think of one together when the times comes.”

“Boy or girl, it does not matter.” Damian’s orbs were twin pools of tenderness and awe. He tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “I shall love any child you bear.”

A radiant smile graced Rhachel’s features, heart overflowing with joy at the declaration. The future seemed more hopeful, the weight of worry lifted off her chest. Damian was right; it did not matter if she gave birth to a boy or girl. This was the fruitful result of their love and sole heir to the Al Ghul throne. . Azar please grant your protection to this child of mine, the princess prayed in silence, her hand on her abdomen.

Yooooo. Have some damirae dorm your favorite teacup. 👀👀👀👀

I wrote this sleep-deprived so there’s probably mistakes but I’ll edit soon. This is for the damirae week.

Babies and Damirae fluff and shadows of thorns. Clarifying this is not a chapter but a Spin-off. I tried to avoid including spoilers. 🙈🙈🙈💜💜

@chromium7sky @carnationmilk @tweepunkgrl @amethyst-witch-05 @ravenfan1242 @opheliawillowbrook @alerialblu

[wondersofdreaming]

Drained

Characters: Henry Cavill x female reader

Word count: 911

Warnings: Sadness. Depression. Cold. Seasonal depression. Winter depression. Food. Missing someone important.

Author’s note: Thank you @radaofrivia​ for reading this through <3

*Edit* Here is a post about the instant rice porridge mentioned in this story.

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

MY MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

Winter. Cold. Grey. Depression. Sadness. Tiredness. Loneliness. Longing. 

Those words usually came into your mind during the long winter months, especially after the cheerful times from Christmas and New Years Eve. Being surrounded by loving and joyful people made the grey and cold December go by so much faster.

Now in January, the sun was scarcely showing its warming rays. The outdoors were freezing, covered in snow that would melt during the day and freeze to solid ice at night. The trees were bare, leafless and almost lifeless.

The scents of the earth were barely there, so why walk outside? The only thing you could smell was the crispness of the frosty countryside which would send a chill down your spine. No colourful flowers, barely any animals ventured out their dens, nothing but the frigid breeze that would make you bury yourself under a mountain of duvets and blankets. It didn’t matter how many layers of clothes you put on, you could always feel the icy brisk creep into your bones.

Not even your sweet and loving boyfriend could make you feel any better. Every day was a struggle to get out of bed. Every time he left the bed to go to work, he would take the warmth you craved, the light that made you want to be productive, the comfort of being in the presence of another human being, a human you loved with all your heart and soul.

But he didn’t know how you were feeling, you didn’t want to worry him as he was already stressed from work. You would still be sleeping when he woke at 4 AM and had gone to bed before he even came home late at night. You were a light sleeper though, so you would always wake from him rummaging around the room. Kal, his trusty companion, would cuddle next to you, but the minute Henry left the bedroom so would Kal and his heat, leaving you alone to pretend to be asleep and shivering.

It was during these dull days that you missed your family the most. Your mother especially, whom you would never get to see again, whom you missed more than anything on this planet, who had been your saving grace from a temperamental father and whose smiling face you would not see ever again.

This morning had been the hardest. You had woken up after dreaming of your mother, your face cold, the entire room was freezing as you could see your own breath. Henry walked in wearing a jumper underneath a hoodie, a beanie covered his luscious curls, and his lips were tinted blue.

“The heater died from the frost,” he told you.

“We’re going to die in this tundra,” you said shakingly.

“I’ve started a fire in the living room, how about we pretend to be camping?”

He tried to encourage you to get out of the nest you had built from your duvets. You shook your head no, blaming the cold. Henry didn’t take your no as an answer and instead wrapped you in the blankets. He carried you towards the sofa in front of the flames that was roaring in the fireplace.

He handed you a mug of tea. The scent of lemon and ginger hit your nostrils, warming you up even before the liquid hit your tongue. He knew exactly how you liked your tea, while he loved tea, he was more of a coffee person, strong and black.

You snuggled together with Kal on the sofa for a while, until you heard Henry’s stomach growl. The sound was making you giggle out loud; it felt great to laugh again. It was like an old friend that you hadn’t seen in a long time, but whenever you were together, it was as if no time had passed at all.

“I’ll make us something filling to eat. Something to warm you up,” you showed a genuine smile, kissed his cheek as you went up to dress into something warmer than Henry’s t-shirt.

You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for a while, knowing you had stored the packages your aunts had sent you from Thailand. You poured the ingredients into a pot and added water. You put another pot of water over to boil some eggs.

Ten minutes later, you walked into the living room with two steaming bowls of rice porridge. On top was an egg cut in half, the yolk still soft and runny, and with some coriander as garnish.

“My mum used to make this when I was little and had a cold,” you told Henry who was looking curiously at the porridge. You watched as he dipped his spoon and took a bite.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned, “It’s delicious.”

You beamed proudly, even though it was only instant rice porridge and you only needed to add water, it was still something you ate a lot during your childhood. It was something to remember your mother by, and it was chasing away the intense chill that had been surrounding you for a long time.

The taste of something familiar was overwhelming. A single tear escaped your left eye as you remembered watching your mother standing in the kitchen, while you were wrapped in a blanket, sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the porridge.

“I know it’s not as good as something made from scratch,” you told Henry a little sheepishly.

“It tastes like a warm hug only a mother can give.”

[spvce-cowboy]

drivers license

francisco morales x f!reader - oneshot

rating: mature

3.1k words

warnings: drug/alcohol use, reader is a dealer, age gap, so much YEARNING!!!

summary: a surprise visit from an old friend

a/n: 100 follower celebration!! partially inspired by this post but also the fact that i have been sing-screaming “drivers license” for oh about four days straight now. thank you guys so so much for all the support so far ! 💕

**

A fist slamming against your front door wakes you from a dreamless sleep.

You push yourself off your mattress, blearily checking the time on your phone and cursing under your breath when you see that it’s almost 3am. You sit up all the way, blinking as you wait to see if what woke you up was something you’d imagined or if it were real.

It’s real. It starts again after a second, three sharp raps against the door, followed by some kind of muffled talking. Your heart rate picks up in your chest, you grab the baseball bat you have leaned against the wall as you reach your apartment door. Squeezing one eye shut, you look through the peephole.

The good thing is that it definitely isn’t the cops. You take a relieved breath, leaning away from the door.

The bad thing is that whoever is knocking is hunched on his knees, just outside of the peephole’s line of sight, so you have absolutely no idea who the fuck it is.

“Please open the door,” the man’s voice begs from the other side of the door. You’re about to yell at him to fuck off, but he interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. “Little flower, it’s me, please.”

The nickname makes your heart go to your throat. The bat in your hands falls to the floor.

You rub a hand over your eyes, huffing an exhale in a vague attempt to prevent your heart from ricocheting against your ribs. It doesn’t work. Because as soon as he says it, as soon as you realize who it is, it brings everything back with him.

A set of sturdy, tanned fingers cupped against the knuckles of your grandfather’s hand, the voice went low in a warm but respectful greeting. You didn’t realize how gnarled your old man’s hands had gotten until you had someone else’s to compare them to. You looked back down at the crumpled up dollar bills you’d just been handed, one of them still rolled. Turning to find your bag on the coatrack, you stuff the money in your back pocket.

“My little flower, this is a good one,” your grandfather told you with a small hum that signifies whatever he just said must be set in stone. You hear the sound of him heavily patting the hand cupped over his own in that way he does when he appreciates the presence of something. “He has a decent head on his shoulders, no?”

“Little flower?” You can hear the boyish smile in that all too familiar voice before you even turn back around. “That suits you well, I think. Florita. I like that.”

“Christ, Frankie, what are you doing here?” You rest your head against the doorframe, heart sinking in your chest. You don’t open the door, to protect him or yourself you don’t know.

“I need—”

“You’ve got a kid now, Frankie. I told you I’m not going to sell to you anymore.”

“Ever the moralist,” the bite to his words is so uncharacteristic you can’t help but flinch. He seems to realize this, too. His apology is nearly immediate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I… It’s not…”

You swallow, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself for some bare semblance of comfort. “Please go,” your voice is so quiet you’re not sure he can hear you through the layer of wood separating the two of you. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that you nearly think he’s left. Long enough that you don’t know why you’re still standing at the door and not back in bed.

And Frankie says your name, voice cracking. Your actual name. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it come off his lips you can’t help sink into the door.

A held breath leaves you in a shuddering sigh. Your shaking hands open the door.

The man who spills onto the ground before you is a stranger, yet, heartbreakingly, just as he had been when you first met him. Messy hair, worn blue jeans, gray button-down stretching over the perfect expanse of his back. All that is missing this time around is that lazy smile, that easy, Hey, darling.

In a bar. Right when your grandfather started getting sick.

“Eighty,” you said without him having to continue his sentence beyond his syrupy greeting, eyes trained on the shelves of liquor in front of you instead of having to meet his gaze.

He copped an eighth, tucking the little baggie in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. You went back to your drink, angling your body away from him again and expecting him to return to his table of friends. But then the knuckles of his hand nudged the side of you elbow. He gestured to your beer, the neck of the bottle clasped between your thumb and the hook of your middle and index fingers.

“Lemme buy you your next one, yeah?” He had a hunched lean to his posture, in that way that men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You were mad that it worked. He extended a hand. “Frankie Morales.”

The truth of it was that the two of you became friends, after that. Nothing more. Regardless, it was too close for you to get to someone you dealt to, but you were so lonely at that point in your life—taking care of the old man by day, GED classes at night--that meeting Frankie was a small blessing. Nothing ever happened between you two but God you wish it did.

To describe what you felt towards him as a crush didn’t really cut it, but you were fine with friends. Being completely fair, he was definitely one to send mixed signals—Christ, your weekly tradition of driving to an overlook to split an order of fries and milkshakes on the hood of his truck just about screamed every romcom you were raised on. But despite the occasional prolonged touch, the hand he would place on the small of your back to move you out of the way or guide you forward, nothing happened.

You dealt with it. Tried to be supportive as possible when he met his girl. Frankie broke the news that she was pregnant. The two of you saw each other less and less frequently. Sometimes he would call to catch up. Eventually, you stopped answering when he did. Your grandfather died. You got into a local art school.

It was sad how quietly it all faded. You didn’t know it could, but it did.

And now here he is, literally crumpled at your feet.

Frankie messily pulls himself up off the ground and onto his knees. He reeks of booze and old cigarettes. You freeze as his hands wrap over your hips, as he presses his face into your stomach and murmurs an incoherent apology—for what, you’re not exactly sure.

And when you finally processing what’s happening, what you had begged the universe for years, you can’t help yourself. Your card your fingers through his hair, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Frankie,” it’s a warning. It’s a reminder. “You’re drunk. You need to go home. Your girlfriend--”

“She left a week ago,” he speaks into the fabric covering your belly. The words burst forwards as if not even he was expecting to say them. It’s a confession. His hands flex from where they hold onto you. “She’s gone.” Your heart drops to your gut, your chest aching. “I need… Just for the night I… Little flower, the house is so empty.”

You keep petting back his hair until his breathing quiets. He keeps holding onto you, even then. The two of you stay like that for a long time.

“Why don’t,” your voice comes out too shaky. Too unsure of itself. You clear your throat and try again. “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll get you some water and we can sober you up a bit. Okay?”

He tilts his face up at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in well over a year.

And he hasn’t changed. It’s all there—the soft mess of shaggy hair, dark but kind eyes, the beloved hook of his nose.

One sun-sick evening, you rode your bike to the beach just to get out of the apartment. You need somewhere to sit and think for a while, just until your head feels more clear. There’s enough of a chill in the air that you have to throw on a jacket, it’s nice. It’s like you can feel the wind moving through you. Past you.

When you arrived at the beach, you got off your bike, leaning it against your hip as you scoped out a spot to sit in the sand. You were about to wheel it over to the rack when--

Someone pinched your elbow in greeting. Their steps were so quiet you didn’t even register their approach. It, obviously, startled you, and your hand immediately flew to the keychain in your back pocket. The knife you had attached to it.

When you turned, and it was Frankie’s familiar face, his hands raised in joking surrender.

In that light, with the sun still flirting with the horizon, it rendered his face into shapes and shadows you had only previously seen in the old oil paintings of long-dead greats. You thought it was in the deep bourbon of his eyes, soft when illuminated by a tangerine sky. It was him. All of him. Slightly breathless, hair ruffled by the wind.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded genuinely apologetic. You released a relieved huff of air.

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Did you bike the whole way here? From the apartment?” He asked, there was a tinge of concern to his voice.

You shrugged, trying to hide your embarrassment by lowering your kickstand with the heel of you boot. “It’s not that far.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” you wrinkle your nose. “Never needed to.”

He looked you for a moment, if you didn’t know any better you’d say critically.

“I was just about to get something to eat, if you wanna join me,” he tucked his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “There’s this overlook nearby that has a way better view of all of this.” He motions to the ocean with the tilt of his head. “I can drive us there.”

You regarded him as he spoke, cautiously looking him up and down. And you nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, it was big and crooked. It made something in the pit of your belly feel warm.

You step away, holding out your hand to help him to his feet. He complies, stumbling slightly and rubbing his hand over his face as he does so. He disappears down the hall without having to ask where the bathroom is.

Sighing, you go back into your room, pulling out a shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants for him to change into. You knock on the bathroom door on your way to the kitchen. The apartment’s walls are so thin you can hear the hiss of the shower from all the way down the hall.

“Come in,” Frankie’s voice barely rises above the sound.

You crack the door open, keeping your eyes trained to the floor as you place the folded clothes on the sink’s counter.

“Here’s something for you to change into,” you tell him. He thanks you, the shower turning off right as you close the door behind you. You walk back down the hall and into the living room, making two glasses of water before settling on your couch.

Once, after a night out, the two of you were too drunk and too broke to afford separate taxis home. He proposed going back to his house, split the cost, grab a cab for you once it wasn’t so late and the rates went down.

You agreed, as you did anytime he extended the offer to spend time there. There was something about the quiet, tucked-in nature of the suburbs that was so novel to you. So calming.

The two of you settled on the couch. Feeling bold, you lay your head in his lap and kicked your socked feet up on the opposite armrest as you describe to him the gallery opening you’d snuck into. How you successfully schmoozed to the owner as well as one of the artists.

He asked you if you had heard back from any of the scholarships you’d applied to. You hadn’t, but you’d only just submitted the applications, so it would be at least a few months wait.

You tell him your dreams of becoming an artist. A real one. He already knew that, but you really tell him this time, all the details you usually keep to yourself, too special to you to have the courage to voice aloud. The fantasy of moving out into the mountains, getting a cabin just big enough for a hotplate and a bed and a studio. You’ve lived and breathed LA for your entire life and you were tired of the city. Tired of every street corner baked with the memories of high school and the listless years that followed, of the small humiliations you had to succumb to in order to survive.

Frankie listened and nodded enthusiastically at all the right parts. It was only then that you realized his hands smoothed over the top of your scalp as you talked. You let it continue, it felt too nice not to.

He told you that you should, and if you needed help finding the money he could always--

You cut him off before he could finish the thought, shaking your head. Responsibilities came first, you had people who needed you. A degree to finish. Savings to maintain. You asked him about the new girl he’d been seeing and he eagerly launches into a story about a different, wild night out. You smile and laugh throughout the whole thing, trying to ignore the pang it gives you when he describes the dress she was wearing. He fingers continued to brush over the crown of your head as he talked.

You fell asleep there, on his lap. You woke up before the sun rose, hot and sweaty and still a little drunk from the vodka Redbulls that never agreed well with your heart.

It took you a second to realize you were in Frankie’s bed, alone. When you padded back into the living room, he was passed out on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, using his arm as a pillow.

You left after helping yourself to a shower, texting him a sarcastic good luck with that hangover. You’re about to call a taxi home but something stopped you. You thought it might be the way the sun was barely breaking over the cusp of the smoggy horizon, the sky reduced to pale shades of violet with the coming dawn.

The quiet neighborhood Frankie lived in is all the more beautiful, like this. Subdued, empty, houses in winding but even rows that scale up the mountainside like sets of bad teeth. You decided to walk, just until the sun got a little brighter. Until the people started to shake themselves awake for a new day.

You got a text from him as you were making breakfast, back at your apartment by then. Thanks. Hope you slept well, little flower. Something about the small missive kept you smiling the whole day after.

You mess with your phone until Frankie returns.

“I’m sorry, for showing up like this,” Frankie says as he hovers over the living room’s threshold. The clothes you leant him fit well enough, only slightly oversized on his frame as opposed to how they generously drape off of you. He holds his towel in his hands, looking down at it instead of you.  “I honestly don’t have an excuse and you… you shouldn’t accept any. But I thought I should still tell you.”

You look at him for an extended beat, knowing he’s being honest. You’re at a genuine loss as to how to handle the situation.

“We can deal with it later,” you settle with that. It sounds good enough to you, and when he finally meets your eyes again he looks a little relieved. You nod you head towards the glass of water you placed on the coffee table, he takes your lead and settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to take his own glass.

“So um… how are you?” He asks you earnestly, angling his body towards you.

“Okay,” you take a sip of water, trying to keep it casual. “Cleaning up my act a bit, you know? Going to school, picking up jobs here and there. Trying to figure out what I want to do. Oh! I uh… I learned how to drive--impressive I know.”

“The city flower herself, operating a vehicle?” His face breaks into a familiar, goofy smile you can’t help but reciprocate. “I’ll add every pedestrian in LA to my prayers.”

“You should,” you shake your head as you laugh, leaning into your corner of the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest. You finally relax, giving yourself the small allowance of settling into the comfort that inevitably comes with his presence.

And it really is just as easy as it always has been between the two of you. The conversation naturally ebbs and flows, neither of you bother to broach the heavier stuff. For now, just this it’s enough.

It’s enough to see the spark in his eyes when he tells you about his daughter, how bright she is, how much trouble she gets into—just like her dad. It’s enough to hear about his friends, all those names and backstories that you still vividly remember. It’s enough to bask in the feeling of how he leans into you with laughter, a hand lingering on your knee for seconds longer than it probably should have, as he always tends to do.

It’s enough to see him grin when you tell him about the scholarships you got, how weird it felt being the oldest person in all your classes, even if it was only by a handful of years. He doesn’t ask how your grandfather is, the living room being cleared of all the heart monitors and breathing machines is enough to answer that question. You’re grateful he doesn’t. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep a brave face if he did.

You don’t want time to pass. You want to stay here, with him, like this, in that perpetual state of catching up, in that breathless deluge that has the not-so-subtle undercurrent of this is what has happened since you left. I wish you would have been there. But I am so happy you are here now.

When you can no longer stifle your yawns, you stand to refill your glass of water, speaking on your walk over to the sink.

“I’d love to keep talking but I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer,” you tell him as you turn the tap off. “I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you turn to look back at him. He’s staring at you from where he is seated, eyes dark with something that isn’t just from the low light of the living room.

“What?” You ask after a few more seconds of him not responding. He looks away from you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Your eyes search his for a moment, positive that that was not at all what he was turning over in his head during those few seconds of silence. You’re too tired to press, so you gather a spare set of sheets for him. He stands when you come back into the living room, holding out his arms to take them from you. You wave him away, setting up the pull-out bed yourself. You’d grown up sleeping on this thing, tucking the fitted sheet into the corners was always tricky, and he didn’t know where the bolts of the couch’s frame would cut the shit out of his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Throwing a pillow down, you turn back to Frankie. He’s standing closer to you, now. You have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“All set,” you tell him. He nods, eyes searching your face for a moment. Your brow furrows. “Frankie, you’re being weird. Stop it.”

His chuckle breaks the tension.

“Sorry—I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I?” He takes a deep breath. You’re smiling again, about to agree with him, and without warning his hand is comes up to cup the side of your face. You still, lips parted in an unasked question. “Thank you, little flower,” his voice goes rough again, as it had when you were speaking to each other through the door. “I really mean it.”

Frankie’s hand drops when you nod, lips pressed together. He sits back down on the pull-out. You wish him goodnight quietly and return to your room.

Leaving your bedroom door cracked open, you climb back into bed. With everything in you, you hope he’s still there when you wake. He will be.

[rideordieforpride]

Under The Cherry Blossoms

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE DEVILGRAM

Here is a little reimagining of Lucifer’s cherry blossom devilgram I wrote as part of a collaboration for his birthday. You can find all the collaboration pieces over @/luciferbirthday on Twitter. Enjoy ♡ (GN Reader, Length: 2.8k)

Sakura.

A beautiful word, perfectly suited for the flower.

The cherry blossom trees were plentiful and in bloom, creating a lovely blush canopy overhead. The petals, translucent, allowed soft sunlight to come through, creating a glow about the forest. It was… oddly quiet. The brothers’ continuous chatter was nowhere to be found, as you and Lucifer stole away once their bickering had begun. Of course, they were only bickering over a game, but it became tumultuous nonetheless.

The two of you had walked in silence for some time, after agreeing the trees were best observed that way. The breeze would rustle through the brush, creating gentle white noise and casting petals in every direction. After a slight gust, one of the petals flew past right by your cheek and you turned to see where it may land, but Lucifer’s eyes caught yours as you did, having been watching the same petal. You turned your eyes back in front of you quickly, deciding not to comment as you felt your cheeks warm, but heard the quiet chuckle he did not suppress.

Once a ways away, Lucifer surprised you by producing a sizable grey bag, unassuming but still chic.

“What’s that?” You asked, eyes lighting with wonder. “Where was it??” Surely you would have seen it had he been carrying it all along.

A small smile already tugged at the corner of his lips. “Oh, this? I’ve had it with me the whole time. You hadn’t noticed?” A playfulness in his eyes suggested otherwise, and your brow furrowed in response, but you allowed him to play his game.

Lucifer unzipped the bag, slipping his hand inside to pull out a folded sheet. “Here we are. This spot will do.”

He passed off the bag to you and motioned for you to take a step back. Taking a corner in each hand, he effortlessly whipped the sheet to full size, kneeling as it fell flat onto the ground. The slight breeze kicked up one of the corners and you moved, finding a rock with some heft to it to weigh down the sheet. Lucifer repeated your actions, weighing down the two corners he was beside while you covered the last.

“I didn’t know it’d be windy today,” you commented, filling the silence as you offered the bag back to him.

Lucifer accepted the bag, leaning to place it on the middle of the sheet. “It wasn’t mentioned in the forecast,” he acknowledged, kneeling to reach back into the bag, “but it is a pleasant surprise. Paired with the sun, it is the perfect weather for spring in the human world. We don’t have days like this in the Devildom.”

You hummed your agreement, knowing all too well the bleak Devildom sky. You watched as he pulled a bottle of Demonus and two glasses from the bag. The bottle, and even the glasses themselves, began to frost over when exposed to the air, revealing their chill. Lucifer finally sat, placing the glasses on the sheet, unbothered that one may tip, as he had chosen fairly flat earth.

“Sit.” He gestured beside himself, “Have a drink with me.”

And so you did, moving carefully to sit beside him without wrinkling the sheet or disturbing the glasses. Glancing at the bag, you wondered if Lucifer brought anything else, but he caught your attention again by uncorking the bottle. He poured the Demonus into one of the glasses before handing it off to you and pouring himself a glass as well.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him sweetly then looked at your glass, noticing the coolness of it against your fingers. You took a sip, always finding yourself a bit surprised by the taste. No human world drinks could compare. There was a pang from the hellish alcohol, somehow ineffective towards humans, yet forgiving notes of fruit.

The wind picked up again, throwing petals and leaves off the branches and around, almost seemingly with no direction, as they had nearly no weight. You found yourself taking a breath, about to comment on their beauty, but released it, remembering Lucifer’s words that the flowers were best enjoyed in silence. But then, his voice surprised you.

“Cherry blossoms are a truly exquisite flower,” he began and you turned to look at him, though he continued to look out at the forest. “Not only are they beautiful, but they also have a transient quality to them.” Lucifer seemed to watch one petal specifically again and an odd softness came over his features as a sadness reached his eyes. You wondered what he was thinking of and looked out to see if you had missed something, but the scene was the same as it was.

“Whenever I see the petals scatter in the wind, I can’t help but feel a pang of melancholy…” Lucifer’s voice trailed off slightly, causing you to look at him again, only this time to be met with him facing you, smiling. He continued, seemingly content after his moment of thought, “Not to mention that the magic this flower possesses feels pleasant.”

His ease caught you off guard. A genuine smile given freely was not often heard of from the Avatar of Pride, and you wondered for a moment if it was a distraction from the sadness you had just seen. You decided to tread carefully.

“You look peaceful,” you commented, returning a small smile before sipping your demonus.

“I would think so. It’s strange, but I’ve never felt this at peace before.” Lucifer’s smile lingered as he looked away again and noticed a petal dancing close to the glass he held. He did not move, simply watching it, as it teetered over the edge and into the liquid. To your surprise, he was only amused, “Look. One of the flower petals has fallen into my glass of Demonus… How delightful.”

You eyed the drink before looking at him, quizzically, “Are you going to drink it?”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed slightly for a moment, “Don’t look at me like that. There’s no harm in eating cherry blossoms, after all.” But then, his eyebrow quirked up, as if having just thought of something. He carefully set his glass on the picnic sheet and pulled the grey bag closer to him. “Besides...I found something interesting.” You watched as he reached into the bag but then he looked at you, serious for a moment, “Don’t let Beel find out about this.”

Out of the bag, he pulled a small plastic container with what looked like a miniature pink sphere inside. You leaned in for a closer look and Lucifer opened the container, revealing the treat.

“I bought this for you,” he said, smiling again as he passed the container to you. “This is called sakura mochi.”

“I see…” you smiled back and carefully placed your glass beside his before studying the mochi closer. It was a pale pink, dusted over with flour, and wrapped in a cherry blossom leaf.

“I thought you might like it,” he added, awaiting a proper reaction.

You looked back to him, catching his eyes and seeing their expectancy. “It’s pretty.” Carefully, you picked up the mochi and placed the container aside. You held a hand under it to catch any flour that may fall off as you lifted it to your lips for a bite. It was soft and sweet, a bit chewy, and as you swallowed you noticed a hint of a floral accent as well.

“How is it?” Lucifer asked, already seeming pleased with himself as he studied your reaction, convinced you were enjoying his gift.

Not sure how to describe it, you made a simple comment, “It tastes great.” You smiled at him, thankfully. He hummed then, satisfied with your response.

“I’m glad I got to see that smile on your face,” he said, allowing another gentle smile of his own.

Again, you felt a flush sweep across your cheeks and you looked away, back to the treat. Despite being certain that Lucifer knew of your fluster, you didn’t address it and went to take another bite.

“I’m curious to know just how good it tastes,” he suddenly added, causing you to freeze before you bit it again. A hand rose to his chest as he tilted his head slightly, a sincerity. “Let me have a bite,” he requested, though it felt less like a request to you, as you both knew you’d say yes.

Still, you thought about it for a moment before being struck with an idea. You shifted your seating slightly to face him more and held out the mochi, your free hand still under it. “Open wide,” your voice was sweet, as intended, but the playful undertone was not well hidden.

For a moment, Lucifer’s eyes widened, a striking vermillion, before settling back, recomposing himself. “You want to feed me?” He asked, eyebrow quirking up slightly with inquisition. You only nodded in response to which he huffed and you weren’t sure if it was in amusement or defeat. “All right, I’ll allow it just for today.”

Your eyebrows raised then, surprised he went along with your request, but you leaned forward and held the mochi up to his mouth. Leaning in as well, Lucifer took a bite, allowing your hand to catch the flour that fell. You swore you caught him smirking as he pulled away, but his face shifted to one of thought as he chewed.

He hummed lightly and swallowed as his brows began to furrow. “What a peculiar taste… I’ve never had anything like it before.” But then his face softened again and his smile returned as he decided, “I quite like it though.”

Oddly, you felt the urge to chuckle at him, as his actions continued to surprise you, but you withheld it. Popping the last piece of mochi into your mouth, you noticed Lucifer looking back out into the forest. This time, with an air of tranquility.

“I’m starting to feel even calmer than I already was,” he began before closing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. “Drowsy, even… I have a feeling that nothing could possibly anger me now.”

Lucifer’s claim piqued your interest and noticing his eyes were still closed, a wicked idea came to you. You felt your smile grow as you began to lean in closer to him again.

“Well… maybe I’ll tickle you then.” You stated simply, so as to not alarm him, and by the time he had processed your words, you had already reached for his sides, pinching and swiftly moving your fingers over the cotton of his turtleneck. You waited for him to snatch your wrists or move away, but for a moment… he just laughed.

A hearty yet melodic laugh as he tried to speak, “Hey, stop!” But his laughing spurred you on, again pinching at his side, except this time you were met with him abruptly leaning back, escaping your touch. “Cut it out!” Lucifer demanded and you pulled back immediately. You held your hands up slightly, signaling he was safe, but he only shook his head. “Don’t get too carried away, or I’ll get you back for this tenfold.” His words carried a promise and his face was stern to match, but he couldn’t hide his reddening cheeks, so you knew it wasn’t so bad. You chuckled lightly and gave an apology before resting your hands back in your lap.

Then, it was quiet for a moment. You began to wonder if you truly had upset him, but his expression turned curious as a full cherry blossom fell quickly in front of him. He reached out, cupping his hand, just in time for it to fall into his palm.

“Hm… I managed to catch one.” Lifting his hand to study the blossom further, Lucifer gave a nod of approval. “Look,” He began, extending his hand towards you, “the petals on this one are all perfectly aligned.” You leaned in but before you could comment, he continued, “Stay still for a bit. I’ll put it in your hair.”

Eyes widening in surprise, you held still as Lucifer reached towards you. He placed a finger under your chin, keeping you steady as his other hand tucked the flower behind your ear.

Withdrawing his hands, his eyes flit across your face and back to the blossom. “Just as I thought,” he said, sitting back, admiring his work with a smile. “It looks good on you.”

His praise touched your heart and you thought you even felt butterflies. “Thank you…” You said quietly, reaching up to touch the flower, but he shook his head to stop you.

“It’s mere coincidence that it fell… but perhaps it fell because it wanted to be in your hair.” Lucifer’s smile turned slightly playful then as his eyes narrowed. “Although we’re on a picnic sheet, you must be tired of sitting on the ground for so long.” He began to lean back, propping himself on his elbow and again rested his hand on his chest, inviting. “Come here, you can lean against me.”

Seeing Lucifer so lax, you couldn’t but feel a bit at peace yourself, despite it surprising you. You glanced over your shoulder towards where you came, but no one was in sight. As you looked back to him, he tapped his chest once and you smiled. “I’ll gladly take you up on that.”

You moved cautiously, trying not to shift the sheet too much as you leaned down, half-laying as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“There’s no need to hold back,” Lucifer reassured, moving his hand from his chest to wrap around you, pulling you in closer and holding your weight. He chuckled slightly as you settled, beginning to blush once more. “You should feel a lot better now.”

You looked up at him, expecting him to be looking at you teasingly, but the wind had picked up again and he looked out. His hold on you tightened for a moment, a short squeeze, before relaxing again and he drew a breath, pausing before he spoke. You thought he may not say what he was thinking after all, but he did.

“Fleeting, graceful, beautiful, delicate, and soothing to the soul…” Lucifer spoke gently and turned his attention back to you, his crimson gaze holding yours in a way that you felt you couldn’t look away. “You and cherry blossoms might have a few things in common.”

Your heart jumped at his praise and you weren’t sure how to respond. What could you say? You took a breath then and his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“...Can I kiss you?” Your words surprised yourself and you swallowed, questioning your boldness, but the return of his flush with his softening expression soothed your worries.

“As if I’d refuse.” His voice came quiet and though you knew he would allow it, you couldn’t move first.

Seeing this, Lucifer took the lead, taking back his hand from holding you to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes. A moment later, his lips touched yours, gently, testing the waters, until you kissed back. Then, he was certain and kissed you assuredly, soft and sweet, but passionate still. All too soon, he pulled away and your eyes fluttered open. Your cheeks burned and you felt your heart beating, faster than usual, and you knew he was pleased, seeing your reaction as he smiled with content.

“You taste slightly sweet from the sakura mochi,” Lucifer commented and you looked away from him quickly, resting your head back on his chest as you felt the burn on your face rise. And you knew that he knew it, as he silently chuckled.

He did not call for your attention again though, allowing you to relax. Looking out once more at the forest, he proposed a thought, “Maybe we should try planting some cherry blossom trees at the House of Lamentation.”

You thought about it for a moment, liking the idea, but then Lucifer sighed and you felt him shaking his head. “On second thought, scratch that. Mammon would try to hide valuables there, and Satan might try to place a curse on them.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He made a good point and you might have been upset about it before he made another. “Perhaps these things are more beautiful where they belong. Hm?” Deciding that Lucifer was right, you nodded, and his arm wrapped around you again, holding you as he continued to watch the scenery.

With your head on his chest, you could still see the trees to the side and watched as the petals drifted about. You thought he may continue the conversation, but he remained quiet. In the silence, you noticed you could hear Lucifer’s heart thrumming slowly in his chest and it lulled you gently. You closed your eyes in the peace and before you knew it… you had drifted into sleep.

[kashimos-hajime]

my heart went with you | b.b.

summary: a tale as old as time: the charming boy and the golden girl he could never get, and how they spent their last days together.

WARNINGS: fluff, love, angst, mentions: war and death, nudity, swearing pairing: 40s!bucky x fem!reader word count: 7.3k

a/n: written as a lil snapshot about some unspoken love and rivalry. for @ussgallifreyfics​​​​, my prompt was you’ll never know by vera lynn. i really love writing some soft tenderness so enjoy!!

“Buck.”

The man standing before the tombstone looks up, over his shoulder, to Steve.

“We need to get back before it gets dark.”

And then he smiles, hands shoved in his pockets and starts heading towards his friend. Slinging an arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders, he does nothing more than knuckle the blond’s head. Steve winches, punching him in the gut and Bucky laughs, stumbling away as they pass the iron-wrought gates of the cemetery. 

“Jus’ wanted to say my goodbyes,” Bucky says, adjusting his jacket as they head up the street back towards Steve’s place. His best friend sweeps his hair out of his face, cheeks already burning in the dusk and Bucky’s smile softens for him. “Y’know your ma was the best thing.”

“I know.” At that, Steve seems to stand a little straighter and Bucky’s grin grows. 

“C’mon. Let’s get something to eat before I’m stuck with chewin’ on boiled leather boots.” 

“Maybe Becca’ll make you a few sandwiches to take overseas,” Steve mutters. Bucky shakes his head, lifting his chin to the wind. It smells rich of summer, clean and light in the dying sun, and Bucky feels a bit empty as he turns his gaze to his best friend.

“Yeah, maybe.” 

The rest of the walk to the little diner by a construction site, and Bucky walks in to see a few tables full, and a few of the stools occupied.  

“Bucky!” 

His name catches his attention and he spots a redhead waving with a smile. Steve hides his grin as they head towards her, and Bucky can’t help but notice when Dot’s smile grows at the sight of Steve. 

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, Dolores,” the blond man mumbles, sliding into a stool while Bucky sits down between them. “You here alone?”

“Oh, no. My friend’s just gotten some news so Joe let her out back. How are you, Bucky?” Dolores chews on her bottom lip, stirring her milkshake absently as her round eyes gaze at him. “I heard… you’re joining the boys in England.”

“Shipping off in a few days, actually,” he says with a slight smile just as a door swings open. 

“James.” 

Bucky’s eyes close.  

Oh, how much he utterly despises that voice. The sound of his old top rival at school, the girl with the infuriatingly cool smile, the clever glint in her eyes. Prettiest, smartest, nearly the most athletic. 

Almost perfect. 

It’s like a cold wind washes into the diner as he plants his hands on the counter and twists around with an arched eyebrow. 

You stand before him in a green dress, eyes effortlessly cool, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips. You look gorgeous. 

Not that Bucky would ever admit that to your face. 

“Y/N. Fancy seeing you here.”

He doesn’t say you’re perfect because if there’s one thing he hates about you, it’s… you. 

“Hello, James.” You flash him a wry smile before turning to Steve. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

Your smile softens, and Bucky feels a flare of irritation lick at his insides at the way your expression seems genuine, sitting on the opposite side of Dot with an envelope. Your best friend places a gentle hand on yours, and the corner of Bucky’s lips pinch when he notes the slight tremble of your hand reaching for your own milkshake.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, eyes narrowing at the envelope and you smile guiltily, placing a hand over a stamp.

“My forms,” you say quietly. “I’m being shipped off in a few days.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s eyes immediately dart to Bucky’s face but the blue-eyed soldier is too busy scrutinizing your face. You don’t say anything, simply sip on the straw between red-painted lips as Dot wedges the envelope out from underneath your elbow and pry it open.  

Dot purses her lips in a frown as she reads through the forms, her hand coming to your shoulder but you plaster a smile onto your face even though Bucky can see through the cracks of your mask. Your eyes flit to his as if you realize he’s staring and the smile melts away. 

Something cold slithers into his gut at the thought of you on the front lines beside him.

He notes that when you think no one’s looking, your mask seems to slip. You catch him staring more than once, but you don’t say anything besides point out that there’s ketchup at the corner of his mouth.

.

He notices you smile little.

He doesn’t mean to notice things about you, but as they sit on the edge of the pier, Bucky can’t help but notice that about you. Steve had offered to walk Dot back home (or she was walking him home, you had muttered under your breath) and that left the two of you to walk the wharf because really, neither of them wanted to go home yet.

Bucky didn’t want to miss a second of his city. He wants to stay out as long as he can, take it all in before it’s too late.

The water is calm, lapping at the wood, and it smells like sea-salt and adventure on the wind. It sneaks into his lungs, makes him light-headed with a kind of childish innocence he can’t recall feeling before. Your legs swing, barefoot against the breeze, and his sleeves are rolled up as he glances at the sinking sun.

It’s barely gone before a chillier gale sweeps through the pier and he sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye.

The silence that has fallen over the two of you for what feels like hours now doesn’t need to be broken. He doesn’t believe you’re keen on talking as he grabs his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders wordlessly. 

You don’t protest, your eyes on the distant horizon. 

Instead, you reach up to tug the lapels close around your neck and when the pads of your digits brush against his, he feels something inside him twist. Stomach in knots, he looks down at the murky depths. 

This is how it has been for years now. He’ll catch you alone, and they’d sit together for hours. On the bus, in the park.

He doesn’t like you, but he knows it’s partially his fault, and your silence is honey to his bitter tea. 

“I think we’re going to die,” you say at last, voice startlingly quiet in the night. Your chin is lifted as he looks at you, and there’s a soft, bitter smile on your lips as a breeze plays against your cheek, with the strands of your hair. You don’t look at him, and lean into the wind.

Bucky has half the mind to bar you from leaning any further in case you fall into the chilling water.

You look at him, lips barely parted, and swallow the same hard knot in his throat. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

“My daddy was in the first war,” you remind him, and Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek as your gaze drifts again. You’re thinking about him, thinking hard enough he can hear the gears grinding in your head. “He’s never been—was never the same when he came back. .” 

It’s not that Bucky’s never thought about death.

It’s that he refuses to. 

He won’t think about an empty tomb until he has to. 

“Yeah, I know,” is his gentle reply.

The water crushes gently beneath their feet and the darkness falls slowly, a gentle cascade into midnight ink as the world around them begins to die. Warm, orange sunlight is replaced with gauzy yellow streetlight and there’s the sound of people yelling their goodnights as they close up shop. 

He leans back on his hands, lets his legs swing freely as he listens to some seagull call in the distance.

“I think I’m scared to die,” you say. Your words are nearly lost in the wind, but Bucky hears you clear as a church prayer. He pushes forward and gently places a hand atop yours along the wooden planks. You don’t react to his touch, and he closes his eyes, leaning tentatively until his forehead pushes against your cheek. 

“Me too.” He whispers it like a secret into your skin, and you turn to look at him at last, eyes glazed and distant, but present enough to see him. He lifts his chin to soak in your face, the silver light playing with the shadows on your face. Your eyes are enough to reflect the moon as he looks into your gaze, and he feels like he’s drowning in your depths before he blinks, inhaling sharply.

The bitter bite of cold wind in his chest snaps him out of his trance and he clears his throat, drawing his hand away from yours.

“It’s getting too late,” he says, ignoring the smallest of frowns pulling at your cheeks as you pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders. “I should get you back home.” Getting up, he brushes off his bum and turns to you, extending a hand. You don’t move, and his brow wrinkles as he steps closer to the edge. “Doll…”

“I don’t want to go home.” 

Falling into a crouch beside you, Bucky rests gentle hands on your shoulders and you seem to shiver underneath his palms as you turn to him, eyes glassy.

“She’ll hate me. My mom will hate me for enlisting, James,” you whisper as you twist to face him fully. “But we need the money. We need the money, and—”

“Your sister is just old enough to begin working,” he finishes. You nod shakily and he sighs, hand flitting around your face. He’s unsure of how to touch you, if you’d even let him, and he settles on tracing the curve of your cheek as he sighs. Mind churning, he simply watches as you close your eyes, diamond tears dripping against his fingers, and he wipes them away with gentle thumbs. Your cheeks are being to freeze in his palms, and he puts on a smile, a small one but one nonetheless as your eyes open again.

“I don’t want to go home, James,” you whisper, crushed and he chews on his bottom lip.

“Come on.” Pulling back, he grabs your hands and he’s surprised by how quickly your fingers wrap around his as he gets you to your feet. You let him drag you away from the waters, his coat swaying on your shoulders “I know where we can go.”

.

“Why here?” you ask, your hands wrapped around the chains as Bucky kicks off the dirt. He fights off the chill trying to sneak into his guts as you fiddle with his coat buttons. He’s managed to persuade you to actually put it on. “It’s actually kind of… strange to be here.”

“You’ve never been in a playground after dark?” he teases, getting off his swing and walking around you. You lean back to keep your eyes on him and he can’t help the fluttering smile playing on his cheek. 

“No, because this is trespassing.”

“Live a little.”

“I know you and your friends would always sneak in. Heard it from all my friends,” you comment with a roll of your eyes. “They thought you were all so cool.”

“It was always Steve’s idea. They were always welcome to join us. So were you.”

“Well, I was at home or at tennis practice, and Daddy always used to pick me up before…” You clear your throat. “Anyway, no. I wouldn’t have.” You swing your legs back, gaining a bit of momentum and he smiles. He remembers when all he would do was spend afternoons here, watching Steve swing beside you, fingers outstretched and barely brushing.

How envious he had been at your shrieking laughter. The nasty pout that’d settle on his lips.

To be a boy again.

“Well, we have a whole night to waste away,” he says, grabbing onto one of the swing chains and pulling you to a jerking halt. Your seat twists, twirling in half-circles as you lower your feet to the ground and lean forward, arms linked by the elbows on the chain. “And I thought we could bend the laws a little.”

“The whole night,” you repeat, bemused, and your eyebrow twitches up when he grins. “I have to get home at some point.”

“Don’t worry. There aren’t any big bad wolves out here.”

“What are you gonna do? Fight ‘em off?” you sneer and he huffs.

“I’ll protect you. Obviously.”

“I’m sure my mother will thank you,” you retort. “What do you have in mind?”

“So the good girl does have a trouble-making side.”

“Well, it seems my last few days on this side of the ocean are with you,” you reply, standing up suddenly and Bucky backs up when your face comes barely an inch from his. Eyebrows rising in surprise, his eyes widen as you dust off the back of your dress and adjust his jacket on your shoulders. It looks good on you. “What does Brooklyn’s Bad Boy know?”

“A lot more than you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Do you remember this playground?” 

“Well, I did just say you and Steve would trespass.”

“I mean, do you remember what it means for us,” he emphasizes and you brush past him, fingers wrapping around the pole as you walk around, soaking in the sight of the barren place. No laughing children, no berating teachers. Nothing but Bucky’s heart and your tiny sigh.

 “I saw you walk your sister home from here once,” you offer with half a shrug. “You saw me and crossed the road just so we wouldn’t cross paths. And there,” you say, pointing at the see-saw, “is where we sat together once in the rain. I think you were waiting out here in the cold. I felt pity so I sat beside you until Rebecca had finished school.” You grin, your features softening as you drag your gaze from the see-saw to Bucky himself, and he’s confused at the heat that floods his chest.

There is no indignant spark, no triumphant gleam in your gaze. Just you.

“That’s when I knew you were stubborn as they come. The ‘thank you’ you gave me sounded like someone pulled it outta you, but… you said thank you.” Then, your lips curl and you blink innocently at him. 

“I don’t recall that.”

“Yes, of course you don’t. You don’t remember a thing that paints you in a bad light.” Your eyes twinkle with mischief, eyebrows rising as you turn away and he walks after you, words nipping at his lips.

“Alright, and you. What about you?” Bucky taps his chin, pretending to ponder but one moment sticks out to him anyway. “As your chemistry partner, I remember saving you once or twice from nearly burning your skin off.”

“And as your biology partner, I remember dissecting the frog while you excused yourself to the bathroom.”

“Then, it’s good we’re not scientists.”

“Good.”

“Good!”

Silence.

This is why they bode better in silence.

Bucky doesn’t understand how they can argue, disagree, spat over the most mundane things, but they do.

You turn away, arms wrapped around your middle as you walk to the hopscotch square and walk the lines drawn into the pavement.

“Well.” There’s an odd pause when Bucky clamps his mouth shut because he doesn’t know what he is going to say next, and you turn around to stare at him oddly, waiting for what comes next. “Well.”

“Well,” you repeat expectantly, and his mouth opens and closes a few times.

“Well, maybe we oughta stop arguing if we’re spending the night together.”

“Do you have to word it like that?” Bucky shoots you a look, and your shoulders slump as you sigh. “I’m sorry. I agree. I’m done quarreling. And to be honest, it’s draining, though I never figured out why you hated me.”

“To be honest, doll,” he sighs, “I don’t know either. It’s just been that way for so long, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose so. Although I know what contributed to my end of this animosity was your proclivity to hover around me.”

“Well, I never could stay away. Seems everywhere you went, I was there somehow, too,” he mumbles and your face softens as you let your arms drop. Approaching him slowly, your eyes do not stray from his face as you flatten your palm against his shirt. You’re warm over his heart, and he wonders if you can feel his heart beat in his chest as you take care to make sure he looks into your eyes. 

“Maybe it was because of Steve,” you say curiously, your fingers playing with the button along the seam. “I know you’re protective over him and us being friends… I never set out to despise the school’s golden boy.”

He finds nothing sour in your gaze, nothing harsh, nothing trembling or bleeding. Maybe time heals all wounds. Maybe it just scars ‘em over. 

“And I remember the boys hating how much I hated you.” Placing his own hand atop of yours, he studies your expression, the way your eyebrows seem to twitch. He hasn’t been this close to you ever. Not on purpose.

Even in the silences before, they knew to keep their distance.

“I guess you were just so perfect and smart and Steve seemed to liked you more than he liked me sometimes.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Everyone liked you.”

“Everyone liked you, too,” you argue. “When you were elected prom king was the worst moment of my night.”

“Only because you were elected prom queen and hated being near me.” He grins when you laugh, your gaze falling to the small distance between them before your eyes find his again, bright with mirth, and his own smile flickers. “I dunno if I got jealous, but I knew I could count on you to challenge me, to distract me from whatever else is going on. You make me righteously angry, but you were also… my companion in a way.” His heart is hammering in his chest as you search his gaze and he wonders when he stopped finding the way you glare irritating and more… beautiful. “I dunno when you became more than that.”

“More?” The word falls gently from your lips and your hand slips from his as you back away. Gates rise before your heart, and he swallows as your gaze searches his. “As if.”

“I never once backed down from a fight for your honour,” he points out and you wrinkle your nose, the uneasiness in your gaze melting away as you turn to the hopscotch again.

“Oh, I know. You punched Barry Turner when you heard he kept touching me.”

“You heard about that?”

“News traveled fast at school.”

“Just like how I heard you slapped Macy Middleton in the gym.”

“She kept spreading rumours about you.” You shake your head. “Rumours Steve told me you hated.” Bucky scoffs and your voice rises in defense. “I tried to tell her to stop, and then she called me a gold digging bitch who only acted like I wasn’t sucking your cock every night.” Eyes widening, Bucky shakes out the feeling crawling down his spine at the mental image flashing in his head as you chuckle.

“Vulgar.” “You’d be surprised by how vulgar dames can be when we’re angry,” you reply easily, shoving your hands in the pockets of his jacket as you whirl around in the empty playground. You are so free like this, bathed in nothing but the faint streetlight and Bucky can’t help but follow, entranced. “Where’re we off to next, anyhow? The night is still young.”

 “Tomorrow we could see the fireworks on Coney Island, but for now, maybe some we could invade a cemetery to hunt ghosts, or go nude swimming at the beach…” he trails off intentionally, and laughs when he spots your expression. It’s almost stricken, definitely shocked. You turn your face away and his expression softens when you begin to walk away. Half-jogging to catch up to you, he falls into step beside you. “Unless you don’t wanna go swimming. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

You stop suddenly and he halts as well, jarringly and cheeks burning but he’s not sure if it’s from shame or from the cold.

And then you turn to him, and your eyes are dancing from glee, and his eyebrows knit together as you burst out laughing.

It’s so loud he’s sure it’ll wake those sleeping in the buildings nearby as you cover your face with your hands. You try to catch your breath, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, confused.

“James Barnes, flustered. I thought I’d never see the day,” you finally wheeze, clapping him on the shoulder before continuing on the walkway. Bucky’s mouth drops open as he stares after you. “Let’s go. If we’re going swimming, we should grab some towels and head down to the beach.” Flicking your wrist, you gesture for him to follow.

And he does.

He realizes he’d go anywhere you’d ask him to.

.

Bucky sneaking into his house to grab some linen and even a bottle from his mother’s prized collection was not on his list for the night.

But it has made him a subject to your constant teasing, which he can’t complain about.

He hasn’t truly recognized what he’s doing until they’re on the beach already, shoes kicked off and toes sinking into the still-warm sand. 

Untucking his shirt, he begins to unbutton it as you walk to a spot along the shore, putting down the linen and the bottle of whiskey. Carefully undoing the buttons of his jacket, you glance back at him as he approaches, and the moonlight carves into your face elegantly.

There’s an intensity, a heat that fills the silence as he pulls open his shirt and begins to unbuckle his belt. You slowly shed his jacket and fold it over your arm, setting it beside the towels and there’s a fire that burns as your eyes trail up his chest, up to his eyes only to find him already staring.

His heart is melting in his chest, nothing more than an inferno that singes his lungs as you begin to unbutton the front of your dress.

Movements are slow as honey, sure, but purposeful. The way he slides the suspenders off his showers, the gentle flick of your wrist as you undo the button, and Bucky watches as your fingers slip through fabric. His throat is drier than the hottest day in Brooklyn, and his tongue flickers out to wet his lips as you tear your gaze away to focus on undressing.

Words bundle up in his throat, and he glances out to the ocean, ever moving and gleaming silver. The water ripples like silk, the foamy crush seeping into the pale sand.

“James.” Your voice is softer than thunder as he looks to you, and he swallows a thick knot in his throat when he sees the front of your dress wide open. His gaze stays on your face as he pulls his belt out from the loops.

“If you’re uncomfortable…”

“No. It’s okay.” I trust you. “And you?”

“I’m good.”

You let the dress fall in a crumpled heap around your legs. Gooseflesh begins to rise along his arms as he does the same with his shirt, and it’s almost intimate the way they undress underneath lunar glow.

He pulls off his pants, you unwind your girdle and unclasp your bra.

He steps out of his underwear and so do you, and it is breathless the way heat sucks into his lungs. His chest is cloudy, stuffed, and he cannot help but feel lightheaded as he struggles to take a breath. His hands curl into fists as he resists the urge to brush hair away from the slope of your shoulder.

He silently asks a question.

And then, you, with the tiniest dip of your chin, consent.

His eyes roam, as do yours, and it is almost like he is in another plane of existence as he trails past your breasts, down to your legs and up again. His stomach flips and his lips part as he watches your chest rise and fall with your breathing, admires the pouch of your stomach that’s so often hidden away.

Despite what you put on, you’re just as soft as anyone. Just as human.

When eyes meet again, it is like something clicks.

He sticks out your hand, silently asking you to take it.

Your palm slots against his like it is meant to be.

.

It is an awakening. A rebirth, almost.

A clean slate.

They wade in the ocean until their fingers prune and they are aching for something more than just salt water and cold waves.

The hours after the swim is just as quiet, just as reverent in its motion, as they lie on a towel. Another is draped over your body. Bucky, the same, salt water clinging to his hair and skin.

Somehow, they are sweating despite the frigid waters.

“I know I said I am afraid to die,” you say as they stare up at the stars. His whole body is humming with burning blood. “But more than that, I’m afraid of the fear. If that makes sense.”

Bucky turns his head to look at you, commit the profile of your face to his memory as you look at him as well. Salt water glimmers along your cheek as the corner of your mouth simply tugs up in a sad smile.

“I understand,” he whispers. “I feel like it’ll paralyze me. It does, just imagining it.”

“Exactly.” You turn your gaze to the stars again. The whiskey is half empty between the two of you, and it warms the blood in his veins as Bucky feels the back of your hand brush his. His whole body is strung out on electric wire, and his hand alights, every finger tingling. “Do you think we’ll be staring at the same stars?” you ask.

“I sure hope so,” he says. “Maybe we’ll be somewhere close.”

You exhale, long and heavy through your nose. “I hope so, too.” You adjust the towel on your chest as you drag your feet against the linen underneath your back. “Did you ever… I mean…”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never been naked with a man before,” you say, rolling onto your side, one hand clutching the towel to your chest and he glances at you, his blue gaze downy soft as he traces the slope of your nose with his eyes. “Much less go swimming nude with one.”

“Who would have thought?” he murmurs and your smile grows, eyes fluttering down, away from his face and then back again. “I’m glad you trust me, now.”

“Oh, I think I’ve always trusted you,” you whisper, breath tickling his lips. He can taste the liquor on your tongue as he gently inclines his head towards you. Noses nearly brush and he begins to smile. “Thank you… for this. For everything.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s done nothing except bring you nude swimming at the beach, but it feels wrong to say so, so he simply replies, “You’re welcome.” Then, more genuine: “Thank you for indulging me. It’s not every night I’m here with my supposed archenemy,” he teases and you chuckle deep in your chest. At least you’re not too somber to laugh.

“It was nice,” you assure him quietly. “It’s different when I’m with you.” Your hand goes from your chest to his shoulder, tracing invisible shapes and marking them into his skin. He nearly shivers at your touch, but maybe it’s the cold. “You’re not afraid of the quiet.”

 It’s like I can be myself.

Bucky wonders if the fire in his chest is from the alcohol or something else as your fingers slowly interlace with his.

.

The days pass by in glances, fleeting touches. In bright sparks, sunny days, movie theatres. 

You smile more with every waking moment Bucky spends with you.

If Steve notices anything, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom last minute before the movie starts, prompting you to sit beside Bucky in the dark for two hours.

It is that day he realizes you don’t like horror pictures, and the day after he learns you adore science films. More parts of you unveil themselves, just like how he discovers you enjoy hotdogs on Coney Island the night they watch fireworks together and how you can weave flower crowns with practiced fingers when they spend an afternoon with Ma and Becca.

It is almost like he’s known you his whole life.

.

He asks if you want to go to the Stark Expo. He doesn’t imply that it is a date, and by the innocent quirk of your eyebrows, you don’t think of it as such.

You say yes, and spend the whole night by his side.

.

“James.”

Your voice is lit with surprise, brilliant in its loudness and he turns to where you’re wading through the crowd. You’re darling in your nurse’s outfit and he almost blushes when your dancing eyes find his.

Matched with your morning smile, he can’t help but smile himself.

There’s a somberness to you, though, that he wonders if only he can see as Rebecca pushes past him and throws her arms around you.

“Y/N! Thank god you’re here on time,” his sister says and you smile, patting the girl’s back. “How was the Stark Expo? Was there really a flying car?”

“It was a nice night out. But, what are you doing here, Rebecca?” you ask, bemused, and his sister’s shoulders rise and fall innocently as she turns back to Bucky. Your eyes find his and he half-smiles as if to apologize, but you shake your head minutely. “I thought you said only your mother was seeing you off.”

“Well, Bucky said you wouldn’t have anyone throwing you a farewell party and I thought I ought to join,” Rebecca says, her lips curling into a smirk. “Bucky talks a lot about you.”

“Oh, do you?” you mutter warily, eyeing Bucky who is shooting daggers at his sister. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment or does he only complain?” The corner of your mouth quirks up as you look at Bucky and he rolls his eyes. 

“Well, before it used to be complaining. It’s much nicer now.”

“I assume it’s about our science classes together.” You’ll never let that go and Bucky snorts, trying to cover up his amusement. “Although, seeing as he’s going off a soldier, he seems to manage just fine without me, now.”

“No, I don’t.” The words fly out of his mouth before he can stop it, and a silence falls between them. You stare at him, trying to decipher what lays in his face, and he gazes, embarrassed, into the depths of your irises. Your lips part as if you want to say something, but the words seemed to have dissipated in the wake of his response, and his hands curl into fists in an attempt to stop himself from touching you somehow.

Make everything worse, anyhow.

“Can we have a moment alone?” you ask quickly, clearing your throat with raised eyebrows. Rebecca, tucking a curl behind her ear, glances from Bucky to you, before smirking and nodding emphatically.

Bucky internally sighs.

Can his sister make herself anymore obvious?

Turning to their mother who had watched the whole debacle just occur with amusement, Rebecca loops her arm around hers. “C’mon, Ma. We should… head over there. Look at the ships,” she suggests and Winnifred huffs a smile. Catching your eyes, his mother rises an incredulous eyebrow and your mouth drops open when his mother wraps you in a warm embrace,

“Stay safe on that side, dear. I would love to get to know you once you come home from the war,” she says. You seem to soften in his mother’s arms before she pulls back and then Rebecca throws herself at you. You catch her, of course, and your eyes flutter shut.

“I’m going to miss you so much!” Rebecca murmurs into your neck and you gently run a hand down her back, sweet smile upon your lips. “You better come back and marry Bucky,” she adds fiercely and Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to conceal the heat that flushes over his entire body as you open your eyes and look at him. Your face is set in stone, serious as a librarian during exams, and you study him, the blush pooling in his cheeks despite the cold wind.

“We’ll be back, and you will be our chief wedding planner,” you say, drawing back and the air in Bucky’s lungs disappears. “I promise.”

You’re magic, that way. You manage to make him feel these things he doesn’t understand are possible.

He can’t breathe, his heart beating in his head and throat and everywhere. You’ve captured him in your gaze and even when you look away, his body struggles to work. Unblinking, he watches your mouth move but he can’t hear a thing. Everything is white noise and he cannot see anything in this crowd except for you.

Throat dry, he feels the last bit of air left in his chest escape in the softest of sighs before a hand settles on his shoulder and he flinches to see his mother smirking at him.

“Ma,” he breathes, shoulders dropping. His heart is racing in his chest, bouncing on the walls of his ribs. “You scared me.”

“You let your guard down around her,” she says with a shrug as if to say she’s not to blame. 

“What are you talking about, Ma?” He struggles to keep his tone non-confrontational but he doesn't understand why he’s so defensive. Is he worse around you? Better? And has he just found you just to die battlefields apart?

“Oh, I’ve never seen a girl make you quite so flustered. Normally, it’s the other way around.”

“She just gets under my skin. I don’t like her that way,” he lies, shaking the feeling out of his jacket but it still lingers at the nape of his neck, a wriggling, tickling sensation.

“In my experience, it’s the ones who challenge you that are the ones you can’t let escape.” His mother cocks her head, eyes narrowed in an emotion Bucky can’t decipher before she turns to pry Rebecca off you. “Let’s go, Becca. We’ll see Bucky before he boards.”

“I’ll come find you,” he promises, and you wave to his family as they sink into the crowd, your eyes warm and empty with realization.

This is it.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he shuffles closer to you, catching your attention again.

“Marry me?” he repeats fondly, and you smirk, the hollowness abating you for just a moment. Bucky wonders if it’s the same for you. If he makes you forget the way you do for him. “And here I thought you hated me.”

“Well, we have to give her sister what she wants, don’t we?” He chuckles and your smile is a flimsy thing before your face turns serious again. “And I don’t hate you,” you whisper, your body stiff in the cold dawn, and he adjusts the nurse’s cap on your head before thumbing over your cheek. You melt into him, shoulders falling and eyebrows knitting together, and you don’t smile, but he can read it all in your eyes.

You surrender to his touch, let him tilt you forward so he can gently kiss your brow. The place is bustling and the crowd pushes them together as he wraps his arms around you, pouring all he cannot say into where his lips meet your skin. You do not speak, and simply snake your arms around his waist, pull him close.

There they stand, and Bucky thinks he can get used to this feeling.

This warmth, the strength of your body against his, the way you make his heart swell larger than life.

“Is it too late to tell the boys I get seasick?” he asks, and you laugh.

He loves the sound of your laugh.

“Might be, Sarge.”

He thinks he loves everything about you, really.

“I do have something for you, actually,” you say as his forehead presses against yours and you mumble it under your breath. Around the ruckus of the bustling port, your voice is all he focuses in on. “It’s just me being… I don’t know, superstitious, I suppose.”

“What is it?” He feels your hands shift between them as you pull something out of your pocket, and it is a simple ring, gleaming gold. “We’re not actually getting married, are we?” he asks breathlessly, eyes flickering up to yours and you lift your head as you take his hand and slide it onto his right middle finger.

It’s a bit too loose, but he watches it settle upon his hand anyway.

“It was my father’s,” you explain quietly and he knocks his head against yours. Your eyes flutter shut at the warmth of his brow against yours and he aches to kiss you, but he doesn’t. “It was supposed to give him good luck, and he always said it kept him alive during the war, and it worked, so…” Your hands cup his neck, and your thumbs brush against his jaw. His hand comes around your waist, the other settling in the small of your back. The ring is cool, a new tiny weight on his hand and something inside him collapses. “Stay safe on the other side, soldier.”

“Is that an order?”

“Doctor’s orders,” you affirm, your lips twisting into a grin. “You ought to follow them.”

“I will do my best,” he whispers and you chuckle. “And I’ll see you on the other side of the war.”

“It’ll be awful boring without you otherwise.”

“As it’ll be boring for me without you.”

Noses brush as you lean towards him, your fingers warm and cold and strong, desperately holding onto him. For a moment, he thinks you might kiss him, and your breath ghosts against his lips before you halt, just a whisper away from him. Everything zeroes in on you. He can hear nothing but your soft breaths, his heart in his ears. His stomach tugs him in every direction and he swallows, eyes cast on your lips, your eyes, every part of your face.

Then you turn your face away, your aching sigh against his cheek. His fingers dig into your flesh through your dress, and your hands slide down his shoulders.

His heart cracks.

Tilting your head, you swallow and he can hear his heart in his ears, as his hands draw to your waist. Then, you turn your head and your lips almost brush his. 

He can taste you, just barely, the smell of perfume clinging to your skin. How easy it would be, to simply close the distance, push his mouth against yours and feel you kiss him back, except it wouldn’t be easy at all.

He knows why you don’t kiss him. 

It’s the same reason why he doesn’t kiss you.

Kissing makes it real, makes it true, makes it too hard to leave and you need to go. If you kiss him, you will never leave his arms and if he kisses you, he will evade any force that will force him overseas just so he can stay with you.

No matter how much his heart yearns to reach yours, no matter how much he wants to taste you, feel you beneath his hands…

He doesn’t.

He can’t.

To kiss you would be to make it real. To manifest something between them left unsaid is a frightening thing when they stand in death’s palm.

It would be unfair. It would be cruel to love only to die, but he does. 

In the past few days, he has felt everything the stories always said about love: fulfillment, pure happiness, indescribable joy and a lightness to his chest he has never felt before.

Heartwrenching agony. Poisonous grief. A pain enough to shatter bones.

He loves you, and he is devastated.

“Goodbye, Sergeant Barnes.” You pull back, your hands sliding down his arms and he catches your fingers in his, desperate not to let you slip away. Only to prolong the inevitable. Your eyes are struggling not to shed their tears, your lips twisted in a bittersweet smile as you struggle to come up with a way… a way to say everything you cannot say aloud. He doesn’t want to see you cry, but he does not say so. He is barely breathing. “Goodbye… Bucky.”

It isn’t enough.

It never will be.

“Goodbye, doll,” he whispers. Your eyes flicker from his face to his hands, and he squeezes your palms gently before you tear yourself away, force yourself not to look back, slip into the crowd and disappear forever.

He does not chase after you even though he does not want your story to end.

.

“Buck.”

The man standing before the tombstone looks up, over his shoulder, to Steve.

“We need to get back before it gets dark.”

And then he smiles, solemn and sad before turning back towards the stone. Stepping closer, he crouches before the engraved stone and runs a hand carefully over its curve. 

“I’ll see you next weekend, doll,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing numb lips to cold stone. The emptiness inside him seems to sew itself shut, just an inch at both ends, before he draws back. His metal hand flutters over the engraving, and his lips part in a silent sigh before digging through his jacket and setting the simple, golden ring in the dirt. It glimmers in the pale sunlight, and he smiles but it disappears before it can truly settle. “The ring worked. God, I only wish it was with you.”

He stands and turns back to Steve.

“I just wanted to say my goodbyes,” Bucky says, voice barely louder than the autumn wind. “Y’know, she was… She died so young. She was…”

He doesn’t want to say love of his life, because that means he missed it.

Missed his chance.

“It was quick,” is all Steve says. “A bombing. If she felt any pain, it was only for a second.”

“I think it would’ve been the fear that killed her,” Bucky replies softly, walking towards his old friend. “It’s getting late. We should start heading back.”

“We could get something to eat—” Steve tries, but Bucky merely shakes his head. 

“I’m not hungry tonight.”

When he gets back to the facility, he excuses himself to his room and puts on a record that was all the rage back in their day. He vaguely recalls it playing a few times when the Commandos were out late drinking in London.

Every time, he thought of you, somewhere out there, and the mandatory prom king and queen dance they had together.

What he wouldn’t give for another chance to dance with you again.

He collapses on the bed, lying down and letting the music lull him to sleep. Eyes slipping shut, he imagines a life where he had said something different, imagines a life where the dreams he dreams now are a reality.

He imagines a life where you knew he loved you.

Where it wasn’t too late.

“If there is some other way to prove that I love you I swear I don't know how You'll never know if you don't know now You'll never know if you don't know now…”

[homeformyheart]

ice cream - mason x f!detective (twc)

day 3 - date

author’s note: inching toward relationship mason fluff, enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 14+; fluff, swearing word count: 1.2k based on/prompt: day 3 – date from #28dateswithunitbravo challenge by @wayhavenmonthly. summary: to ria’s surprise, mason insists their outing counts as a date.

ice cream

ria wrapped her scarf around her neck twice before stepping out of the station, bracing herself for the cold winter chill that had settled on wayhaven like a fog that refused to leave. mason had taken to picking her up when her shift was over, initially under the guise that it was part of their increased patrols of the town, but after a few weeks of it, they fell into a rhythm and didn’t even notice that she stopped teasing him and he stopped insisting it was only because of adam’s orders.

it was days like this though that she felt bad he still insisted on walking her home, his teeth chattering as he waited for her and skin icy to the touch no matter how many layers he had on. she wasn’t sure exactly why he did it since it wouldn’t be unreasonable for the team to take turns and help alleviate mason’s exposure to extreme weather, but he insisted in his own quiet, but firm way and shut down any attempted discussion.

not that she was complaining, of course. she enjoyed spending time with him,  comforting was not a word she thought she’d ever use to describe mason, but that’s what it was. there was something oddly comforting about his presence. and she never expected to be this kind of comfortable with someone, especially after the disaster that was her relationship with bobby marks.

the walk to the square was brisk. as much as she enjoyed winter, she didn’t want to risk frostbite in the below freezing weather, and she was sure mason felt similarly, even if he refused to admit it.

“how are you doing?”

although typically a normal question to ask, it still caught ria by surprise when mason showed genuine interest in her life and wellbeing. of course, some of that was to be expected given the increase in trapper activity lately around the town. they had been frustratingly and worryingly busy because of it all.

“i’m hanging in there, all things considered,” she replied honestly. the look on mason’s face told her he didn’t quite believe her, but she didn’t want to think about it any longer.

that self-defense tactic served her very well throughout her life and she wasn’t going to stop now. she looked up for some sort of distraction and realized they were coming up on her favorite ice cream parlor.

“let’s stop here for a sec. i’m going to get some ice cream,” she said, grabbing mason’s arm and tugging him into the little corner shop.

“it’s fucking freezing and you want ice cream?” he asked, his face pinched in disgust.

ria just laughed and ordered at the counter. “it’s weird, i know. but sometimes people want a cold dessert while it’s cold out.”

“i really don’t understand humans,” he muttered under his breath as she moved to the cashier.

she shrugged and pulled out her wallet but froze when mason put his hand on hers and gave the cashier a crisp bill from his pocket instead.

“what are you doing?” she asked as she put her wallet back and grabbed her ice cream from the clerk.

“you were moving too slow, that’s all,” mason said as he turned to walk quickly towards the door, but his voice was missing its typical snark.

maybe he really was warming up to her, she mused inwardly, a smile creeping on her face as she joined him outside, the sun just starting to dip towards the tree line, softening the air around the square.

mason’s shoulders hunched forward even further, and ria could hear his teeth chattering.

“i really don’t know why you’re subjecting yourself to this. you really should have one of the other guys escort me home when it’s really cold,” she said, her voice only slightly laced with annoyance as she handed him her ice cream cone. “hold this.”

he held his arm out to the side to make sure the ice cream didn’t get on either of them as she unwrapped her scarf from her neck and looped it around his, doubling the layer so the warm fabric sat high enough on top of his existing scarf to cover his chin.

he stared at her incredulously as she placed her earmuffs around him as well, his eyes swirling with a softness she hadn’t seen before. he looked amazed as though the idea that someone might care enough about his well-being to sacrifice theirs a little had never occurred to him as a possibility. his grey eyes swirled with vulnerability and ria avoided looking right at him given the intensity she found there threatened to overwhelm her.

“how’s that?” she asked, stepping away to admire her handiwork and simultaneously grabbing her ice cream back from him.

“warm,” was all he said as he slung an arm back over her shoulders and led her toward a bench in the square.

luckily the bench was dry and clear of snow, although that didn’t help the cold from seeping through her jeans. mason kept his arm slung around her shoulders but stuffed his other hand deep in his pants pocket. ria could tell he was still shivering, but it didn’t seem as violent as it had when she first saw him outside the station.

“ria!” she looked up to see tina excitedly running towards them, her too-long scarf flapping in the wind behind her.

“hey tina,” ria said quietly, knowing that tina’s boisterous personality had a tendency to rub mason the wrong way.

“look at you two, cozying up on a date,” tina teased.

the cold ice cream caught in ria’s throat and she coughed. “this is not a date. i told you we’re not dating,” she insisted, making an effort to avoid looking at mason.

tina looked back and forth between them. “i don’t know, you’re spending time alone together, i assume he bought you the ice cream since he’s not eating anything himself. sounds like a date to me,” she said in a singsong voice that had ria cringing internally.

“what qualifies as a date to you?” mason asked before ria could respond, with genuine curiosity in his voice, something ria hadn’t really noticed from him before.

tina looked as though she was just told she won a big prize. “well, a date is when two people who like each other romantically do something together. one person usually plans an outing and pays for things like dinner or a movie. especially if the relationship is still new,” tina explained, putting too much emphasis on the word “new.”

ria rolled her eyes. “it’s kind of stupid for one person to be expected to pay for things and besides, mason and i both agree that dating is overrated.”

mason’s arm tensed around her shoulders and she looked at him quizzically. “the bobblehead is right,” he interjected quickly.

tina laughed, “what did you call me?”

“sorry, tina. mason has a nickname for everyone,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “although you’re supposed to keep those to yourself.”

he chose to ignore her and continued his original train of thought. “i’m saying she’s right. we’re spending time together and i bought you that ice cream. this counts as a date.”

now it’s her turn to stare at him incredulously. he looked away at her scrutinizing gaze even as his arm around her shoulder tightened and pulled her closer.

ria’s lips quirked up into a small smile before she schooled her features, sharing a quick, knowing glance with tina who gave her a wink before walking away.

* * * * * permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart​; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

[kozutenshi]

he flashed a smile, one that mirrored the sun, as he takes you in his arms.

his warmth enveloped you comfortingly, his eyes roaming on your sniffing figure as he takes in the ring on your finger.

"i love you, kou."

the claps drowned and only your voice filled his ears as his own tears swarmed and fell down on his cheeks.

the lights were bright, and you can feel his tears on your top, a special one worn for your 5th anniversary date.

the night was filled with laughter, and you couldn't ask for anything better as your engagement.

his reply came in soft, piercingly genuine. it was just almost above a whisper, but it was loud enough.

"I love you too, n/n."

ISEM

— smile. :))))

— ngiti in Filipino.

— im pretty sure this isn't just something that Ilocanos believe, but smile is needed when communicating as long as it's applicable.

— something I can't do properly even after years of existence.

koutarou bokuto was a star. not just to you, to his sport, but to anyone he meets.

always dazzling, shining, standing out in the better side of things.

even if he wasn't much of a show off now, the ace turned heads wherever he went, greeting the young and old with a smile on his face.

how long has it been since you saw him like that with you?

his warmth had always comforted you, but somehow, in this one bed, he was out of your reach. it wasn't like he did something, no. it was the invisible distance that even with your hands intertwined, it feels like you're holding empty air.

but as you recalled how his smile didn't reach his ears a few months ago, and how his eyes slowly lost their sparks behind them, you nuzzled closer to him, suddenly getting a chill.

he woke up to your shifting, and as if on instinct, his arms wrapped around you. his golden eyes were half-open as he drank in your appearance, the bags under your eyes and the frown on your face. he pressed a kiss on your forehead, the silence thick, as you sighed and somehow melted in his arms.

"i'm sorry i woke you up."

the practiced smile on his face made you cringe. he was handsome, yes, but it wasn't genuine. "it's alright. what time is it?"

"it's still around five in the morning. go to sleep, kou. you were probably exhausted yesterday." he swallowed his guilt as you stroke his hair, a soft sad smile on your face. he knew you probably caught on his mistake; you were smarter after all. he was also an open book, and his guard lets down whenever it's you.

he knew he couldn't hide anything from you, and like how you used to even when you were just friends, you accepted him.

his light and the darkness of his night; you always opened your arms for him to fall into.

"i'm sorry, y/n."

you blinked at his statement, the words treading your emotions lightly and cautiously.

"for eating my cake yesterday?"

he shook his head, eliciting a small chuckle from him despite the situation. "no, but i am sorry for that."

he played with your hands and the rings on your finger. he had long given them, one on a night under the stars, and one under the grace of the flowers and the sun.

he remembered both your vows and somehow it trips him over even more, the way you had said that you'll always be patient for him, your eyes slowly going red as you finish your promise.

"and i promise i'll be there, always. aishiteru, kou. aishiteru."

it wasn't like the vows you exchanged had new words to his ears, or wasn't out of the ordinary. but somehow, he found himself crying that day, overwhelmed with the emotions you poured into the matter.

and now, in his rare day-off from the court, he reminisces the way your smile wasn't so sad.

"i'm sorry for breaking my vow."

you didn't expect that you'll be talking about the topic this way. you imagined that he'd come home one day, and tell you that the two of you isn't working anymore.

three years ago, you exchanged rings.

in front of everyone you treasured, every person the two of you valued, he promised only a few. however cliche, the same vows kept the two of you going, especially around the first year.

but as time passed by, it choked him.

it wasn't your fault. he probably was convincing himself too much that fulfilling such words would keep your garden of love blooming.

but this wasn't the spring he promised to you.

"i'm sorry i couldn't stay by your side."

as time passed by, he slowly drifted. did he lose interest on you? did he cling on you too much?

where did it go wrong?

the distance grew as his fame and career skyrocketed. as he continued to shine outside, the star dimmed as he steps into the now cold home, sometimes stumbling into the door drunk noisily, prompting you to wake up in ungodly hours.

and everyday you smiled at him, ever consistent, mumbling words of love to his ears.

his hold on you went tighter, his tears finally giving out. the shake of his shoulders made you freeze as you tried to move out of his arms. "stay."

the desperation in his voice was enough to crack you, letting your tears slowly fall down with his. they stained the cold sheets as you tried to stop them, however futile. he watched you try to move away from him before sighing.

cupping his face in your hands, you kissed his lips, the familiar warmth rising on his cheeks. it made him melt into your arms more, getting lost on the kiss, leaning to your touch. out of air he moved away, curiously licking his lips for a taste.

"salt."

moving out of his embrace, you wiped your own tears and giggled.

"we really have to work on us more."

you met his gold eyes, softening your features. it made him want to cry again, if not for the smile you flashed right after. "you also have to let me go if you aren't used to the taste of my tears."

you moved towards the edge of the bed, yawning. "what do you want for breakfast?" the man blinked at your question, his tears drying on his cheeks. "you're.. not leaving?"

"do you want me to?" you turned to him as he frantically shook his head. "that's not it!" he deflated a bit as he collected his thoughts. "i just thought.. with my mistake.. people leave commonly, you know? i don't.. i don't want you to.. though.." the blush and pout on his cheeks made you reach out to him and ruffle your hair.

"i already said we should work on this, kou. besides, i did say i'll always be there, remember?"

"yeah.. i do.."

"then, cheer up!"

a smile, the smile he always loved, blossomed on your lips. "i'm not going anywhere but the kitchen. so tell me what breakfast you want now."

and just like that, his first genuine smile around you had also made its way to his face as he tackles you into the bed easily.

"breakfast? hell naw, let's just sleep," he murmured, fondness evident in his smile. giving in, you tucked yourself closer to him, giggling as his breath fanned over your neck, before closing your eyes to enjoy his warmth.

TRAVELLERS: @doodleniella @kenmakodzu @lyzzklm @mfcassandra @oikaw-ugh @seijohlogy @thesecondapplepienation

[acotartogfan]

Do nessian with the number 1 of the list pleeaseee

Drowning in Silence

Prompt: “Stay, please. just for the night.”

I recommend listening to ‘Panic Room’ by Au/Ra, however, discretion is advised as it may trigger anxiety. I’ll put a ~ to signal when to listen to it.

 Sweat slid down Nesta’s temple. Across her, Cassian grinned wolfishly. Determination set in. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, and most of the camp were already in their tents or eating in the canteen. Cassian, however, insisted they spar, so here they were. 

Tightening her grip on her staff, Nesta raised a signature eyebrow at him in challenge. The air between them was charged, heavy with anticipation. They could both feel it.

The match began. 

Slowly, the pair circled each other on the mat, never daring to break eye contact. Nesta crouched lower, and like a predator sensing prey, she pounced. Cassian blocked her attack effortlessly, although she detected a hint of surprise when he moved. They continued in the same fashion, sparring and dancing around each other, each one meeting the other’s blow for their own. Their power and skills matched the other’s, complemented, even. 

It wasn’t easy, Nesta admitted later in their tent as they stripped off their sweat-soaked gear in tired silence─ silence,  save for the clanking of belts and clasps. “I’m going to take a bath,” she announced suddenly, the traces of adrenaline previously pumping through her body had apparently decided to make an appearance..

“...Do you need me to stay here?”

Nesta hesitated. “Just for a few minutes. Could you start the timer?” she asked quietly, but not weakly.

Cassian nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

As soon as Nesta entered the separate bathing chambers, she let out a relieved sigh. Her fear of bathtubs had not gotten easier ever since that day with Hybern and she shuddered involuntarily. Even thinking about it triggered some kind of physical and emotional response─ she remembered the unnaturally cold water sploshing as she was dunked in, the unyielding blackness, the deep chill that had settled in her bones the longer she stayed in, the struggle of power─ her fingers dug into her arm, creating white half-moon crescents. By doing this, Nesta forced herself to stay in the present. 

Stripping down until she was in her undergarments, she faintly heard the maidservant say, “Your bath is ready, lady,” before hastily backing out of the room and leaving her alone with her thoughts. She hated being alone with them, more than anything. She did not need to spiral today. 

Steam rose invitingly from the bath in wispy tendrils and the scent of pine and sandalwood filled the air. Nesta closed her eyes and breathed in the steam, slowly, letting the warm air clear her head before walking to the tub. As she approached the edge, she paused, narrowing her eyes at the deceptively sweet water. To anyone else, it was a beautiful, waiting tub filled with warm water and the promise of a relaxing evening, but to Nesta, it was the stuff of nightmares. She had lost count of the number of times she had awoken, drenched in sweat, from dreams of being submerged in black, freezing water. This, however, was not black, nor freezing. It was more of a milky color, presumably from the salts and oils the maidservants had poured in. Cautiously, she swirled her hand in the bath. It was warm, and Nesta longed to rid herself of the layer of sweat and grime coating her body. With bated breath, she dipped her toes in, then her ankles, her knees, and one leg was submerged. The second leg was easier, and soon she was sitting comfortably in the tub, the warm water caressing her muscles, soothing it. Nesta let out a breath in a quick sigh, and somewhere, she felt Cassian bristle. “You may come in,” she called, tension in her chest still lingering. Her fear had not dissipated, neither had she expected it to. However, with every passing day, the grip her fear had on her began to dissolve, slowly, yet surely. 

Cassian approached the tub cautiously, her back facing him. She heard him let out a quiet sigh in relief. “Yes, dear?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, and he chuckled. 

She grabbed the rag on the table beside her, and turned her head to face him. “Wash my back for me, please.”

“As the lady insists.” Nesta could hear the devilish grin in his voice. She scoffed. 

He took it from her hand and dunked it in the soapy water before gently rubbing her back. “You’re okay?” he murmured.

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” This wasn’t a dismissal. 

She knew he knew she was genuine. He was the one who was helping her, and he would know if she really wasn’t okay. 

TW: Descriptions of anxiety and fear

~ 

Soon, her back was clean, rid of any grime, and Cassian rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing the place between her neck and shoulder soothingly. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said gently, and she thanked him before he quietly made his departure. A servant quickly rushed in, looking respectfully, of course, and poured more hot water in the tub upon her request. Nesta slid further into the tub, submerging her entire lower body and chest in the water until only her neck and head were visible. She forced herself to let go of her anxieties, the tightness in her stomach still evident. She let out a long breath and made a noise of contentment while attempting to keep herself calm. Her breaths were steady, controlled with every ounce of self-control. Despite Nesta’s reassuring exterior, she was struggling to keep herself from breaking apart, right there, in the bathtub. She suspected Cassian had left, not that she could blame him; she never relapsed after he checked in on her, though he stayed throughout the entire time. Just now. Of course. Her heartbeat steadily increased, her heartbeat beating so frantically, so unevenly, she was sure someone would hear. But no one came. No one heard. Panic swelled in her throat. Eyes darting around her, she searched for the nearest towel, which thankfully, wasn’t too far away, and she quickly rose from the tub, the milky water splashing on the floor, almost causing her to slip. Nesta sucked in a breath and froze, willing herself to calm down. Her body betrayed her. Her chest rose and fell quickly, quicker than it should have. The room felt cold─ as if all the steam and humidity had disappeared. Wrapping a towel around her now shivering body, she realized, as she sprinted out of the bathroom on shaky legs, nearly slipping on puddles of water as her feet left pools of water behind. 

Nesta ran until she found the bed and collapsed atop it in a messy heap, her towel pooling haphazardly around her naked body but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She curled into a fetal position, facing away from the door as tears slipped out of her grasp, wetting her cheeks and eyes, sometimes running together and eventually soaking the sheets underneath─ as if they weren’t already soaked with the water still left on her body. The silence was violent─ she was afraid to be alone with her own thoughts. They crashed like waves on rocks, one after the other, relentless, slamming walls of water that drowned, suffocated─

Cassian strolled in leisurely. Nesta assumed he had noticed her as his footsteps faltered, then quickly became louder as he rushed to her side. “Is everything okay?”

Nesta didn’t move from her position nor turn to look at him. She hated being seen as vulnerable. “Does it look like it?” she sniffled, her words lacking malice. 

She didn’t even need to see Cassian’s face crumple. He approached the bed and sat on it, placing a hand on her arm. Her back was facing him. “Nesta, I’m so sorry─”

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known,” he breathed. A reassurance, that’s what it was. 

The warrior fell silent, understanding. 

He spoke after a beat. “I could have prevented it.” Empty words. They both knew it. 

Nesta said nothing.

“I relapsed again. I’m usually fine.” Her voice wobbled at the end. She wasn’t sure why she was explaining this to him.

“I know,” he stroked her arm. 

“I thought it was better now─”

Cassian leaned over her, their bodies perpendicular to each other. He locked eyes with her watery ones. “Hey, it’s okay,” he emphasized. “We all have our moments.”

Nesta hesitated, and closed her eyes, feeling tears well beneath her lashes and trickle down. Cassian wiped them away with gentle fingers. He slowly got up and left, leaving Nesta to inwardly whine at the loss of his presence, but he returned shortly later, with a loose white button-up shirt and tan-colored velaris-style pants, airy and breathable with cuffed ankles (think: princess jasmine pants). 

“Here, I brought some clothes for you.” He handed them to her, facing her back.

Nesta reached across her body and let him hand it to her. Mustering her dignity, she wiped her tear-streaked face and sat up, facing the wall. She tugged on her clothes listlessly, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. When she was finished, she fell lifelessly onto the tear-soaked sheets again, curling herself inwards in a fetal position. From behind her, Nesta could sense Cassian hesitate, then approach the bed cautiously. He bent down and leaned over only to place a heartbreakingly-gentle kiss on her forehead. 

The act broke her.

  Nesta’s eyes fluttered closed as tears streamed down her face, and Cassian wrapped a soft hand to the back of her head, pulling her inevitably closer to him, not seeming to care. They stayed like that, with Nesta’s tears pouring like a damn river and Cassian, holding her forehead to his lips. He brought his hand to her forehead, brushing away any stray baby-hairs and released her forehead from his grip, instead settling for a hug, resting his head on her shoulder, and hers on his. When they broke apart, the warrior turned to leave, patting her softly on the shoulder, but then came, “Please, stay. Just for the night.”

Nesta hadn’t realized the words left her lips until she sensed Cassian freeze in his tracks. She bolted up, raising her hand to her mouth reactively, looking at Cassian with horrified eyes immediately as he said, “Of course.” 

The warrior’s gaze softened as he noticed her expression. As if reading her mind, he smiled. “I would’ve asked the same thing if I were in your position.” He came to sit on the bed. 

Nesta made a noise; somewhere between a choking sound and a laugh. A half-grin spread across her face despite her leaking tears. 

Suddenly uncharacteristically embarrassed, her expression became solemn─ a small victory compared to the tears that were previously leaking; they had now stopped. Nesta looked down at her fidgeting hands. “ I wanted to apologize for─” 

Cassian wasn’t having it. “Do not─” he put a hand on her knee and gazed at her with fiery eyes. His tone was stern. “─apologize. Do not apologize for the things that hurt you,” he repeated.

Nesta was silent, but the understanding was mutual. 

Outside, the wind howled with a vengeance. 

Cassian slipped on a pair of loose pants and a lace-up shirt, which he left untied for the most part. 

Sliding his arms underneath Nesta’s neck and knees, he picked her up, kicked back the covers, and placed her atop the sheets. Nesta managed a weak smile to thank him. Cassian smiled back, his eyes creasing at the corners. He crossed the bed as Nesta burrowed under the blankets, lingering traces of her fear still clinging to the hollows of her mind.. They slowly dissolved as Cassian’s arms came around her and she felt the warmth from his body encircling her. Safe. 

The one word she repeated. 

 Safe. Safe. Safe.

Nesta felt a warm huff of breath on her shoulder, and soon, Cassian was asleep.

Smiling a little to herself, Nesta nestled impossibly closer to him. Tomorrow was another day, and they would try again.  She knew her battles would not cease to stop until her fears were completely extinguished─ Cassian made sure of that. And perhaps it was the exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, or the warmth of the warrior’s arms but either way, sleep claimed her, snuffing out her consciousness and dragging her into a peaceful slumber. 

Three words were left unspoken. 

Thank you, Cassian. 

Ahaha after looking back at my previous fics, I realize I only update once a month (sorry)

Taglist: @sjm-things @afifthofvodka

Find my prompt list here :0

[mx-chrx]

Summary: Tim had practically begged Dick to get a flu shot. He probably should've listened.

Barbara checked the time again and sighed. She opened Dick’s contact and sent him a couple question marks. He hadn’t responded in almost an hour and she wondered if she should be worried or annoyed.

When it came to the “Bat Crew,” as Stephanie sometimes called them, tardiness could mean anything from a nap run wild to a slow bleed behind a dumpster.

She scrunched her eyes shut, quickly ridding herself of that mental image and the tension that it had squeezed into her shoulders and was just about to send Tim a text when she finally heard the familiar rumble of a motorcycle pulling into the lot.

Dick hopped off and shot her a goofy smile as he sauntered her way, his hair a sweaty tangle and his eyes somewhat droopy.

Nap run wild, then.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, his voice brittle with exhaustion as he tilted her chin up to kiss her. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said. She wanted to seem annoyed, but her relief that he wasn’t mortally injured somewhere made it difficult to maintain.

Part of her wondered if normal girls worried that their boyfriends were dying whenever they were running late for a date. Probably not.

They headed for the theater, Babs’ arm looped around his, and she frowned at the dense hoodie he had on while she was in shorts and a tank.

“What’s with this?” she asked, tugging on the sleeve. “You covered in bruises or something?”

He nodded but avoided her eyes the way he always did when he was either lying or embarrassed. She pursed her lips at him but said nothing as they moved through the ticket line.

It wasn’t until they got to the concessions area and Dick hesitated to join her in line that Barbara found herself on high alert.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you aren’t getting anything.”

She’d personally watched Dick polish off family sized combos singlehandedly. It was equal parts impressive and frightening.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard a few times, the color slowly draining from his face. “Uh, you know, I’m not hungry,” he said, his voice wavering. “M-maybe later.”

“You don’t eat popcorn because you’re ‘hungry,’” she teased, but she was getting genuinely nervous now. Her heart was starting to pound.

Dick didn’t seem hear her, but an urgency came over him as he shoved his wallet into her hands. “Here,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you–” she began, but he was already ducking into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later Babs had an armful of popcorn and was waiting impatiently by the men’s room, grinning awkwardly as people drifted in and out. Finally Dick emerged, a rueful smile on his lips and even paler than before.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. His skin was glistening, and she couldn’t tell if it was from sweat or if he’d splashed water on his face.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, instinctively reaching for his face, but Dick retreated from her touch, taking her hand in his instead.

Okay. Definitely hiding something.

“Nothing,” he promised. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss the trailers.”

Within the first forty minutes, Dick slipped out at least four different times, each time with a different excuse. A phone call, to get some candy that he didn’t even touch, to get Barbara a refill.

When he left for the fifth time, Babs had had enough. She grabbed her bag and their food and followed him.

She lingered outside the bathroom for only a few seconds before rolling her eyes at herself and going in. Whatever was going on in there, she was sure she’d seen worse.

Thankfully there was no one in there, which spared her any awkward explanations or excuses. The only person happened to be in the first stall, where a pair of shoes were sticking out from under the door.

The guy looked like he was kneeling in front of the toilet. And Barbara didn’t have to do much digging to know exactly who it was.

Dick coughed and groaned painfully, his voice reverberating in a way that made her suspect he had his face in the bowl.

Gross.

The toilet flushed and he opened the door and braced himself against the frame. His hair was clinging to his forehead, his eyes half-open and shadowed, and he looked moments away from sinking to the floor.

Barbara stared, her arms crossed like a disapproving mother, and waited for him to notice her.

When he finally did, his tired eyes went wide. “I– Babs, what are you doing here? This is the men’s room!”

He staggered past her to close the bathroom door so that no one else would come in, and the short dash seemed to take everything out of him because he stumbled over to the sinks to lean against the counter with his eyes squeezed shut.

Barbara waited, arms still crossed tightly, fighting the urge to comfort him right away.

After a moment he squinted at her, apparently battling a headache, and sighed. “I know.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not ‘sick’…” He lifted a trembling hand to his temple and rubbed it.

“You look like you’re about to pass out. When was the last time you ate something?” she demanded.

Dick considered that for a moment. The fact that he had to think about it at all made her want to scream.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted. “Haven’t been able to keep much down.” He added the last part reluctantly, his gaze shifting away.

“Dick,” she sighed, finally going to put her hand to his forehead. He didn’t pull away this time. In fact, he leaned into it, his eyes closing.

His skin was way too warm as if he’d been laying out in the sun for the past hour instead of sitting in a dark theater. “It’s probably the flu,” she said. “You should be home.”

“The flu,” he muttered. “Tim is gonna go ballistic.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He looked at her through heavy lids and tried to smile. “I’m fine,” he breathed, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“You’re burning up.”

“You calling me hot…Gordon?” He could barely muster the energy to finish the joke.

Barbara just rolled her eyes, kicking herself for the schoolgirl thrill that still sent through her.

Damn him for being so charming.

“Why don’t you take this thing off so you can cool down a little?” she suggested, starting to pull off the hoodie, but he grabbed her wrists.

“Don’t,” he whispered, suddenly earnest. “Please. I’m freezing.”

“Fever and chills,” she noted. “Yeah, you’re a picture of health there, Grayson.”

He grumbled something weakly and shoved his hands under his arms as he shuddered.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” she said, tugging one of his hands free so that she could snake under his arm and let him lean on her.

The process was slow, with Dick having to stop a few times to catch his breath or sit down on a bench to rest, and there was one nerve-racking moment when Barbara wasn’t sure he’d even make it to the parking lot without passing out altogether.

She was strong, but she definitely couldn’t carry an unconscious Dick Grayson alone for very long, and the last thing any of them needed was for some well-meaning bystander to call an ambulance.

When they finally did make it to the parking lot, she felt a massive weight lift off her chest, but Dick looked suddenly anxious, his mouth twisted in an awkward frown.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, already searching for the nearest trash can. It wasn’t too far. If she dragged him he could make it.

“I don’t think…” he began, avoiding her eyes again. “My bike. I don’t think I can make it home on my own right now…” His pale face suddenly turned red as he continued to look anywhere but her eyes. “I mean, I could but–”

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off before he could dive into a blackhole of backpedaling and caveats. Even after so many years of working alongside people – Batman, the rest of the Gotham crew, the Teen Titans, and even sometimes the Justice League – it struck her how hard it still was for him to just admit when he needed help.

She supposed that was the case for any of them, though. They’d all rather grin and bear it than feel like a weak link, even with something as low stakes as the flu.

She wondered if that had something to do with where they grew up. Weak links didn’t tend to last long in Gotham.

“I brought my car,” she added, tilting her head towards the maroon Nissan.

She loaded him into the backseat so that he could lay down, and as soon as his head hit the seat, he was out cold. When they got back to his place, Babs had to half-carry him up the steps, fumble with one hand for the spare key he’d given her, then awkwardly assure the desk worker that everything was okay before she managed to drag him up to his apartment.

They shuffled to his room where, once again, Dick flopped lifelessly across his bed, and Babs quickly abandoned any effort to coax him into more comfortable clothes. Instead, she slid a trashcan over along with a glass of water and some aspirin, then retrieved an ice pack from the freezer which she wrapped in an old T-shirt and laid across his forehead.

Dick muttered something that sounded grateful, and she kissed his cheek and wandered into the living room.

A few hours later, she was back in his room with a bowl of soup saying, “Come on, at least hold it.”

Dick, now propped up on a few pillows, stared at the bowl then looked at her. His mouth curled into grin that was an odd mix of playful and embarrassed.

“Would you believe me if I told you I genuinely can’t?” he asked. Then he lifted his hands a bit off the bed and turned them slowly. They shook noticeably, and Babs realized he genuinely wasn’t confident that he’d be able to hold the bowl for himself right now.

The sight of Dick being so depleted, the man who any other day was practically backflipping off the walls and leaping across roofs and laughing with his whole being, turned something jagged in Barbara’s chest.

Without another word, she scooped some of the soup and held the spoon to his mouth. “Open.”

“What? No sound effects? Isn’t it supposed to sound like a plane or something?” he teased. “Where’s the ambiance? The mise en scene?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Sound effects are for people who don’t lie to their girlfriends about being sick for three days.”

“Ouch,” he said, but he opened his mouth to take a bite. Then he paused, the spoon still in his mouth. “Girlfriend?” he asked.

Babs felt her face getting red. “Don’t talk with your mouthful,” she ordered quickly, then shoved another spoonful in before he could respond.

Dick just laughed, a muffled sound since he hadn’t managed to swallow anything yet, and in that moment, he looked more like himself than he had all day.

He made it about halfway through the bowl before he was sick again – and Barbara couldn’t help but think her rapid-fire feeding was at least partially to blame. But after that, he slept for the rest of the evening, with Babs changing out his ice pack and checking his temperature every few hours. She realized that was all probably excessive, but it made her feel better regardless.

The next day the color was back in his face, and he got up on his own and took a shower. The day after that, he was practically back to his normal self, and emerged from his room freshly shaven with wet hair and his shirt unbuttoned and the scent of soap and lotion wafting off of him.

Barbara sat up on the couch, groggy and achy, but pleased to see him on the mend. “Looks like someone’s feeling better,” she yawned.

He plopped down next to her, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “I’m a new man,” he announced.

“The wonders of food and rest never cease to amaze,” she murmured, without much spirit. She felt almost too tired to even smile properly.

Dick eyed her carefully. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” she sighed. “I haven’t gotten much sleep these past couple days and unlike you and Tim, I need more than two hours a week to function properly.”

“Right,” Dick said, looking somewhat wounded. It made Babs’ chest ache. She hadn’t meant to make it sound like she regretted staying to help.

“Thanks again,” he said. “For everything.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head, then pulled back, his brows scrunched together.

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You feel warm.”

“You calling me hot, Grayson?” she asked. Dick grinned but put his hand to her head. His palm felt shockingly cool.

After a second, his eyes went wide. “Uh oh.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Babs, I am so sorr–”

Before he could finish, her stomach lurched and sent her careening towards the bathroom where she collapsed in front of the toilet and hurled her guts out. A few moments later, she felt her hair be pulled gently away from her face and a hand rubbing circles into her back.

“This cannot be happening,” she groaned.

“’Fraid so,” he sighed. “I’ll make up my bed and get you something to wear.”

“Okay… I’ll be here…” Her words were muffled partially by the toilet seat pressing against her cheek and soon, without realizing it, she’d drifted to sleep.

She was only vaguely aware when a pair of strong arms scooped her up and placed her in a newly made bed. Something cool went across her forehead, then a pair of lips brushed her ear as they whispered, “Guess it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Barbara smiled, or at least she thought she did, before succumbing once again to sleep in a bed that smelled distinctly like her favorite person.