#take what i say with the smallest pinch of salt.

[venbetta]

I'm not sure if anyone's ever thought about this or has made a post about it, but I figured I'd add my own two cents if someone did talk about this.

// Ruin spoilers ahead

mostly about Freddy

So, seeing that headless Freddy has prototype written on the bottom of his foot, it's suggested or even theorized that our Freddy (the one we're with in SB) was a prototype this entire time.

Of course, like many others, I was very skeptical and in denial about the idea because why the hell would that be a thing? How is he a prototype? It wasn't there on his foot in the base game, so why this sudden change?

I kinda hated it, and as a way to cope, I theorized that maybe it wasn't the same Freddy and FazEnt just replaced him with another copy and then abandoned him... don't ask me how that particular Freddy became headless either. Also I was wobbling between the "True Ending" being the Canon one, I was back and forth and just trying to figure out what would've made sense.

My logic for the True Ending being canon was, maybe Freddy and Gregory both got out (alongside Vanessa) with glamdaddy intact, and they're just living life. Meanwhile, Faz Ent just made a new Freddy while fixing the plex but gave up and left everything to rot. Of course I know now that makes no sense or explains why/how the 2nd Freddy lost his head, but it's what I came up with. The PQ Ending is technically canon... so that was a waste of a braincell, hah...

Since fnaf has the tendency to rewrite/add things to the story, I think our Glamrock Freddy being a prototype is something I've accepted. Now, there are a few things I thought of that might add to the idea of him being a prototype (not confirmed but more speculative).

He's a high-tech, sentient AI robot, he can clearly experience human emotion (like the other glamrocks) and has decent mobility. What most likely seperates him from the other glams is the fact that he experiences existentialism. I know we don't see much from the other glams, what they think of their current situation (not even from Roxy in Ruin), they aren't fully aware of what they are or what they're doing (as far as we know). Their programming is focused on being entertainers and birthdays.

I'm not gonna say that the other glams aren't able to express deeper thoughts, but I think this is where I might be stretching this idea just a bit.

If you're going to make AI bots who can adapt and be flexible with their environment, there's gotta be some kind of limit of what they can say/think/do. Freddy is the prime example of not having that limitation since we see/hear him express concern about not being the only Glamrock Freddy that's walking around:

"Have I always been a Freddy? Am I Monty with a different shell? What if I am not the first Glamrock Freddy? ... Do we all feel the same? Am I special? If I am mass-produced, am I still art?" (Endo Warehouse)

This motherfucker literally commits arson:

"You sure collected a lot of toys! Perhaps we can do something to stop whatever is going on here." (Fire escape Ending)

When he goes to the basement and encounters the blob, he goes on this monologue:

"I know what this is. I have been here before. She brought me here. I found myself for the first time when I cleared the path. I did not want to, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice. I have changed. My friends are here. They are so angry, confused. But I can protect you. I am not me." (True Ending)

He ultimately goes against some of his programming to help a child in need-- even lie to a security guard-- which if he were set to do as he's told, he would've sent Gregory straight to Vanessa, even with Gregory adamantly telling him not to.

If he were programmed to be strict and not break any protocols, he'd would've gotten Gregory killed immediately.

I'm saying this because if we're being realistic (realistic in terms of how we usually program robots and things), there are barriers in what a robot/ai can really say/do that doesn't break its programming. If he's a prototype, Freddy wouldn't have those barriers to stop him from saying/doing most of the things he did in SB. I know there's another factor to him behaving kindly to Gregory and that's him being in safe mode, but even still... you would think he would follow the rules and not let Gregory do certain things and perhaps unintentionally get the boy killed.

I'm going back to the existential crisis Freddy has, because for something that's meant to be an animatronic mascot for kids, you wouldn't want him to make the children around him question the meaning of being alive and sentient. There would have to be some sort of guard against having those kind of thoughts and ideas. It makes Freddy more interesting, especially if he could've been easily replaced with a finalized version of him that did what he was suppose to.

Also, I know it's probably more widely accepted that either Vanny or Gregory hacked into Freddy, causing his collapse during the opening. With him being a prototype, maybe his systems couldn't handle that type of an advanced hack, unlike the other glams, making him unable to be properly hacked into in the beginning.

Not only that, there are some issues he has with performing, who knows, maybe he's had collapses before. We don't know.

Him being unable to enter the West Arcade:

"When I step onto the West Arcade dance floor I cannot stop myself! It is a programming bug." (West Arcade)

I'm aware him being in safe mode meant he's disconnected from the main network as well keeps him docile. While the "Afton" fight isn't technically canon, with the other upgrades on Freddy, those parts might have made him more susceptible to the virus attack. There's not much evidence pointing to the other glams not being prototypes but seeing how they each have upgrades while Freddy doesn't, that might hint that the others were mostly finalized, meaning their systems were properly functioning (aside from the virus of course).

Sorry if this was super long, but it's something I thought about and I had to put it in words. Nothing about Glamrock Freddy is normal, like he's not possessed (I use to believe in the glammike theory but I don't anymore eh...), but he's a prototype! He's gonna act all funky because he's not polished yet... and I think that's very interesting and endearing (in an odd way).

[diazsdimples]

Buddie "wish I could carry you in my pocket"

"Wish I could carry you around in my pocket," Buck sighs as he gazes lovingly at Eddie sitting on the kitchen table. He's just a little too short for his legs to touch the ground, so he's got his ankles hooked together as he swings his legs back and forth. That, plus the oversized hoodie he's wearing have the effect of making him look like an overgrown toddler and Buck thinks he is simply adorable.

The minute the words leave his lips, Buck has an idea. A year or so ago, Buck had been messing around with one of Maddie's old spellbooks when he'd come across a Shrinking Spell. Thinking it would be useful if he ever needed to pull someone out of a mound of rubble or remove a crush, Buck had learned the spell, accidentally shrinking Maddie's laptop before figured out the reversing spell and had put it to right.

"Hmm?" Eddie says, lifting his eyes ever so slightly from the cookbook he's studying. "What was that, baby?"

Buck rolls up his sleeves and flexes his fingers a little. "Oh nothing, don't mind me." He clicks his fingers and looks pleased as a small shower of blue sparks rain onto the hardwood floors. There's a very faint smell of sea salt, but hopefully not enough for Eddie to notice. "Hold still."

"Wha-?"

Eddie barely has a moment to register Buck's words before Buck does a series of complicated wiggles with his fingers, mutters "Parvus" under his breath, and Eddie is suddenly shrouded in a cloud of royal blue energy. The room is suddenly filled with the scent of the ocean, as if Buck has suddenly stepped out onto Santa Monica beach.

When the cloud clears Eddie is nowhere to be seen, and Buck's heart is instantly in his throat.

"Eddie?" he calls out, walking towards the table where his boyfriend had been perched moments earlier. "Eddie are you still here?"

I've fucking disappeared my boyfriend, Buck thinks in a moment's panic. He hadn't read anything in the fine print about performing the spell on performing it on human subjects, and he's also not sure how to control the size of the thing he's transforming. There is a very real possibility that he's shrunk Eddie to the size of a dust mite and will never be able to resize him again.

Why the fuck can't he use his brain before acting??

Just before Buck plummets into a proper panic attack, there's a small movement on the table, just behind the cookbook resting on the edge.

"Buck, what the fuck have you done to me?"

The voice is high pitched and quiet but unmistakably Eddie's, and it takes Buck a second to locate it. But there, dusting himself off and looking decidedly unimpressed, is the smallest Eddie Buck has ever seen in his life. He's about the size of Buck's forefinger and leans against the pages of the cookbook as he glares up at his boyfriend.

"Oh my god, you are so tiny!" Buck grins as he takes in Eddie in all his miniscule glory. "I can't believe that worked!"

Buck reaches out and picks Eddie up, his fingers pinching at the back of Eddie's hoodie, and he drops his boyfriend into the palm of his hand. Eddie wobbles unsteadily before gingerly lowering himself down so he's sitting on the edge of Buck's palm with his legs dangling over the edge, no dissimilar to how he was on the table. He crosses his arms across his chest and glares up at Buck. If he wasn't all of 3 inches tall, it would almost be intimidating

"Put me back," he demands, the authoritativeness of his tone lost entirely by the fact that he sounds like he's swallowed a tank of helium. "Put me back or so help me God-"

"Or what?" Buck giggles, "You'll crawl up my nose?"

"I'll squeeze inside your dickhole and cause permanent damage with my teeth and fists," Eddie counters with a huff.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, babe."

"Buck please, we've got a shift in 3 hours. Make me big again," Eddie pleads, and Buck's completely incapable of defying his boyfriend at the best of times, especially when he's perched perfectly in the palm of Buck's hands, looking so tiny and adorable and pleading silently with his big brown eyes.

Buck sighs and holds his palm adjacent to the table so Eddie can walk across it and take up position next to the cookbook.

"Can I at least try fitting you in my pocket?" he asks, giving Eddie his puppy eyes, but it seems Shrunk Eddie is immune to Buck's charms. He shakes his head vehemently, snapping his fingers so a ball of deep green energy appears in the palm of his hands. The mellow, woodsy scent of pine trees cuts through the saltiness of Buck's magic as Eddie juggles the energy ball between his hands.

"Try it, I dare you."

Knowing when he's beaten, Buck relents with a sigh. Buck may be the one that practices magic the most but Eddie comes from a long line of powerful sorcerers, and Buck has no trouble admitting that Eddie is the more skilled magician of the two of them. If Eddie wanted to, he could turn Buck into a cockroach in a matter of seconds.

"Magnus" he mutters, channelling a fraction of his energy towards Eddie, and there's another cloud of rich blue energy and Eddie reappears.

He shakes out his arms and hops off the table. "You have no idea how weird that was," he grimaces. "You looked like a giant!"

"Don't I always?" Buck teases, referencing his slight height advantage against Eddie which was a slight sore point in their relationship.

Eddie takes two steps forward so they're nose to nose, and is about to open his mouth to scold Buck before a look of surprise passes over his face.

"Huh!" he says, stepping back so he's able to look at Buck properly. A grin begins to spread over his face as he looks Buck up and down. "I think that spell made me taller!"

Buck balks. "Absolutely not, that's not possible," he says, shaking his head. "I'm the tall one!"

Eddie steps back into Buck's space and yep, he's definitely grown an inch or two. They're almost completely at eye level, with Eddie a fraction taller, if anything. Buck gulps. Maybe he shouldn't have played around with magic.

"No, baby, you're definitely shorter than me no," he grins, and he tilts Buck's chin up (up!!!) to kiss him. It's soft and sweet, their lips moving in tandem. Eddie's smiling into the kiss and Buck can feel the smugness radiating off him.

"I'll just have to shrink you again," he points out as they break apart, but Eddie merely grins and kisses Buck on the forehead.

"I'd like to see you try."

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!!

[olinblogin]

Can you write clown!child!reader that plays silly innocent pranks and honks whenever they're really happy? I prefer if you made some headcanons/one shot with Kaufmo or Jax, if you want to add more characters then be my guest! Believe me, I don't mind at all lol

Ohhh I’ve been waiting for a clown reader tbf!

In the long run I don’t know to much abt Kaufmo bc duh he literally abstracted in the pilot— so please take my limited info about him with a pinch of salt

This one is gonna be relatively short because I don’t have much to work on plot wise since only the pilot of the show is out

(Theres no normal Kaufmo gifs so here 💀)

(WARNINGS - CHILD!READER, SLIGHT ANGST AT THE END)

When you’d first arrived, a lot were shocked to see you didn’t freak out like most would when first entering the Amazing Digital Circus.

In fact, you were quite ecstatic.

They were all shocked to see a child of all to be transported into the Circus. But you adapted quickly to your surroundings, even becoming comfortable with everyone, especially Kaufmo.

You spent most your time with Kaufmo, actually. You both took the form of clowns in a way, so it was bound that you two would get along.

To you he was almost like an older brother, always scolding you when you’d play little pranks on your friends. Some harmless, some a little less harmless.

Like the time you glued Caine’s staff to the floor.

Usually when you wanted to play pranks you’d go to Jax for help carrying them out, seeing as you’re the smallest of the group you had a hard time doing things as easily as the others did.

It was so fun all the time, every time you’d get caught doing your pranks you’d squeeze your little nose and make a honking sound as you dashed away.

Then, there was a new member, Pomni.

She was a jester of sorts… but oh, so jumpy. You tried greeting her with Ragatha, only for her to break out into a string of curses—which despite censored by Caine—Ragatha still covered your ears.

Eventually Ragatha was down on your level, “hey, sweetie? Can you do me a small favor?” She asked softly, to which you tilted your head in response, as you didn’t often talk so you used body language instead. “Please don’t play any pranks on Pomni, okay? She’s really jumpy and she might get hurt if you do.” You put a finger on your mouth in consideration, nodding happily.

“Thanks, sweetie. Go have fun, Caine is making us play capture the Gloinks again, I know that’s your favorite.” With that you zipped off and chased around the little shapes, while Ragatha took Pomni on a little tour with Jax.

You played the game for a while until you stumbled across the hallway of rooms, where some faces were crossed off with a big red ‘X’ for a reason you didn’t know, nor would you understand.

You were searching high and low for those little Gloinks but.. you soon came across Kaufmo’s door, it was wide open with signs of struggle being visible.

You peered into his room, he was no where to be found. You now had a new objective from the game, to find Kaufmo.

You searched everywhere, you even managed to get out of the circus to look for him.

But no matter your efforts you just couldn’t find him at all… soon, Caine caught you outside of the circus and brought you back, all of the group together, save for Kaufmo.

You made your way over to Ragatha, tugging her skirt, “Ragatha, where’s Kaufmo?” You asked in your quiet voice. Ragatha couldn’t bring herself to say it, only looking away in a guilty manner.

“What happened to him.. where’s Kaufmo?”

[dailydemonspotlight]

Mokoi - Day 80

Race: Night

Arcana: Death

Alignment: Neutral-Chaos

July 26th, 2024

During my research about this topic, I found myself finding out about an ongoing health crisis relating to the yolngu people, and this post is dedicated to spreading awareness. Please remember to treat all of these topics with respect.

Aboriginal folklore is very separated from itself, oddly enough- In spite of Australia being the smallest continent, several beliefs are spread throughout in specific areas, making for a colorful tapestry where you can never be sure what the next area will believe in, in spite of the general overarching themes of Dreamtime. Case in point, the Yolngu people residing in northeastern Arnhem Land, an aboriginal tribe living in the Northern Territory who believe in systems of kinship and a nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Important to this culture as well is conceptions of magic, and, more importantly, what to avoid- the deep, dark underbelly of said world of magic. If one is to partake in the dark arts, after all, they would meet with a fate most undeserving- to be cursed by today's Demon of the Day, Mokoi.

As with a lot of Aboriginal folklore, Mokoi are relatively obscure in many respects. Most of the time, sources only state a line or two going over this monster, whose name literally translates to 'Evil Spirit,' describing it as a monster who would eat naughty children and devour sorcerers who dared to step into the realm of the dark. This is strange, though, as Mokoi appear to be an incredibly important fixture in Yolngu tradition, being described as the main source of death throughout the people-group... so today's gonna be another deep dive. And so soon after Arahabaki, too... ah, well. Thank you again to @eirikrjs for providing a very good rundown on this demon in this post. How do you keep coming through for me in the most random ways? Whatever, let's get into this.

As attested to in the 1970 article Myth as Language in Aboriginal Arnhem Land, the book Mortuary customs of northeast Arnhem Land, as well as... an Australian tonic blog, no I'm not kidding, an ancient tradition of the Yolngu people states that there are two different parts of the soul- one of the good, another of the bad. These parts of the soul are referred to as Birrimbirr and Mokuy, and when someone within the tribe passes away, their soul may take either of these forms based on their actions in life. However, while a birrimbirr will typically head back to its place of origin and pass peacefully, a mokuy will stick around, generally being a nuisance with asocial and unpredictable behaviors while haunting the deceased's belongings. This plays into a common tradition in Yolngu folklore, that being of the avoidance of uttering the deceased's name- not only will saying the name of a dead person possibly bring more grief to their family members and friends, but it may also bring their spirit back restlessly into the form of none other than a Mokoi, which appears to be an alternate spelling of Mokuy.

The Mokoi are dangerous spirits that appear frequently as a sort of boogeyman, attacking those who don't go out of their way to avoid them. It's to the point that the Yolngu people frequently make sculptures of the Mokoi, likely to alleviate the threat of them getting upset with them (or maybe they just wanted to sculpt them, I dunno). These spirits attack any who defile their graves, or even get too close to said graves, and those who do so or invoke the name of the dead long after their death may risk a sort of 'Spiritual Pollution' wherein they and their family suffer illness and eventual death. The consequences of speaking the names of the dead will lead to eventual death of oneself, after all. It's said, though I can't find a direct source for it so take this with a pinch of salt, that more people in Yolngu culture die of a Mokoi's attack than old age.

The importance of the mokuy and the birrimbirr cannot go understated, as well as the love and respect the Yolngu people feel for the dead. It's to the point that mentioning the name of a deceased person, even if one isn't afraid of an attack by the mokuy, is still frowned upon, and honestly, I find that beautiful. The amount of love and importance these people put on their ancestors is incredibly high and the love and respect everyone in their community shows that they are still people, deserving of love and respect. With that, though, how does a Japanese franchise portray a being from a completely different and closed-off tribe? Well, it's mixed.

Mokoi doesn't seem to take much inspiration from the Mokuy sculptures that typically depict it, though I can see them being hard to adapt.

Instead, it seems to primarily base itself off of the patterning of the sculptures, looking more like a green being loosely based on them carved out of wood and carrying with it a kylie to likely tie it even more with Australia, given that, well, boomerangs are the Australian stereotype. It's a bit stereotypical as a result of that, but I still do enjoy how it looks, being a funky and iconic design for a demon that still seems to carry some weight behind it.

However, through my research I came to learn that a lot of the yolngu people are in need of help, and I'd like to take a moment to rectify a mistake I made in my lwa analysis and actually speak on this. I don't have much room to actually speak on a still thriving community of people that I'm not a part of, but the yolngu people are currently going through a health crisis and I'd like to use this post as a way to spread awareness about this. As a still living people-group who are experiencing damages, and had their areas of worship ruined by various policy changes in Australia, I'd like to ask you to try and help them in any way that you can. While I'm not sure if this one has been vetted, please try to use any charity possible to assist these people in need, as they have gone through a lot.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Idia Shroud Chef Apprentice Personal Story: Part 1

"Master Chef"

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Idia Version ～Let’s Make Stuffed Peppers 1～

Ghost Chef: Alright, well, I'll have you start by making the Stuffed Peppers… Idia-kun, have you ever cooked anything before?

Idia: Eh….........Ah…......Ah…...I haven’t.

Ghost Chef: Oh my, are you nervous? Don't worry, this program is aimed towards amateurs like you. You don't have to tense up like that!

Idia: N-No, this is my default setting…

Idia: Ugh, actually… It's a pain to try to explain it, so I'll just let him think whatever.

Ghost Chef: Idia-kun? Are you alright to continue?

Idia: …Kk.

Ghost Chef: First, prep the sweet bell peppers. Cut off the stem and use your fingers to take out all the seeds and the white bits from inside.

Ghost Chef: It might be a bit hard to remove, but it won't be as tasty if they're left on. Make sure to take them all off.

Idia: What, they want me to cut a round object on a flat surface…? Urrgh, it's not sitting still.

Idia: I don't wanna get hurt in an elective like this. Gotta hold it firmly… Carefully… Carefully…

[chop]

Idia: …Whew, that was scary. K, next is to take out the insides with my fingers, I guess. Urgh… This squishiness suuucks…

Ghost Chef: Take your time and be gentle so as to not damage the produce. However, there is still much more left to do, so don't take too much time.

Idia: Wh-Which is it…!? Do you want me to take my time or hurry up!? Eek, the seeds are stuck to my fingers… This is the worst…

Ghost Chef: Once you've taken out all the seeds, cut the pepper into round slices, 2 cm thick.

Ghost Chef: Make sure to cut them evenly, keep an eye on the thickness of each slice.

Idia: …If you're gonna be that adamant, shouldn't you should pick something other than a knife for this!? A newbie'll definitely make mistakes!?

Ghost Chef: You don't have to put that much thought into it. It's just something to keep in mind.

Idia: Oh, so it's just gotta be close enough? Then say that from the get go…

Ghost Chef: ―Next, you need to make the stuffing that'll go inside. We'll measure out each ingredient as per the recipe and put them in a bowl.

Idia: The stuff I need to measure out are… 1/4 cup of breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons of milk, an egg… "a pinch" of salt and pepper?

Idia: There it is… "a pinch." Instructions that leave it to the experience and tastes of the one making it that has no repeatability…

Idia: That so frustrating. Let's say I was a pepper aficionado, wouldn't that change the size of that "pinch"???

Ghost Chef: Hmmm. For this recipe, maybe just three shakes of the pepper is enough. All it needs is a "pap, pap, pap" with a quick flick of your wrist.

Idia: Now you're just using sounds to describe it!? Huh, but there's so many ways that could introduce error into the equation, just by the way you snap your wrist; how much force you put into it, your physique, and whatever else.

Ghost Chef: I-I never thought there'd be this many questions about something like this.

Idia: …Haah, whatever. It'll be annoying if I have to stay here longer than I need to, so I'll just shake it however…

Ghost Chef: Still, you sure do notice the smallest things. Are you starting to gain more interest in cooking?

Idia: Uh, no…? Eh? Where'd you get that idea…?

Idia: Uh… I don't really think about food to begin with. Honestly, I tend to forget to eat…

Ghost Chef: Ehh!? I'm sure that would worry your family.

Idia: Well… Yeah, I guess. My kid brother's always trying to push those nutritional health apps…

Idia: When I decided to take this class, I think he said something like, "I hope this'll get you more interested in cooking～"

Ghost Chef: That's a nice brother to have. And? What do you think, now that you're taking the class?

Idia: I get it now, after actually standing here and doing this. It's so inefficient to cook for yourself.

Idia: Just eating's a chore, so cooking on top of that's just a waste of time. Yup, nothing can stand up to those pre-packaged complete nutrition meals.

Ghost Chef: Oh no, did this Master Chef course just backfire!? Oh but, hey look, there's been a ton of recent advances in cookware, you know!

Ghost Chef: There are even pots that'll finish cooking for you if you throw in the necessary ingredients and seasonings!

Idia: Eh… If a pot that useful exists, then why's it necessary to learn how to cook from scratch?

Ghost Chef: No, no, you still need to cut the ingredients, or measure the seasonings yourself, obviously.

Idia: Why's that the only thing that's still gotta be done by hand, then? We can rely on those cooking appliances even more, I'm sure!

Ghost Chef: Do you think so? I think it's already pretty amazing.

Idia: If we're going to have "automated cooking," then it's be great if it'd at least also prepped the ingredients and measured the seasonings.

Idia: Like, just throw everything in the pot, cover it with the lid, wait a bit, and then ta-da, all you gotta do is put it on the plate, that'd be great.

Ghost Chef: If there ever is such a pot, then that might put me out of a job.

Idia: If I were to create an Idia Shroud Cooking Appliance (name pending)… First, I'd make sure to spell out what a "pinch" of something is.

Idia: And to do that, I'll need to collect more data on the actual cooking process.

Idia: And if I'm going to make something to collect that, I'd rather have a pro craft it for me…

Idia: Chef, I'm going to collect the necessary data in order to put together my own cooking appliance, so can I have you finish up the dish?

Ghost Chef: Of course not! I'm pleased that you're starting to get fired up, but you need to finish what you started!

Part 1 (Part 2)

Requested by @rotattooill.

[capypub]

29 please please please I have never wanted a fic more

#29 “I feel strange when you’re around.”   

         “Do you have a fever or something?”

Rating: M (contains mature content, readers agree they are 18+ by continuing to read)

  Bruno had grown very close to the bookkeeper’s granddaughter; she was one of the few who gave him a chance at a new beginning after his return. Now as he stood nervously outside the library, waiting for Mirabel to step out, he wondered what it could possibly be that convinced the sweet young woman to give him such kindness. He should have known that these feelings would develop into more. At first, he called himself pathetic for falling for someone because they showed him the smallest bit of kindness and care. 

“Well? H-has she asked about me?” he questions his sobrina when she returns to where he’s hiding behind an ox cart.

His niece gave him an unimpressed look. “Yes, tío, her exact words were ‘how do I get him to leave me alone?’” she said sarcastically, putting her hands on her hips with a teenage-angst-fueled eye roll. 

“R-really?” he questioned, somewhat deflating even though a part of him knew she was teasing him, but the self-deprecating part simply accepted her words as truth. 

“No, of course not, tío,” she laughs, nudging him playfully, “she actually asked about you, wanted to know if you’ll be stopping by anytime soon,” she added with a smirk. 

“I-oh, I…okay, wow, um, s-should I go now or, actually I think I’ll just go back home and th-.”

“Tío Bruno, you have to talk to her,” she stated matter-of-factly, “like, right now,” she added, pushing him out from behind the ox cart and towards the library. 

“Mirabel, I really don’t think now is a good time,” he attempted, nervously playing with his shirt sleeve. 

“Ugh, it’s never going to be a good time, you have to make it good, tío, now go!” she encouraged him with a smile, a thumbs up and another hard shove. 

          Bruno crossed the plaza slowly, opting to go around the perimeter than straight across to avoid more people. He still gets looks from the inhabitants of the Encanto, but it’s more out of curiosity than fear or anger. As he comes to a stop before the tall wooden door, he feels his hands begin to tremble. The last time he was here, he’d embarrassed himself by tripping and stumbling, knocking over a pile of books in the process right in front of her.

          Taking a deep breath, he reaches into his shirt pocket for a pinch of salt, throws it over his shoulder while saying his phrases for luck under his breath a couple times. He can’t help but tap on the wooden doorframe in his ritualistic sequence that he had developed as a habit over time for his anxiety. Holding his breath and crossing his fingers, he straightened his shoulders and pushed past the door, stepping into the dimly lit shop. 

“Oh, hi,” she chirped from behind a talk desk where she was organizing a stack of books.

“Um, h-hola señorita, I’ve been, uh, meaning to ask you something,” he starts off immediately getting to the point, no matter how awkward he felt, no matter how red and embarrassed his face probably looked to her. 

“Okay?” she agreed, sounding unsure but amused. 

“I-I, uh, I…do you have…the,” he began to panic, struggling to maintain eye contact, overwhelmed by her beauty, “the new collection of screenplays your abuelo ordered?” he finally blurted out, losing his confidence at the last moment and abandoning his plan. 

“Oh, um, yes…they came in a couple days ago, I can show you,” she nods, sounding confused and perhaps a little let down. 

          Bruno was too busy mentally beating himself up for losing his courage. He bowed his head as he followed her to the back of the room, moving past the towering bookshelves until they reached the far corner of the large room, a tiny section of books on theatre related topics set where Bruno could read in peace and not have to worry about sneers or scowls from others in the shop. It had been her idea, the first act of kindness that had sparked the first flame of a now blazing desire for her. 

“Here,” she said, motioning to a small stack of twine-bound books left separate from the theater section, “I figured you might want to take them with you, so I didn’t bother filing them with the others,” she shrugged, turning to face him with an innocent smile.

“T-thank you, you’re very kind,” he said quietly, still simmering in his own indignity. 

          When she didn’t walk away, he slowly glanced up to find her watching him, biting her lower lip as if she wanted to say something. Their eyes met and she quickly looked away, ducking her head slightly. Bruno could still see the shy smile she tried to hide from where he stood, confused by her behavior. 

“Bruno, um, I’ve been wanting to tell you something actually,” she finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. 

“Claro, what is it, señorita?” he nodded, never one to turn down an extra moment of her attention. 

“First of all, you can call me by my name,” she teased, their shared chuckle breaking some of the tension, “and second…well, ever since you started coming here and we’ve gotten to know you, I feel like…I mean, you’ve been such…” she hesitates, fidgeting with her fingers.

“¿Sí?” he softly encouraged her, leaning forward. 

She takes a deep breath. “I feel strange when you’re around.”

“D-do you have a fever or something?” he questioned, unsure of what she meant. 

          She blinked slowly, unable to tell if he was being serious or not. When he didn’t continue, she had to assume he was serious. Gathering all her courage, she decided that it was now or never.

“No,” she laughed softly, “I mean, being around you…makes me…feel something,” she said, her voice dropping slightly as she reached out and touched his hand. 

By the blankness in his stare, she figured he still was not quite sure what was going on. With a huff, she took his hand, interlocking their fingers and taking the smallest step closer to him. She heard Bruno’s voice stutter and hitch as she moved, his eyes growing wide as he looked down at their hands. Almost owlishly, he blinked down at their fingers, taking much longer than she expected to finally react beyond staring. 

“Oh…oh!” he gasped, the realization finally hitting him.

She bit her lip. “So…?” she murmured, looking at him with a pout.

“So…d-does that mean…you, uh, I mean, I know what you mean, but does that mean what I think it means or do you mean…s-something different, you know what I mean?” he rambled, his brain overworking as his nerves overwhelmed him.

“I…I don’t know what you just said,” she admitted, his words coming out so fast and low that she could only pick out a few words, “but, I wouldn’t be upset if you…um, kissed me,” she suggested coyly, averting her gaze to the floor and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a habit that gave away how nervous she truly was, perhaps almost as nervous as him. 

“K-k-kiss you?” he repeated, the idea short circuiting any sense he had left in his head, “y-yes, I, uh, I can, I can do that,” he said, shaking himself out of his shock and focussing on her.

The two continued to awkwardly stand in front of each other, still holding hands, their other hanging limply at their side. Bruno took a hesitant step closer, now close enough to feel her skirt brush against his pant legs. She looked up at him through thick lashes, her eyes drawing out every desire he had for her from within him. He paused, exhaling a shaky breath and then bringing his free hand to touch her cheek, his fingers trembling the entire time. 

“You’re nervous,” she pointed out softly, squeezing his hand, “it’s okay.”

“I, uh, it’s just that, I wasn’t expecting to, I mean, not that I don’t want to, it’s just that you’re so, uh, yeah, and I’m…me, so it-.”

He was cut off by her lips covering his. She had taken the final tiny step and closed the space between them, pressing her body fully into his as she sighed, finally knowing what his mouth feels like against her own. She loved it. Bruno gasped, his eyes going wider than ever. His body immediately locked up, going rigid as he tried to process what was happening. They stayed connected for only a brief moment. She pulled away from him slowly, only enough distance to look him in the eyes, their chests still touching as she leaned into his warmth.

“W-was that okay?” she whispered, hoping she didn’t overstep his boundaries. 

“Y-y-y-yeah, uh, yes, very, um, very, very, okay,” he nodded, his eyes reflecting the blazing passion her kiss had sparked in him. 

“Can…can we try it again?” she asked softly, sounding doubtful, as if he could possibly deny her. 

Without another word, Bruno tugged on her hand that was still interlaced with his own, just enough to where she pressed fully against him again. Dipping his head, he caught her lips in a soft kiss, hearing a small noise of content from deep in her throat as he caressed her jaw with his other hand. While Bruno would admit he didn’t have much experience with sex and romance given his reputation, that didn’t mean he was completely inexperienced. Yes, there had been a time in his early twenties where a few young women found the outcast label appealing, a conquest to be made, a metaphoric badge of honor that they could get close to the only Madrigal’s only son. 

“We can stop,” she mutters against his mouth, not fully breaking away, “if you want.”

“Never,” he responds gruffly against her mouth, both his hands now holding the sides of her face, keeping her still. 

As their shyness and hesitation gradually melted away, it was replaced by a sprouting of passion, of lust, of burning desire that overtook all sense of reason. At some point, the kiss became more frantic as they found their bearings.Bruno began to back her up, away from the openness of the aisle, until she hit the bookcase along the back wall, both of them hidden away by towering wooden shelves and dusty books that muffled their noises. 

“Oh, Bruno,” she sighed as her body hit the bookshelf, her head rolling back, giving him the invitation to kiss her neck. 

Overtaken by his carnal desires, Bruno’s mouth attached to the soft skin along her jugular, tasting her natural saltiness and biting down to begin the process of marking her body with his touch. He’d only dreamed of her like this, breathy and needy, just as eager to touch him as he was to touch her. Her scent infiltrated his senses, only enhancing the intoxicating cocktail that was her. 

“Que hermosa,” he muttered into her shoulder, trailing wet, hot kisses up her neck to her earlobe where he could nip at the shell of her ear.

“Can I take this off?” she asks softly, her fingers tugging on the end of his button-up shirt. 

“T-there’s, uh,” he scoffed self-deprecatingly, “there’s not much to see, dulce niña,” he admitted, disgruntled. 

“It’s you, that’s all I care about,” she replied quickly, slipping her fingers under his shirt to blindly explore the expanse of his chest as he shuddered at her soft touch. 

“W-what if someone comes in?” he gasps when she slips her hand past the hemline of his pants, causing a gasp to break the thick quietness that had filled the room as they touched and kissed like horny teenagers on their first date. 

“You’re the only one who would come in at this time of day, Bruno, we’ve got plenty of time,” she soothes his worry with a playful grin, her warm fingers rubbing over the growing bulge in his pants as her lips left teasing kisses along his neck. 

He chokes on a moan when she squeezes his length particularly hard. “Mierda, you’re not as innocent as everyone assumes,” he gasps when she twists her wrist in a way that has his vision blurring from the overwhelming pleasure buzzing through him.

“You’re not wrong,” she giggles, continuing to softly tease his fully-erect length, her thumb rubbing over the head over the fabric of his underwear, forcing a choked noise out of him as he leaned into her touch, his head pressed into her shoulder as he drowned in her gentle teasing. 

“Ah, ‘t feels good,” he groans, one hand moving to squeeze her hip in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Can I make you feel really good, guapo?” she purrs into his ear, tightening her grip just slightly, earning another muffled groan from him and an enthusiastic nod against her collarbone. 

With slightly trembling fingers, she dropped down in front of him, undoing his belt and pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth stroke. Bruno winced at the sudden vulnerability he felt being so exposed like this. He looked down, watching as she inspected his cock, her fingertips brushing the underside as she glanced up at his eyes. 

“Do your eyes always do that when you’re turned on?” she asked, her eyes wide and feigning innocence as she watched him over the tip of his length, her breath ghosting the swollen tip.

“Hm?” Bruno questioned, unsure of what she was talking about, too taken by the anticipation of her mouth on him to really understand what she said. 

“Your eyes are glowing, bebé,” she smirked, raising a hand close to his face so he could see the faint green glow reflecting from her skin.

“I-is it weird?” he gulps, the light fading somewhat as doubt clouded his mind.

“No,” she said softly, beginning to stroke him again, drawing his attention back to his aching cock, “it’s kind of hot, actually,” she admits before sticking her tongue out to lap at his slit, moaning as the saltiness of his seed lingered on her taste buds. 

          Bruno’s eyes rolled back as he groaned loudly, both hands coming up to brace himself against the shelf, his nails digging into the old wood as he tried to contain his sounds. His thighs trembled at the growing coil in his stomach, her lips warm and velvety against his head. She traced each vein with the tip of her tongue, moving back and forth along his length at a steady rhythm, her other hand moving between gripping his hip for stability and dragging her nails lightly down his chest and torso, causing a shiver to run down his spine. 

“W-wait,” he manages to choke out, bringing one hand to her cheek to ease her off of him. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, worried he had changed his mind. 

“What’s wrong,” he began, helping her to stand up fully, “is that it would be ungentlemanly of me to put my satisfaction before your own,” he went on, quickly gathering the material of her skirt, bunching it around her hips and rubbing just above the damp spot on her underwear. 

“Oh, j-just like that,” she gasps, digging her nails into his forearm as she jerks into his palm. 

          Pulling the fabric aside, Bruno traced the perimeter of her labia, coating his fingertips in her essence before focusing his touch on her clit. She bucks suddenly at the sensation, whining softly against his mouth and reaching between them to stroke his length. Whether she intended to or not, the head of his cock brushed her sex when she stroked him, causing both of them to freeze. Their eyes opened and met each other, the question hanging between them like a heavy fog. 

“I want this, I want you,” she was the first to say. 

“A-are you sure? Absolutely sure?” he questioned her, the glow in his eyes dampening as the gravity of the situation overtook his lust.

“Absolutely sure,” she nodded, leaning forward to kiss him.

          The next few minutes were a blur for Bruno. First they were kissing and then she was biting his lip as he slipped into her, slowly easing into her until he was fully sheathed. They both paused for a moment, taking in the new sensations of being fully connected to each other. She lifts one of her legs onto his hip, bringing him even deeper into her. Then, Bruno’s rutting into her fervidly, one hand gripping her thigh and the other curled around her torso, holding her lower half as close to him as possible. She squeezed him tightly when he reached a certain angle, moaning wantonly into his mouth and tugging his curls. 

“Fuck, right there, right there, Bruno,” she’s panting like a desperate prayer, her eyes squeezed shut and hands blindly touching every part of him that she could reach. 

“Oh, mi reina, mi estrella, mi cielo, I-I’m close,” Bruno babbled, all reason abandoned for this moment of pure ecstasy, his mind broken and body working off pure. 

           She cried out into his shoulder when she came, her entire body trembling as he continued to rut into her, reaching his own end, pulling out at the last moment to finish on his hands, covering his slit and shooting all of his seed into his palm with a throaty groan. With a half-lidded, love drunk gaze and a smirk, she took his hand, bringing it to her mouth. Bruno watched in awe as she licked his palm and each finger clean of his release, holding his gaze the entire time. When she was satisfied with her work, she let go, his hand falling back at his side, his mind absolutely dazed as he tried to process the absolutely provocative method of cleaning he’s ever seen. What surprised him even more was how much he liked watching her do it. 

The haze started to fade shortly after they’d both reached satisfaction, reality setting in about their surroundings and the significance of their actions. 

“Did, um, did I hurt you?” he asks meekly after their breathing had returned to normal, awkwardly fixing his clothes as he spoke.

“No, Bruno, I’m…perfectly happy,” she said with a sweet smile that touched his heart. 

“R-really?” 

She tilts her slightly, a curiousness in her eyes. “I can show you how happy I am if you’ll let me,” she suggests, her curiousness shifting to mischief. 

Bruno swallowed thickly, tensing when she reached out to grip the front of his shirt and pull herself into his space. She laid her palms flat against his chest, looking at him with doe-like submissiveness, her lower lip jutted out just slightly, enhancing the overall cuteness of her expression.

“Uh, um,” he coughs to try and clear his dry throat, “perhaps, um…”

“Upstairs? My room? The bed is comfier than the floor or the bookshelf,” she offers with a raised brow, grinning at him because she knew she had him where she wanted him.

“...okay…yeah, uh, yes,” he nods, flustered but eager to spend as much time with her as possible, especially if it meant being as close to her as he was just moments ago. 

“Perhaps I was feeling feverish and you took it upon yourself to take care of me for the evening,” she giggled, pulling him up the stairs at the back of the building, her mind already spinning with different things she wanted to try.

Author's note: I don't know why I'm incapable of writing an appropriate-length one-shot, I feel like they're always hella long no matter how hard I try to keep it simple lmao

[elysianslove]

euphoria ; itadori yuuji

synopsis; a serene beach date, followed by intimacy at home

pairing; itadori yuuji x fem!reader

genre; fluff, smut 

warnings; smut! unprotected sex, which i do not condone this is fanfiction people. curses i guess? yuuji being cute as fuck <3

note; all characters are 18+ . please don’t read the smut if you’re a minor. there’ll be a page break separating the fluff from the smut! this shit is like over 4k words rip im sorry if there are mistakes

━━ it's not the first time he's seen you in a swimsuit. it's not even a bikini this time, and he's seen you in much more revealing clothing. you've laid bare next to him as the sun seeped through the curtains and woke the two of you up, and taken countless showers with him, soaked in the water inside a bathtub, his revealed chest to your naked back. and yet, yuuji gawks at you like it is the first time.

you only huff out a laugh as you slip the cover up off your shoulders, kneeling down to roughly fold it in your bag. his gaze is piercing, but you like the lingering presence of it. he whistles as you stand to your full height again, before eagerly removing shirt with a grin, reaching for the neck hemline and pulling it off. "so hot," he tells you, earning an eye roll from you. you're not given much warning before his strong arms are wrapping around your waist, picking you up off of the sand.

"yuuji, put me down!" you exclaim, but he only lifts you up higher, tossing you up on his shoulder.

he grips your waist with one arm, the other reaching up to grasp at your thighs as soon as you see the waves of the beach dance over to where your boyfriend stands. he continues inward, the water rising up to his waist, before he whispers out a measly apology, something like, "sorry, babe," before he's throwing you off his shoulder into the salty water.

a scream ripples out of your throat as you flail around, but there's no stopping it. you hit the water suddenly, initially freezing cold, before you move your limbs frantically to push your head out of the water. scowling at your boyfriend, who's cackling as if he were a wizard that's defeated his lifelong enemy, you push your hair out of your face. "what was that for!" you ask, swimming over to where he is.

he sinks below the water before you, his chin hovering over the water as he laughs. "it was out of love," he argues. "i wish i'd recorded it; your scream was hilarious."

instead of wallowing, you paint a mischievous grin on your lips as you plant your feet onto the sand beneath you, and leap up, aiming to dunk your boyfriend's head beneath the water. he's trained though, maybe not exactly for situations like this, but his reflexes are as sharp as ever. he catches your wrists easily, shifting his grasp of them in one hand, before using the other to grab your waist and push you beneath the water again. your eyes sting at the intrusion of salt water, throat burning, but the only true, lingering thought on your mind is just how easy it was for him to deflect you like that. you're terribly aware of yuuji's athleticism and strength, and yet it always manages to catch you off guard.

"no fair, yuuji," you say, pouting up at him as you blink away the residue of salt in your eyes. "that's twice in a row!"

yuuji only laughs again, reaching out for you beneath the water. his hands settle on your waist, but it's a soothing touch this time. no mischievousness behind them, only safety and security. he urges you closer to him until you rest your forearms on his shoulders, and then he leans forward to kiss the tip of your nose. "i promise no more slam dunking in the water," he tells you, lowering his lips to finally meet yours. you kiss him gently, enjoying the taste of salt that linger on your tongue when he opens his mouth for you. maybe it's a little lewd of you, openly making out with your boyfriend in a public beach's waters, but who can blame you really? he's breathtaking.

and you don't hesitate to him so. "you're mesmerizing, yuuji," you confess, lifting a hand to brush through his damp hair. some strands are sticking to his forehead, the pink of them more evident underneath the sunlight. you think that maybe he's left you this way, so mindlessly in love with him, because of the kiss. but really, you always feel this way for him. even if subconsciously.

"maybe i should slam dunk you more often," he teases you, but ultimately, he leans in for another kiss. "i think you're pretty neat."

"pretty neat, hm?" you wonder.

he hums. "yeah. the coolest girlfriend i could ask for, maybe," he continues. "prettiest, too." you humor him, and nod diligently. "by a long run, baby."

you press one last kiss on his lips, a quick peck, before pushing yourself out of his arms' hold, laying back atop the water. "help me float," you ask him, and then you feel his hands settle flat on your back, leaving a trail of heat along your spine. he's clueless of his effects as his face hovers over yours, shielding you from the sun, and you're insistent on keeping it that way, offering him a small smile.

he helps you dance above the waves for a few minutes, occasionally asking you random questions that you, honest to god, weren't sure if anyone had the answers to. and then, inevitably, he pouts down at you, complaining in a low voice, "m'hungry, babe."

thankfully, you'd prepared in advance for this date. rushing out of the water, with yuuji's hand in yours, you race across the sand to where your belongings were, an umbrella propped up for shade. you shiver as a breeze travels past you, painting goosebumps along your skin while your boyfriend urges you to move faster. as soon as you're there, he picks up your towel first, quickly wrapping it around your trembling frame and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm you up.

"all good?" he wonders, and you nod, even if you're still freezing, because he's still yet to dry himself off. finally, the two of you settle on the ground, a cloth beneath you acting as barrier to the sand, and you pull out the snacks you'd packed from your bag. all of his favorites. "you really are the best," he tells you, moaning as he takes a bite into his food. you offer him a sincere smile, shuffling nearer to him for both his body heat and to rest your head on his shoulder while you eat.  

there really is no telling how time will pass when you’re with him. sometimes it’s slow, languid, the universe taking its time to stretch out the moments between you two, allowing you to lose yourself within every little thing. every kiss felt like a hundred, every embrace lasted years, every glance left a lingering tingle at the bottom of your spine. other times it’s quick, breathtakingly fast, but you still feel everything as strongly as you would on the opposing days. your heart just beats a little faster, racing to catch up with the way time speeds around you. his touch is fleeting, but the effect he has on you is always eternal. today, the earth seems to slow down with you, to accommodate with your need and desire to feel every moment to the fullest. it sympathizes with you, makes sure you catch even the tiniest of movements from yuuji, like the way his eyes blink rapidly to rid himself of the intruding salt dripping from his hair, or the way he’s moving closer to you to rest his head above yours.

god, you’re such a sap.

there’s another breeze that flies by, and you shiver again, instinctively pushing yourself closer to him. yuuji takes note, lifting his arm to wrap it around you, encasing you in his warmth.

“if you could be any animal, what would you be?” he asks you. it’s not sudden, the type of question, but his voice so near you is.

you only shiver again as you shrug. “i don’t know. never really gave it much thought,” you admit. “maybe a seal or something. they seem to be doing great.”

“a seal?” he wonders, then cranes his neck to look down at you with an approving grin. “nice one, babe.”

you snort, pushing your head into the crook of his neck, sighing against his collarbones. “what about you?”

his grip tightens around you as he rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly. then, he replies, “maybe an eagle.”

“because it symbolizes freedom?” you ask.

yuuji shrugs softly. “maybe. or just because i’d like to fly. i’d carry you on my back and take you wherever you want,” he fantasizes.

“baby,” you start, sitting up straight to face him. “that’s what planes are for.”

the look on his face emits loud laughter from you, but he pinches the skin of your upper arm with a playful scowl, scoffing, “yeah but planes aren’t free, are they?” you hum, falling back into his embrace. he easily places his arms back around you, fitting you against him perfectly, before he speaks again. “where would you want to go?” he asks.

you sigh, “anywhere with you.”

he freezes for a moment, before he lets out a giggle. “you sap! god, you’re so in love with me.”

you can’t find it within yourself to tease him because, yes, you really are so in love with him. and you had meant it. his laughter fades out into happy sighs, and then he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “i’m so in love with you too.”

maybe you should’ve anticipated that this is where you’d be the moment you arrived back home with yuuji. it’s not that you minded; if anything, this is probably your fault more than his. it was evident in the way even the smallest of his touches, specifically today, lit a familiar fire in the pit of your stomach. inevitably, you figured, you would have found yourself in his lap anyways, knees perched on either side of him, legs spread and a flush traveling from your cheeks down to your chest.

you’d gone home with him with tired eyes and a glow to your skin. showering together hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, either. it was simple, intimate, also hilarious when a wad of shampoo had fallen into one of yuuji’s eyes, prompting screams from him you never thought you’d hear. it’s after the shower that trouble started.

he had lazily leaned against the bed, only a towel wrapped his waist, his head tossed back against the wall. the tired sigh that left his lips mesmerized you, but you knew your thoughts were to remain as that, simple imaginations, because there’s no way either of you have a speck of energy for anything. you’re proven wrong when your boyfriend beckons you over onto the bed, not giving you much chance to even slip off your robe and into something slightly more comfortable. instead of allowing you to sit next to him, he’d lead you over onto his lap, propping you up, before capturing your lips in a lazy kiss.

you’d returned it, of course, because nothing feels better than kissing yuuji. nothing feels better than kissing yuuji with your hands on his neck, on his sturdy chest, down to strong stomach. the kiss turns feverish quickly, his grip on your covered waist tightening considerably before they travel down to your hips. he lifts himself up to sit more upright, guiding you closer to him, closer to where he wants you to be, before pushing you down harder onto him. against his mouth, you moan instinctively, hands traveling to tug lightly at his hair. a breathless gasp escapes his lips when you finally start grinding your lower body against his, his hands enforcing a bruising grip on your hips. you’re still covered, and so is he, but it isn’t long before the adrenaline truly takes over, and yuuji’s lifting his hips up to rid himself of the towel.

you’re about to follow suit, but even beneath you, he takes charge, untying the robe and slipping it off your shoulders hastily. neither of you dares to break the kiss as you’re finally completely bare before each other, and yuuji reaches forward to wrap his arms around your waist, pushing your chest flush against his. the action elicits a moan from the both of you, and you feel your nipples hardening as they brush against the muscle of yuuji’s chest. tiredness is long forgotten as your hips begin to grind aimlessly along his lap, and, in response, yuuji unfastens his left arm from around you, using the right one to steady you on top of him, as he brings one hand down between your legs.

his fingers brush against your folds, and he groans loudly at the first feel of you. he pulls back, breathlessly, to look into your eyes, noticing how hazy they’ve become, your pupils fully blown. then, he says, “wanna make you cum on my fingers, yeah?” a whine tumbles out from your lips and you nod frantically, giving him your answer to his indirect ask for consent. he collects some of your wetness on his fingers, before slowly slipping in his middle finger. although your mind had expected it, the intrusion is sudden to your body, and you lift yourself up reflexively. yuuji’s stronger than you though, and the grip of his right arm doesn’t falter as he sinks his finger deeper into you. he watches you through half lidded eyes as you throw your head back, welcoming easily the feeling that’s slowly beginning to overtake you.

he pulls out his finger to the first knuckle before pushing it back in, repeatedly, until he hears a breathless, “more,” fall from your lips. your wish is his command, and when he pulls his finger out, a second joins, filling you up even before. it’s incredible how easily you’re falling apart right before him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your chest heaving as his fingers speed up their ministrations. he leans forward, clasping his mouth around one of your nipples, earning an even louder moan from you. your chest rises against his mouth, and his teeth clamp down lightly, pulling at your nipple, abusing it, as his fingers continue to drill in and out of you. his thumb reaches up to rub lightly against your clit, strengthening the fire filling your veins.

you’re making a mess of him, you’re sure, and you have half a mind to finally open your eyes and glance down at him. he’s fixated on you and your pleasure, mouth eager on your chest, arm flexing as he pushes two of his fingers in and out relentlessly. “m’gonna cum,” you whine helplessly, trembling in his grasp. he hums against your chest, letting your nipple fall from between his lips as his tongue dances along the perks. “yuuji, i’m gonna cum!”

he laughs, looking back up at you when you throw your head back, uselessly attempting to rock your hips in time to meet the thrust of his fingers. teasingly, he retorts, “nothing’s stopping you, darling.”

you’re already shaking in his grip, gradually losing more control of your body’s reactions. then, his eyes meets yours as he looks up, the same time his fingers are curling inside you and his teeth reach out to tug at your nipple —

you scream when you cum, sobbing helplessly as his fingers work you through your orgasm. your thighs involuntarily flex and you lean forward, unable to hold yourself up. his mouth leaves your nipple to allow him the pleasure of watching you properly. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant in a whisper, head falling onto his shoulder. his fingers don’t stop however, and you have to reach in between you to grip at his wrist in a silent plea.

yuuji laughs again, finally slowing down his hand’s movements until he eventually pulls his fingers out. “feel good baby?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as he feels your breathing slowly steady itself. you’re still slightly trembling atop him, but you know that you’re not even close to finished for the night.

you hum in response, nodding against him. lifting yourself up, yuuji beams up at your state, skin flushed and hair damp — he’s not sure if it’s the sweat or the shower from earlier, but either way, you look too gorgeous for your own good. unexpectedly, he feels you lift up his hand, gripping at his palm, before your mouth falls open, tongue slipping out, and you place his sticky fingers onto the muscle. his breathing halts when you wrap your lips around the digits, and he silently curses when he feels you suck lightly, tongue dancing over, around and in between his fingers.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he admits to you, and you hum again around his fingers diligently. “come on,” he urges you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and placing both hands on your waist. “can’t let you have all the fun.”

you giggle, nodding in agreement as you place your hands atop his. “want me to be on top?” you suggest.

“yeah, if you want me dead,” he jokes, before easily flipping the two of you over. you can’t help the squeal that cuts from your lips, but he swallows it easily with his mouth on yours, replacing it with a throaty moan. you can feel his dick hard against your thigh, leaking precum, smudged along your skin. he lifts himself up further along your body, pressing down against you until his heavy cock is trapped between your lower abdomens.

“yuuji, come on,” you whine up at him. your hand slides down to between you two, gripping the head of his cock, thumbing the slit. his figure falters above you, his arms trembling slightly at the feel of your hand around him.

his hand comes down to yours, swatting it off, before shifting down slightly to line himself up at your entrance. with his other hand, he spreads your legs further apart, hooking one onto his arm. once he’s satisfied, he settles the tip of his cock near your dripping sex, reveling in the noises that are spewing out of you — countless moans and breathless chants of please, please, please. he loves you always, but especially like this, all spread out for him, the heat of you nearly sucking him in as he teases your pussy.

“you look so pretty like this, baby,” he voices. you whine again as he rubs the head of his dick against your clit, throwing your head back and reaching out to grip his arm.

“please, yuuji,” you beg, and maybe if he had an ounce of self control within him at this rate he’d drag this out a little more. he’d tease you endlessly, till the sun came up again. but there’s a hunger within him that’s pleading and begging to be sated, so against all odds, with his fist wrapped around the base of his cock, he slowly enters you.

you muffle a cry at the feel of your walls stretching around him to accommodate him, and he can physically feeling you spasming around him already. he groans as he continues to sink in, his hand reaching out to fist the pillow by your head. your breath is heavy, labored, when he finally bottoms out. you feel so warm around him, it’s dizzying. “fucking tight,” he groans, his jaw tight.

he steadies himself, waiting for you to relax slightly. he doubts he’d be able to move even a little with how tight you felt around him, but slowly, surely, he feels you lift your hips slightly. “more, yuuji,” you mumble, eyes cloudy. he lifts his hand from near your head, gripping your hip instead, and with your leg lifted up on his shoulder, he pulls out, before slamming back in. your back arches as a loud moan rips from your throat, mindlessly cursing, “fuck!” he does it again, encouraged by the noises you’re making and the way your body’s reacting to him. you’re so fucking wet, dripping down onto the bed beneath the two of you, but he can’t even begin to think of anything but the fact that he’s reducing you to this state.

he continues to thrust diligently into you, his hips snapping against yours repeatedly. with the angle he’s fucking you, he continuously hits a specific spot within you, leaving your head cloudy and your spine tingling. he’s splitting you open in half at this point, but all you can do is lay there, muscles tight and exhausted, skin slick with sweat and chest flushed, rising and falling rapidly. your breasts bounce with every thrust, and you’re convinced he’s fucking you stupid as your eyes roll back, your back arching off the bed.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praises you. “so good, pretty.” his voice is breathless, deeper too, and you look up at him for a split second. his eyes are trained down to where your bodies are connected, watching as you take him so well, his gaze never wavering.

when he leans forward, dropping your leg to wrap it around his waist instead, you know he’s getting close. his cock twitches inside of you, his hands coming to rest by your waist on the bed. his fingers, suddenly, come to work at your clit, rubbing at the bundle of nerves harshly. “it’s too much! too good!” you wail, and he drinks it at all, his fingers growing slick again with your wetness.

“i wanna feel you cum all over me,” he tells you, thrusts somehow deeper. you let out a broken sob, your nails digging into his shoulders as he works you over to the edge. he’s given no warning other than the relentless squeezing of your pussy around him and your repeated cries of “cumming, cumming, cumming!” before you’re trembling beneath him, struggling to catch your breath as your hips lift up off the bed. the orgasm continues to rock through as yuuji’s thrusts grow sloppier.

“where do you want me?” he shakily asks. despite the overstimulation and the over sensitivity, you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. he rests his head in the crook of your neck, his quiet moans music to your ears so close to you. “darling,” he groans, gripping your waist as he uses your body to bring himself closer to his high.

“inside, yuuji,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to his temple. “please, please, plea—“ a gasp tumbles out as he suddenly stills, your words sending him over the edge. his muscles flex, slightly trembling within your arms, his small pants spreading heat along your skin.

slowly, he fucks into you, riding out his high, pressing chaste kisses along your neck and throat. “love you so much,” he mumbles, finally stilling.

you feel sticky, sweaty, and not at all clean in comparison to when you’d just stepped out of the shower. but you also feel blissful, euphoric, hazy and completely satisfied. yuuji lifts his head up finally, lifting himself up slightly to pull out of you. his cum trickles out slowly, but he pays it no mind as he flops half of his body atop yours, and you let out a pained laugh.

“yuuji!” you whine. “you’re heavy.” he only hums tiredly, his arm slung along your middle, his cheek against your shoulder. you bring a hand up, the one he isn’t immobilizing, to brush away his hair. his eyes are barely kept open, but he still manages to smile dreamily at you. your fingers ghost over his features, admiring them, tracing his soft skin, unknowingly lulling him to sleep. “okay, king of aftercare,” you joke, and he huffs out a laugh.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “aftercare tomorrow.”

you nod, beaming brightly, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. his chest begins rising and falling slowly, telling you he’s already asleep, but when you mumble out, “i love you so much, too,” and press a kiss to his cheek, you swear he smiles.

[bibliocratic]

38 or 46? (If you want!)

Thank you - of course :D

Number 38 Already posted - > Number 19, Number 26

Absolutely inspired by @taylortut‘s awesome Lonely withdrawal idea. 

Their arrival, the first night – the car trundling to a stop, feeling every driven mile in the wound-down creaking ache in their arms and legs, their bodies running on empty for hours now. Jon checks on the sleeping situation while Martin assesses the locks, the windows, clarifies their vulnerability in a way he judges defensible.

 Jon seeks him out in sleep. Burrowed into his space, a lesson in restlessness. It hurts, to be this close. It hurts, but then everything has recently. 

Martin manages a fidgety hour before the pain becomes unendurable. He holds up his hands, and the skin is blotching clear as glass, the smarting pain of frostbite. 

There is a sofa, but that is downstairs. He wouldn’t be able to hear Jon snuffle in sleep, kick at the musty duvet. And distance would be good, would feel good, would soothe and settle and allow him to have quiet again. But Jon’s bones are bird-like in sleep, his neck with its scarring exposed, all his guards down, and Martin can’t, he can’t.

He climbs out of bed, diligently avoiding waking his sleeping partner, and removes one of the lumpy pillows. He sets it behind his back, leaning against the closed bedroom door. He can see Jon rock onto his side again, can hear his breathing braid into the high whistle of the wind. The separation is too far, not far enough. Martin watches the colour of his arms seep back, and when the heat of his breath collides with the chill air, it is not fog he sees.

 He falls asleep, his head pillowed on his crossed arms clutched around his knees. 

--

The first day – organising, sorting and clearing, the house loud with footsteps, the racket of the Highland rain. Google Maps promises a village a few miles away, but that would mean people, more than Martin has been amongst in a long time. Martin makes excuses using the weather, and Jon believes him. 

They do not go out. All day, Jon’s speech is scattergun, like water tumbling over river rocks, and it makes Martin feel flat, rubbed smooth with the intensity of it. He pushes himself to respond, the smile on his face rusty, his conversation unpractised and forced. Eventually, he ropes himself into deep-cleaning the bathroom, which allows him the justification of silence.

 “Keep talking,” he says to Jon in the other room. “I’m listening.” 

Sometimes it’s true. He’s trying.

 --

The second night – Martin tarries in the bathroom for longer than he needs to, meticulously brushing his teeth, sorting his hair. Looking in the mirror makes something pinch and twist in him, so he sits on the side of the newly cleaned bath that reeks of bleach, and focuses on the silence instead.

 Jon takes longer to fall asleep tonight. He wriggles into Martin’s side of the bed, and Martin’s hands search him out even as he sucks in a gasp at the sensation of it. He wishes Jon wouldn’t look at him but Jon does nothing but, studying him like a precious and cherished thing, and the weight of his gaze is agonising. He keeps dredging up splinters of the bridges Martin was so worried he’d burned to try and fit them back together, questions and explanations and apologies that catch him thorn-sharp. 

Martin pretends to be more tired than he is, and finally Jon lets him have the hated kindness of the quiet. 

When Jon falls asleep, Martin is already creeping out of bed.

 --

The second day – they go to the village. It goes badly. They get back to the house and Martin is shaking, folded onto his hands and knees on the hardwood floor. His skin is glitching, patchy with the parts the frost gnawed out of him, and every ragged exhale tastes like sea-salt. Jon is trying to rub his back, gentle, telling him it’s a panic attack, that’s all, just to breathe, but Martin’s lungs are full of fog and Jon’s hand stings where it touches, and he is choking back tears as he struggles to remain present, and it’s too much, it’s too much. 

--

The second night – Martin doesn’t even wait for Jon to fall asleep before leaving. They do not talk about it. 

--

The third day –Jon hugs him from behind, his gait stumbling with drowsiness, mumbling a good morning into his back.

 Jon kisses him, and its wonderful, brilliant, awful, but Martin doesn’t want him to move away, doesn’t want him to leave, so he kisses back. 

Jon asks him if he’s OK, over and over. Martin has forgotten what that means, exactly, so he’s not lying, not really when he says yes. 

Martin forces himself to stay in bed, pins-and-needles snarling up his arms and legs, because maybe if he tries harder this will become easier. When Jon wakes up and sees him crying, his face crumpled with pain and his chest knotted with grief, Martin tells him he had a nightmare.

--

The fourth day – Jon kisses him while they’re on the sofa, and Martin starts so hard he drops the book he was reading. 

Neither of them speak for a moment. 

“Sorry. Sorry – I – ”

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, I-I’m. Yes.”

Jon is close, too close, and the brown of his eyes is unrelenting.

“No,” Martin says, and then he looks down, avoiding Jon’s gaze. “No.”

Jon tries to move back. Martin grabs his hand because the slap of pain it rocks through him is easier than the sucker-punch of Jon leaving.

 “I love you,” he says. He clenches Jon’s fingers and stares at his shoes, and continues. “I just… it’s hard. To… to be here. Present. I got... I guess, I got used to being alone? And I don’t want to be, I don’t want you to go. But at the same time, it’s easier. It hurts less.”

“What can I do?” Jon asks. “How can I help?”

Martin doesn’t know. He shakes his head and dampness wells up in his eyes and spills over and wishes he had the answers. 

“OK,” Jon replies. “It’s OK.”

He leans in. 

“I love you,” he promises. His kiss is barely there, a fleeting warmth on his lips, a reassurance before he moves back and away. Their hands part until it is only their smallest fingers hooked to one another.

 “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and Martin believes him. 

--

The fourth night – Martin comes back from a long, labouring walk, his lungs mist-bound and his skin tingling with cold to find that Jon’s pushed the sofa upstairs. It’s by the bedroom door, directed towards the bed, layered in blankets and cushions. When Martin will go to lie on it later, he will be able to watch Jon twitch and fuss and toss in sleep. 

“More comfortable than the floor,” Jon says as explanation. 

It is worth the prickling rush of burning to bestow a thankful kiss against Jon’s forehead. 

[saffron-nova21]

XIV. The Game (Pt. 2)

Learning to Love Masterlist

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The boys were doing so well — you were so proud. No matter who landed or was blocked, you were cheering. All the time spent with the Aoba Joshai boys had made you realize how hard they worked, how much that they all deserved to go to nationals.

You wish it didn’t have to be only one team or the other. Your poor boys. Watching Karasuno take the lead had you cheering for them and curious as to why your boyfriend hadn’t been put in yet.

Watching them out him in, though, you didn’t know whether to cheer on your boyfriend or slump your shoulders at the knowledge that Karasuno wasn’t going to know what hit them. As hot-headed as your boyfriend could get, causing him to make an increasing amount of mistakes, he was good and he could score a good number of points, just so long as he kept a level head.

When Karasuno took that first set, you cheered for them with a wide smile. They all manage to give you a thumbs up in acknowledgment before turning to Ukai. Then you look towards where your boyfriend stood, moving in the stands, so you’re pretty much standing over the bunch, speaking towards them. “I’m proud of each of you. Keep it up. You guys are going to take this next set.” You nod, before glancing down at Kentarō. “I’m proud of you. I love you.” You tell him.

Kentarō gives you the smallest smile, a proud look on his face at your praise. “I love you, too.”

When the next set started, it was easy to take note that Aoba Joshai was planning on taking things into a third set and winning this one. And they did.

In the beginning, Seijoh had a good lead and it wasn’t until nearly set point when you watched them put Tadashi in, cheering loudly for your pinch-server brother. Seeing his jump-float go so well had you jumping up and down happily — that was your brother. With that, Tadashi pulled the game ahead for Karasuno. Though, Oikawa’s serves bested them in the end.

Though, into the third set, you noticed Kyotani was beginning to lose his sense of previous calm as spikes got past their defense. You watch as he’s subbed out, locking eyes with Yahaba briefly, before just nodding a bit, then looking towards your boyfriend and flashing him a soft smile.

You swore — Tanaka had been trying to piss the boy off. It pissed you off a bit, as well, but you were trying to just breath and ignore it, then looking back towards Yahaba and your boyfriend. As much as you tensed at the aggression, you could see that he was calming down at whatever Yahaba was saying.

Watching them sub him back in was a relief, though it seemed it wasn’t enough, after all was said and done. Because with one last spike from Hinata, one Oikawa tried to dig up, the game was all over. Your breath escaped you. A mixture of happiness for your own boys surged through you... Though, tears welled up in your eyes as you watched the way the Aoba Joshai boys all let their expressions freeze and fall apart.

While Yaichi and Saeko celebrated beside you, you watched with a conflicted expression. You smile towards the Karasuno, loudly cheering for them. You would wait until after to shed any tears for your boyfriend and friends.

As you saw them leaving, you were quick to leave the stands, nearly running to make it outside to see them. You nearly slide as you make it down to see them, stopping in front of Oikawa, heading the team. Looking at them all, some looked away from you or hung their heads so they didn’t have to deal with anymore tears. Kyotani walked forward, gaze a bit harsher than usual, though you narrowed your eyes.

“Kentarō, you better watch your tone with me.” You warn, the male quickly realizing his own aggression. He looks at you nearly like a kicked puppy, opening his arms for you. You step forward and wrap your arms around his torso, his head falling into your shoulder. His own shoulders slump in exhaustion and defeat as he leans into you. Soon, you can feel a few drops on your shoulders — tears he was working to hide from his team.

You gently drag you nails over his back in a soothing manor. “Look, you guys... It hurts now, it’s an open wound. Don’t rub salt in it by thinking about all of the mistakes you might have made. Because you know what? The other team made mistakes to. For most of you, this isn’t your last year. Toru, you’re going to do great things. You already know that, but even still. Issei, Takahiro, and Hajime... Seeing you four off this year is going to hurt... But... I’ll be looking after them for you. And when they make it to nationals next year, it’ll all be thanks to you guys making sure they never stopped working.

“You all did amazing. I’m gonna miss being your manager.” Your words are a mere whisper at this point. Toru was the only third year who’d managed to keep his tears hidden, standing tall and looking away from you to stop himself from crying.

“Well, little cutie, don’t you always know what to say?” He chuckles. “Are you riding the bus with us?”

You laugh under your breath, blinking a bit to keep from crying. “I’ve got to go and congratulate my brother, Tsukishima, and the other boys and let them know. But yeah, if that’s an offer, I’ll happily ride home with you guys.”

Kyotani separates from you with a quiet sniffle. Bringing your hands to his cheeks, you wipe his tears away. “Do you have to go?” He whispers to you, need clear in his voice.

“I’ll be back...” You lean in to kiss his lips briefly, before separating to walk to where the other team was stationed.

It was only thirty minutes before you went back to find the Seijoh bus, finding Kyotani standing beside it as he waits for you. He swallows as he sees you, already about to lose composure again.

Wordlessly, he takes your hand abd pulls you onto the bus with him, finding a seat across from Yahaba and Watari, where he sits and pulls you into his lap. Half of the team had already fallen asleep and you wouldn’t be too long after. He leans against the side of the bus, letting his legs stretch over the seats as he pulls your back against his chest.

His head falls to your shoulder again. “If I hadn’t lost it — we would’ve won.”

“If they hadn’t had you, they couldn’t have done so well against Karasuno.” You pick his head up with a hand on his cheek. “You did amazingly. You are a great player. I’m proud of you.”

His eyes soften as he looks into yours. He leans in and kisses you, his hold on you tightening. Tears fall from his eyes, “You’re too good for me.”

You hum, hardly able to pull away, even then, it’s hardly enough to say you did pull away, lips still brushing against his. “Hmm — I beg to differ. But I’ve got as long as we continue dating to change your mind.” You breath, using your grip on his shirt to pull him into another kiss.

You and Kyotani didn’t fall asleep, no matter how tired he was, you both sat and talked on the ride home.

That night, you treated Tadashi and Tsukki to dinner. Kyotani joined

Kyotani also came to help you cheer for your brother and Tsukki for the game against Shiratorizawa

Poor babies 🥺 I hated rewatching that game for the sole reason I had to watch the boys break down again. I hope you guys enjoyed! 💕 You all better be eating, drinking water, and taking care of yourselves!

I hope you guys are all taking care of yourselves! I love you guys. Thank you for all your support on Learning to Love! Remember, you are loved, appreciated, and cared for.

Taglist:

@galagcica @halesandy @f1bbe3 @voidednightmares @softiebadbitch @strawberrymarshallow @whyamihere-bro @pelicanpizza @chaeringpop @satoriluver @setterspirit @moonlightaangel @starryleafy @morpheus-rex @kodzuklutz @tazzi-baby @prettyinblack231 @trashy-simp @kookie-doughs

[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…”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Don’t Hide That

Prompt: okay i know its an overdone trope but its an overdone trope that i love //so much//- would you ever consider doing one of those "peter tries to hide an injury from a mission and the team finds out and reminds him he can ask for help and also that he's a silly idiot boy" bc those always make me feel so like ?? warm?? cared for?? i just love them so much

Thanks so much for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: none, love me that found family

Warnings: peter gets hurt kinda bad...there’s description of vomiting, blood loss, blacking out

Word Count:  2407

Spider strength is both a blessing and a curse.

 Peter can hold this building up long enough for the others to get the people out. He can do so he has to do it. He grits his teeth inside the mask until the air squeaks out and still he clenches. Peter knows he’s not supposed to clench his jaw this hard, it fucks up his neck and his shoulders and his whole system, but he has to hold this building up.

He hears Cap in his ear and he holds on. He sees Sam flying by him and gives him a quick nod.

 “Don’t let your head drop, Pete,” Sam grits out as he punches a bad guy square in the face, “you’re doing great. We’re almost done.”

 Peter knows better than to try and spare breath to reply.

 Rhodey swings by with a swarm of drones after him, sending repulsor blast after repulsor blast into the buzzing mass. Peter shifts just an inch to the left to make sure he gives them enough room. Rhodey glances at him before he has to duck around the corner and vanish again.

 Peter grits his teeth and holds on.

 How long has he been holding this? Minutes? Seconds? Hours? Does it matter?

 No, Peter thinks, holding tighter, it doesn’t matter. I just gotta—I just gotta keep holding.

 His arms burn. His shoulders ache. Something in his left ankle gave out ages—seconds?—ago. He has to hold on. Just hold on. Come on, Spider-Man.

 Sweat starts to run into his eyes. He blinks away the salt and holds on. His eyes start to burn. He squeezes them shut, willing them to stop. He wobbles. He forces his eyes back open, peering through the eyes of the mask. Karen’s in his ear, Cap’s in his ear. They aren’t all out yet.

 “Spider-Man, status.”

 “I got it,” Peter gasps, wobbling a little, “I got the corner. I’m gonna—how many are left?”

 “Half a dozen. We’re almost out.”

 “Wait, did you just say you have the corner?”

 Natasha’s worried voice is enough to send tremors to his knees. No. Not now. He can’t fall.

 “I’m fine.”

 “Pete—“

 “I said I’m fine,” he growls out, restacking his leg and shifting, even as the movement sends a bolt of pain through his left side.

 No tenderness. No weakness. Not now. He can’t let go.

 He hears more concern coming from his comm but he ignores it, shooting off the vaguest reports and asking questions about how many more are there? Where are they? Are the others still coming?

 The little twinge of pain in his left side isn’t going anywhere and he shifts again. Trying to figure out if he’s pinched a muscle, if he’s just breathing wrong, why doesn’t he remember how to breathe properly, Sam’s helped him so much with that.

 Peter clenches his jaw and holds on.

 He shifts again and he hears the sharp crack.

  Fuck.

 Broken ribs are the worst.

 Peter knows if he were to let anything slip, the slightest hiss of breath over the comms, a noise, even a gasp, someone would come to his side in an instant. But then they’d be leaving people in danger. They can’t deal with this. He can.

 He holds on, despite the pain.

 He scours his mind for every little thing Natasha’s taught him and schools his face into the perfect blank expression. Even beneath the mask it helps. His breathing becomes more controlled, his face barely twitching as the pain doesn’t let up. He has to be stoic. He has to do what needs to be done.

 Peter straightens up so he’s not hunched over, even as his muscles groan and his ribs cry out in protest. Unlike the normal fluid grace, this is halting, jittery, and wrapped up in strings and strings of agony. He strains against them all and stands. The smallest gasp escapes his lips and he almost freezes, worried that a tender voice will come over the line and make him shatter. He has to hold on, he has to be strong. He pushes the pain to the back of his head.

 “Almost there. Just a few stragglers. Start getting the others to safety.”

 The rush of relief is almost enough to make him drop but he won’t. If he doesn’t move, if he hardly breathes, the pain is at a point where it’s not overwhelming. To it fades into the background, with his straining muscles and jilted breaths, no longer governing his every move.

 Just a little longer.

 Just…a little…longer.

 He can do this so he has to.

 “Get clear!”

 The second he hears Cap’s voice he lurches into motion, tearing out from under the building and slinging a web up as high as he can. He pulls himself free with the instinct overwhelming his system, not enough to stop him from moving properly, until he’s up, up, high away from the building crashing down. His hand brushes something wet, and he looks down—

 A dark patch grows on his left side.

 Peter can’t tear his eyes away from it.

 It’s so much blood.

 It’s so much blood.

 It’s so much—

 —crash.

 Not bothering to look where he was swinging, too distracted by the sight of all that blood, Peter crashes headfirst into a billboard and rolls onto a roof, landing so hard it knocks the wind out of him completely.

 The dull pain becomes a fierce agony, flaring up so brightly that it rushes into Peter’s lungs and makes breathing seem impossible. He can’t see. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t feel anything other than the sharp stabbing in his side. Blearily, he tears off his mask to try and get some air but it’s no use. Everything is fuzzy. He’s on his back, why is he on his back? His arms go up on instinct to defend himself but he can’t move, has barely a kitten’s strength, he’s defenseless—

 Is he making noise? He can’t tell, everything’s so fuzzy, he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, he doesn’t know who he’s looking for, did they win? Where are the others? There’s something in his ear but he can’t tell what through the haze. He curls up, trying to hide, trying to make himself as small as possible, but it’s no use, they’ve seen him, he’s gotta get up, he’s gotta go, he’s gotta help, he’s gotta—

 It’s no use. He collapses time and time again and every time he hits the ground he hears a crack.

 Eventually he can’t move.

 There’s something pressing down on top of him. Concrete. Rebar. The roof caves in around him and—

 No. No, he’s not there. He’s free, he got out.

 Peter blinks. A mixture of blood and spittle and bile pools on the ground in front of him, more dripping bitterly from his lips. The sight of it makes him heave again, more bubbling up and oozing from his mouth. He ends up on all fours, his vision spinning so wildly it makes him retch again.  Each one makes his ribs throb harder until his stomach is entirely empty.

 It’s over. They’re safe. Right?

 He can…he can rest now?

 …yeah…yeah that sounds like a good idea.

 Peter’s just…he just…he’s just…gonna take a nap…right here.

 Right here…yeah, it’s fine…

 He passes out.

  Rhodey’s scanning for Peter the second he gets the alert that he’s lost consciousness. He slams the reverse hard, turning back and racing through the buildings, looking for something, anything, where are you, Pete—

  There.

 “I got eyes on him,” Rhodey says, snapping open the helmet and racing to his side. He immediately clocks the pool of bile and blood smeared all over Peter and the still-growing stain on his side. “Sam, get over here, now!”

 “Oy my way.”

 “Come on, Pete,” Rhodey mutters, rolling Peter onto his uninjured side so if he vomits more, he won’t choke himself, “you’re gonna be alright, I promise.”

 Peter is so small, and so young…his face is pale and covered with a grisly sheen of sweat, his lips almost white under all the partially congealed blood and spittle. Rhodey’s metal hand lands on his shoulder and the flimsy give of the muscle makes him wince.

 “Sam!”

 “Here,” Sam says, landing a few feet away and dropping to his knees beside Peter. “I got him. You make sure to get that suit applying pressure.”

 “Here?”

 “Yeah. We gotta stop the bleeding.”

 “Won’t that fuck up his ribs more?”

 “His ribs are already fucked, man, we gotta make sure he doesn’t bleed out too.”

 Rhodey winces and does as Sam asks as Sam starts running through his medic kit. For a second, this isn’t Peter, he isn’t in a suit of armor, and Sam isn’t Sam. He’s somewhere else, someone in the desert, the smoking wreckage of a plane not too far away.

 Then Sam looks at him and calls his name.

 “Rhodes, C’mon. You gotta keep him here, you hear me?”

 “I hear you.” Rhodey grits his teeth. “Where, here?”

 “Yeah. Harder.”

 Even unconscious, Peter lets out a hiss. Rhodey winces and looks back up at Sam.

 “Harder.”

 Rhodey can’t stop himself from full-on grimacing as he presses down, Peter jolting under his hands.

  The jet can’t get here fast enough.

 Sam works quickly, his hands steady, doing his best to get the kid stabilized before the jet comes to whisk them back to the compound. They can’t risk carrying him as he is, too much of a risk they’ll do more damage. But their wings and repulsors feel like tantalizing useless hunks of machinery as the fliers crouch there.

 “Hang on, Pete,” Sam mutters, “we’ll get you home.”

  Peter blinks his eyes open to the lights that are way too bright. He shuts his eyes and groans, only to gasp when the movement tugs at too many places in his body.

 “Peter?”

 Peter turns his head as the light behind his lids dims, opening them just enough to see the—

 “Guys?” Wow, does he really sound like that? “What’s wrong?”

 He licks his lips and tries again.

 “Are you—am I—“

 What happened? He’d been in the fight, helping, then the explosion had blown out one of the support beams and he’d jumped down without a thought because there were people in there and they needed time to get them out so he’d—

 —oh. Right.

 Peter’s eyes widen as he takes in the stony gazes of Cap, Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes, Black Widow, and Falcon.

 “A-are you guys mad?”

 Sam curses and Peter flinches as much as his ribs’ll let him.

 “I-I’m sorry I couldn’t hold it for longer,” Peter tries, “I’ll do better next time, did we—did you manage to get everyone out?”

 “Peter,” Cap says, taking a step forward, “they’re all okay. We managed to save everyone.”

 “O-oh,” Peter burbles, sighing into the hospital bed, “that’s…that’s good.”

 “Yeah, Pete, it is,” Cap repeats, still coming closer. He reaches out and lays a hand carefully on the bed right next to his head. “But you’re not okay. You almost didn’t make it.”

 “…s-sorry.”

 “No, Peter,” Cap corrects softly, reaching out to—to…brush his hair back from his face? What? “It’s not something you apologize for.”

 “You can apologize for scaring the shit out of me,” comes Mr. Stark’s voice, quickly followed by a thwack and an indignant yelp.

 The fingers in his hair make it really hard to focus on anything other than the pleasant buzzing sensation—though that’s probably whatever painkillers they’ve got him on—but still Peter pries his eyes open to stare up at Cap—oh and there’s Colonel Rhodes, and Falcon?

 “G-guys?”

 “We’re not mad at you, Pete,” Falcon says firmly, “just worried. You could’ve died out there and that building didn’t need you holding it.”

 “But I—“ Peter swallows— “I had to hold it.”

 “Why?”

 Peter frowns at Rhodes. “So you guys could…you know, go in and save people?”

 “We can fly,” Rhodes points out, “we could’ve gotten in there. You got hurt, Pete, and we’re not okay with that. You can take care of yourself in a fight.”

 “We’re not mad, Baby Spider,” Black Wid—Natasha says, coming up to the bed too, “we’re just worried. You ask us for help next time, hmm?”

 Cap—Steve hasn’t stopped stroking his hair and Peter’s having a really hard time keeping his eyes open right now.

 “B-but I—“

 “Shh,” she soothes, reaching down to trace his cheek, “we’re not. And you’re okay now. You just gotta remember you can ask, right?”

 “…you promise you’re not mad?”

 Steve huffs a laugh. “The only reason I’m not hugging you right now is that it would hurt. So…” He ruffles Peter’s hair in just the right way and Peter can’t hold back the keen. Sam chuckles.

 “We’re not mad, kid. Promise.”

 “I…did the breathing technique you suggested.”

 “Good. We can work on that when you’re not holding up a building.”

 Peter looks around at them. They really don’t look mad, but…

 “W-where’s Mr. Stark?”

 “I’m here, bambino.”

 O-oh. Oh, Mr. Stark isn’t angry. He never calls Peter that when he’s angry.

 Weathered fingers slide into his hair next to Steve’s and Peter’s eyes flutter shut. He hears Tony chuckle from somewhere above him.

 “Why don’t you sleep this off, bambino,” Tony hushes, “and then we’ll promise we’re not mad again.”

 Sleep. Sleep sounds good.

 “Silly boy,” he hears Natasha say faintly, “you can always ask for help, you just need to be a little less stubborn about admitting you need it.”

 “Don’t scold my baby spider.”

 “Your baby spider?”

 “Shh, you’re gonna wake him up!”

 “How is this my fault?”

 “For the love of god, will you shut the hell up?”

 “You shut up!”

 Peter drifts off to sleep in the warmth of the bed with the lights dim and two hands tangled in his hair.

[yangsrose]

Blurbs of my WIPS

The order of these are not the order of them being released, but rather in a random order

if you would like to be added to the tag list for any of these please send an ask or reply to this post!!

WIP #1: Xiaojun Fic (heavily based off of the book "Son" by Lois Lowry)

Water. That’s all you felt around you. Water sloshing up and taking over every little part of you, leaving little to no air for you to breathe. You slowly felt your body get submerged by the harsh waves, and before you knew it, you were sucked into the black abyss. You closed your eyes to stop the harsh stings of the salt water, feeling a peaceful spirit come over you as you sunk deeper and deeper into the water.

The next thing you felt was a burning sensation in your lungs. Wanting to get rid of the water that was forcing its way up, you coughed out the cold, bitter liquid that was congesting your lungs. A pair of sweet, warm lips met yours, serving as a contrast to the sea water, and you felt air being forcefully pushed into your airways. You opened your eyes and blurrily saw a man towering over you, his small yet muscular frame hovering over you in worry. You closed your eyes once again, feeling tired from the effort put into taking out the water in your lungs and once again sunk into the familiar black abyss.

WIP #2: Ten FBI AU (based off of this time stamp)

Ten’s job was fairly easy. Or so he liked to believe that. I mean, all he did was just sit in front of a computer and monitor people as they surfed the internet on a daily basis, and make sure that they didn’t do anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. Since he was one of the newer recruits, he was scheduled to look over the more innocent people such as the ones who never searched up anything bad or out of the ordinary. His daily searches consisted of “how to bake a cake” or "how to make a necklace". Innocent stuff as these topics whizzed by his computer screen daily, leading for an easy job on his end. That however, changed when he got assigned to you.

Your searches weren’t… bad or anything, they were just more on the questionable side. In the beginning, your searches were always definitions to words, or just memes that you didn’t remember to save but really needed to send to a friend since you thought it was appropriate. For example, once you searched up “chicken with a knife meme”. Since your search included the word “knife”, Ten was alerted of it, but he dismissed it, not taking the search seriously since he too had that same meme saved as a contact picture for one of his friends.

It wasn’t until your searches became a bit more... progressive for a lack of better terms that Ten began to grow worried. Your searches started pretty innocently, such as “How to erase fingerprints from a surface” and he just suspected that you accidentally got fingerprints on a laptop screen and just wanted to erase them. But after a while, you began searching up things like “acids to get rid of blood stains” and “blunt surfaces that can cause a head trauma.” That caused him to become concerned. He began to monitor your searches more closely, and it wasn’t until recently one day when you searched something extremely concerning that he realised that you were someone that required to be monitored at all times.

Ten called for his boss, showing him the most recent search on your end. “Non-lethal stab wounds'' popped up on the bright screen, and Ten looked back at his boss to see a mirror expression of wide eyes looking back at him.

“I think we have to send you undercover.” Ten’s boss said. He simply nodded and got up from his seat, walking over to his apartment to get everything ready for his mission.

WIP #3: YangYang Zombie Apocalypse AU

"Wait wait wait don't shoot I'm a human I promise!" the young boy held up his hands and walked out from behind the wall the he was using as his hiding place. You refused to lower your weapon down, not wanting to let your guard down out of a fear of being tricked into your own death. You made eye contact with him and felt your hands shake, fearing that the worst might come to you.

As he walked closer, you realised that he was in fact who he claimed to be, the light tan colour of his skin glowing under the moonlight. You felt the gun drop from your hands and your body seemed to work on its own, causing you to run up to him and do the unthinkable.

You kissed him right on his lips.

WIP #4: Kun Astronaut AU

Being one of the only female biomedical engineers in NASA led to some pretty beneficial aspects of your workspace. For example, you were never asked to stay longer than an hour before sunset, out of a fear that you wouldn't be able to reach home safely. The only downside was the fact that you were the smallest one on the team, which put you in some... well, for a lack of better terms, unfortunate circumstances.

If anyone asked you how you ended up face to face in a underwater lab with your workplace crush, you would not be able to tell them why you were in this situation, but what you could tell them was that even after working strenuously underwater for the past 48 hours, Qian Kun still had the softest skin known to mankind.

WIP#5: YangYang Racer AU

why did this take so long to find an except that actually made sense😭

“You'll love YangYang trust me. He’s a first year just like you, and he’s single” Hendery said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Why does that matter.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at the older boy’s antics.

“Just saying.” Hendery said, shrugging his shoulders. You sighed and shook your head, being hit with the smell of freshly roasted coffee as soon as you entered the cafe. Hendery looked around and spotted his roommate, whose back was currently faced towards the both of you. Hendery walked up to him and tapped his shoulder, causing the male to turn around. As you made eye contact with him, you felt your breath hitched up in your throat.

The boy in front of you was absolutely ethereal.

His dark brown hair swept over his forehead, parting a little in the middle. HIs wide eyes scanned over the both of you, scrunching up as his gummy smile overtook his face, standing up to greet you. He was absolutely adorable, resembling a small puppy or sheep with his fluffy hair flopping over his eyes. Hendery noticed your state and smiled before muttering a soft “whipped” under his breath before introducing him to you.

“This is my roommate YangYang. He’s studying automotive engineering as well but secretly he wants to be a formula one racer- OW why are you hitting me? That’s the truth, right?”

“No one’s supposed to know that!” the younger male gritted through his teeth, sending Hendery a fiery glare.

“Sorry about him, Hendery has trouble keeping his mouth shut.” YangYang said, glaring at Hendery in the process.

“I’m y/n.” You muttered, feeling shy all of a sudden. YangYang beamed and stuck his hand out to you to shake, which you took gratefully. You felt your hands get clammy at the thought of holding hands with him, and you felt as if you were stuck in some sort of a trance as you shook his hand.

“Okay love birds you both can hold each others hands at the table let’s get going come on now.” Hendery walked towards the table while turning back to smirk at the both of you. You and YangYang let go of each other's hands and followed Hendery to the table, feeling your faces grow warm at his comment. You gritted your teeth and walked over to the table, silently vowing to never let him use your notes the next time he asked for them.

WIP #6: YangYang Haunted House AU

"YangYang I swear if you try to scare me one more time I will leave you here all alone and I don't care if you're the only way that I can get out of here."

"Uhh y/n? That wasn't me. I'm over here." YangYang said, appearing from the small passageway that was in front of you.

"Wait. If you didn't tap my shoulder, then who did?" you asked, feeling the hair on the back of your neck raise. You turned around and found yourself face to face with a bloodied man holding a pickaxe who was currently swinging it uncomfortably close to you. You felt a scream rise up on your throat and you screamed while grabbing YangYang's arm, using all the strength in your body to pull him along with you. YangYang soon began running faster than you, and he started pulling you after him through the numerous twists and turns.

"Next time you ask me to go anywhere with you I'm saying no" you said, venom seeping through your voice along with deep gasps for air.

"Agreed" YangYang said, regretting every action that led up to his decision.

WIP #6: YangYang Gamer AU

"So you're saying you've never played a single game in your life."

"Do coolmath games count? Because if so I am a beast at fire boy and water girl." you said, your eyes lighting up at the fond memories of playing that game. YangYang sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling stressed at the fact that there was a lot more than he expected to have to teach you.

"Okay how about this. You, me, tomorrow after school in my dorms to learn how to play games because there is no way that I am letting my best friend go their entire life without knowing how to play anything other than coolmath games."

WIP #7: Sungchan Spider-Man AU

"You're Spider-Man. The one who was just on the news." you said, feeling your heart rate accelerate.

"No? What are you talking about? I think you had too much caffeine and too little sleep let's get you to bed now." Sungchan said, maneuvering you over to the door.

"Sungchan, I just saw you crawling on the ceiling and you just shot a web out of your wrist. I even pinched myself so I know for a fact that this was not a hallucination." you said, your speech accelerating with every word. Sungchan sighed and tried to look for a way to cover up his odd behaviour, but in the end opted against it when he realised he was still wearing his suit.

"Please tell no one." he pleaded, turning around to face you with the biggest puppy eyes.

"So it is true" you whispered, your eyes growing wide at the revelation. The last thing you remember was seeing Sungchan's panicked eyes as he lunged forward to catch you before darkness enveloped you.

WIP #8: Johnny Secret Agent AU

"What do you mean run?" you asked, turning to face your partner.

"I may or may not have accidentally set off a bomb timer somewhere around here and if we do not book it out of here in the next two minutes we are going to be like the toast that you had this morning."

"Hey! Just because I like my toast slightly burned does not mean that you can make fun of it."

"You call that slightly burnt? The whole bread was a different colour and the house smelled like smoke." you scoffed and rolled your eyes before turning away from Johnny, wondering why the both of you were still here.

"What's taking Mark so long?"

"Listen here Mark if I die I will haunt you in my sleep please find a way to get us out of here." Johnny said, speaking into the in ear that was directly connected to your "man in the chair" back at the headquarters. You heard frantic typing as Mark tried to find a way out of the room, but as every second passed, it was apparent to you that you and Johnny were one second closer to your great demise. Thinking quickly, you grabbed Johnny's hand and ran out of the room, hearing Mark's voice as he directed you throughout the area, leading you two to safety only a few mere seconds before the bomb went off.

WIP #9: WayV Social Media AU

You think your roommate is going to take you out sometime soon, but you don't know whether it's with a knife or on a date.

[di-kut]

Oberyn Martell x Reader: Vermillion, vivacious, and vex. "You will accept the betrothal for her sake, or you may not see her again."

Birdie baby, this is for you. I hope you like it. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. 

Words: 5k

Summary: A short introduction of the events leading up to a mini series I am working on. We see Oberyn’s journey to King’s Landing and his first day in the capital. 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, canon typical violence, canon typical sexual themes

There are songbirds in Dorne which sing each morning as the sun rises, and each night again as it sets. Nest high on Sunspear and dive down from their perches in flurries of brilliant red, feathers like fire against the blue ocean. Oberyn’s mother would sit with him and Elia and tell them stories of the songbirds who are in love with the sun, of the sadness of fading love and of the dawn of the new each morning. They dance for the dawn and for the night and sing for the light of the day. A bright, beautiful song, part of the crashing waves against the shore below, part of home, of Dorne. They have sung every day of Oberyn’s life, and in the days before that, and in the days which will come after. But the day Elia died the birds did not sing.

The news come of the Royal Wedding when Oberyn and Ellaria are away from Sunspear.

Their retinue is quick to pack and to move. To start the journey to arrive back to Sunspear before the ships sail north, to meet with Doran. The air all around them is heavy with sorrow, and with anger. Oberyn is quiet in his fury, and Ellaria is quiet as well, until on their second night travelling when she is not anymore. Is explosive in her anger towards Oberyn. And he returns it, his head filled with the injustices done to his family, to his sister. With thoughts of the Mountain and of the Lannisters. He does not sleep well that night, even after apologies are passed between them, wakes restlessly and listens to the sounds of the camp around them. Thinks of the months which has passed since he had held Ellaria in his arms and finds he misses her. Not in the way he would have expected.

The road is dry and dusty from months without rain. Ellaria rides close to him through the day, reaches for his hand on his reins, and clutches it tightly. Tells him she is scared of what he will do, what will be done to him. That she will be with him through whatever comes. Oberyn holds her hand but he has no words of comfort for her.  

A storm is carried in from the ocean as they ride, it brings no rain but heavy thunder like the sound of gods screaming, and strikes of lightning all around them. Forks of white fire which leave scarred patches against the land. Hits a tree in their path. A gnarled, old trunk which splinters with a sound like the earth crackling. Its trunk, white with age, turned now black and charred, falls onto the road and it takes the rest of the day and some of the night to clear it. Use what they have cut from the trunk to fuel their fires that night and Oberyn thinks they are burning something ancient. Some piece of the world which is lost to them. The others murmur about the storm, about the trip to King’s Landing, about omens. Oberyn stretches his feet before the fire and watches as the log nearest him hisses and spits a plume of red sparks into the dark sky to disperse amongst the stars, the clouds of the storm passed.

He sleeps with his back to Ellaria that night and thinks of the smell of the old world burning. He dreams of dragons, and of Elia.

When they arrive in Sunspear Doran has the quiet look of knowing about him when he sees Oberyn. But he says nothing, gives him no cautions, makes no inquiries. And as they eat together that night Oberyn knows he is thinking of Elia as well. They eat in private, just the two brothers, on a balcony overlooking the black ocean glimmering with silver stripes in the moonlight. The last of the songbirds sing a song of mourning for the setting sun high above them. They drink deep from their cups, and in the morning, Doran lays a hand on Oberyn’s shoulder in warning.

“Do not do anything in haste, brother.” Doran’s eyes are heavy and dark. “I have lost enough to the Iron Throne.”

“We have lost blood, Doran. And it is blood we will get in return.”

Doran lets his hand fall to his side and sits back further in his chair. “And whose blood will you give me, Oberyn?”

Oberyn makes no answer. When he passes Ellaria she rests a hand light against his back and he brushes the warm skin at the top of her arm. Does not miss the look she shares with Doran before they mount for the journey to their waiting ship. The whole party is quiet through the streets of Dorne, are quiet as they make the ship ready, and as they use the oars deep in the belly of their vessel to cut out through the still water until they break the open ocean and unfurl the sail. And only then do the voices raise, as salt and wind and sea seem to wash away the gloom of travelling North.

.

The first blood is Lannister blood. The blade makes a wet, slick sound as it slides out from the man’s flesh. The spurting from the wrist is instant, red like the Lannister banner. Covering the man’s arm and sleeve and the table and dribbling onto the floor. Oberyn steps away so it does not ruin his silks. Ellaria is there, holding a hand in his robe already. The little Lannister in the doorway is no longer speaking, watches with a falling face as the two men stumble from their table, forget the sword which is laying across it, through the door and out into the brothel proper. Oberyn allows himself to be pulled back into Ellaria’s waiting arms. He turns and wraps himself around her familiar shape, tugs her against him. Lets her pull him in closer until his mouth is almost against hers. And he cannot see her twist from him, but he feels it. Only the smallest of movements, but then she turns again, back towards him now. And her mouth is hard against his with desperate purpose. Not because she wants him but because she wants to distract him. And although he has not kissed her in months, he knows the taste of her mouth well enough to understand.

He draws back. The sound of their lips parting tears a hole through his chest, and his head is all full of the argument they had before leaving Dorne, sudden and painful. Gently holds her face with one palm, clutches the silk of her dress against her thigh in the other. Still close enough to her that he barely has to whisper for her to hear him.

“You do not have to kiss me, my love, if you do not want to.” Brushes some of the hair away from her neck.

Ellaria shudders slightly. “I know.”

He moves his head back, so that he can see her properly. Her eyes so familiar. Another home for his heart in her soul. And she looks sad. Feels further away from him than she ever has. He thinks of the way she had looked beneath him in bed. Aches for the way he used to crave the feeling of her beneath him, above him, everywhere around him. For the time before they had only shared their bed with strangers to fill the space between them. Remembers her swollen with his children, four times, her glowing pride at them. Her ferocity in her love for them now. He smiles and brushes his thumb against her cheek. Hears the light clearing of throat from the Lannister and his man in the doorway.

“Why did you come with me?” He asks her. As gentle as his thumb against her cheek.

“Because I love you.”

“I love you with all my heart Ellaria. And I know you love me.” He leans forward again now. Rests his chin against her shoulder, turns his head to murmur against her neck so that their audience cannot hear him. “And I will always love you as my truest friend. But you did not follow me here as my paramour.”

She shudders for the second time in his arms. And for a moment he thinks she will leave him. But she sinks against him, slack, and buries her face into his shoulder. “I came to stop you from being killed in this mission you have set yourself.”

He sighs and hugs her closer. Feels the shift of the space between them become relief at last, building for months. And his heart breaks again and worse because he loves her, knows his love has changed as hers has as well. And he mourns it. The slow loss of her. The slow creeping through their lives as they grew and changed. There is a brief moment of anger, of injustice, that it should happen here. In the city where Elia had been taken from him to be murdered. Is selfishly glad Ellaria is with him all the same, that she will stand by him through the pain which is to come. He presses his hand against her hair to hold her to him.

“You do not trust me?”

“I do not trust them.”

Oberyn turns his head, keeps himself pressed against Ellaria to hide the tears he can feel against his collar. Lays his cheek against her shoulder and stares down at the little golden haired man in the doorway. Tyrion Lannister. The Imp. He looks uncomfortable at the intrusion.

“Prince Oberyn.” Tyrion rocks back and forward on his heels. “I’m here to welcome you to the Capital.”

.

Oberyn thinks that the Red Keep is an appropriate name for the castle on the hill. Buzzing and full of energy and life, built like a prison. Doesn’t quite cover up the stains of blood and screams and ghosts haunting it. The wedding will be soon. All around him the gardens wear the finery to show it, banners and plumes and curtains of Lannister and Tyrell colours flutter against the blue sky. And beneath them the people of noble blood lounge in the sun and smile. Unaware that they are sitting on bones. Unaware that all around them the walls of the Keep are going to pinch and close and suffocate them all. That a thousand years ago dragons would have razed them to the ground. Sitting on stone which would have melted. Oberyn feels it everywhere, feels it pressing down against his back like watching eyes, like waves of the ocean against stone.

He moves restlessly through the walls of green and the tinkling fountains. Has not slept, did not sleep on the ship before they arrived, or afterwards. Ellaria has stayed his paramour only in name, as she had been before, to protect her from the rabble and the crowd and the hunger of the Capital. Had cried when Oberyn returned from his talk with the Imp and kissed him gently on his mouth. Had tasted of goodbyes. His anger had been only brief and faded fast into something sweeter and sadder. He held her hands and they laid back against the silk cushions alone for the first time in so long and talked. About their daughters, about his brother, about their argument. They did not speak of Elia. She still did not want him to kill the Mountain, or Tywin Lannister. Afraid of what they would do to him. And he hushed her and held her to his chest and closed his eyes until she fell asleep and the burning of the midday sun and thickness of incense made his head hurt.

Oberyn takes only a few with him to the Keep, disperses them amongst the grounds and the gardens with a wave of his hand. To make merry and to make friends and to listen. To remember everything. Oberyn wanders with no direction but with purpose. Makes his way through the broad pathed gardens, smells the headiness of the drooping flowers blossoming under the eternal summer sun, still smells the incense from the brothel lingering behind his eyes. Stops at a low wall overlooking the bay below, watches the sway of the ships in the harbour and the docks. Finds the sails of his own ship.

He moves on again, deeper into the gardens. Passes his people as he walks, some of them already mingling, others drifting through. It is Daemon who joins him as he twists through a part of the gardens closest to the walls of the Keep. Falls into step beside him in silence for some time, and then tells him of a group ahead being entertained by one of the members of the King’s Council. The Lord of Whispers, they call him. Daemon tells him there is apparently not a secret in Westeros he does not know. That there are secrets beyond the Narrow Sea whispered in his ear as well. And Oberyn smiles at this and allows himself to be drawn towards it, lets Daemon slip away as he hears the cheer of a gathering, of tinkling cups and laughter. They are around a bend in the path, had been hidden by high hedges, on a higher level overlooking the wide promenade below. Less than fifty of them in all, lazing against stone chairs and cushions and beneath tents. Handsomely dressed servants carry decanters of dark purple wine and plates of lavish arrangements of berries and fruits and nuts.

Oberyn takes the length of the promenade slowly, and as he approaches the stone steps to the higher bank, a man breaks away from the crowd. He wears well cut silks, a dark grey which ripples amongst the brighter colours all around him, the pattern on them subtle and swirling. He shuffles to the top step and sweeps his arms out widely as Oberyn starts up them in welcome. Tucks them back into his own sleeves as Oberyn climbs.

“Prince Oberyn.” The man is short, his bald head gleaming under the heat of the afternoon sun. “You find us having something of a little garden party.”

“It seems I do.”

The guests nearby all laugh as a man in red finishes some story, wine sloshes in their cups and the tinkling sound of empty glasses makes a grating tune amongst the merriment. Oberyn watches them, watches the man before him, watches the way the leaves around them sway in the wind and the boys carrying jugs of wine bead sweat in the heat of the sun. The Lord of Whispers still waits for him at the top.

“Join us,” he says.

“Well,” Oberyn laughs. He does not feel like laughing. Climbs the stairs until he is no longer eye level with the host but above him. Sees the curiosity of the onlookers as they hear his accent, see his golden robes painted with suns glimmer. Whisper amongst themselves. “I can never say no to a party.”

The Lord of Whispers finally smiles. “I am Lord Varys.”

“It seems I need no introduction.”

“I imagine that must be the case for you everywhere you go.” Varys plucks a glass of wine from a passing tray and hands it to Oberyn. “It is my occupation to know a great many things. You arrived earlier than we were expecting you.”

“Dornish ships make the journey quickly.”

Varys is still smiling. He turns slightly, bobs and bows, just slightly. Holds an arm out to beckon Oberyn ahead. And they drift amongst the small gathering, share smiles and laughs with strangers. And his easy smile makes them think he does not notice the way they follow him, the way they stare at the proud suns on his robes, the orange of house Martell beneath, bright against his skin, open almost to his navel. They turn through the tents, and Oberyn finishes his wine. Picks out another. Varys stays by his side and chatters through it all. Gossips about his own guests and waits for Oberyn to return his secrets with secrets. Is patient through it all, but his hidden hands make Oberyn’s own twitch, and his greedy eyes make Oberyn talk only of things which do not matter.

“How are you enjoying the Capital, Prince Oberyn?”

Oberyn leans against the low wall of the garden ledge with his elbows. Presses his back against it. Drinks another sip of the wine. Weak, although it is so rich in colour. He thinks for a moment and then smiles with all his teeth. “It is exactly as I expected it.”

“I see.”

Below them, the promenade is mostly empty but for a trio of palace guards, walking along the path away from them. As Oberyn turns to look over it a girl rounds the corner closest to them, her dress almost too thick for the high summer of the Capital and a dull purple. She glances at the party on the ledge and away again very quickly, her face stony and pale. Not the skin of someone who has grown up in the summer sun.

“Sansa Stark,” Varys says conspiratorially.

Oberyn hums. “The last wolf of the North. I heard about what they did to her brother and her mother. That she married the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.”

The girl is tall for her age, and there are early lines around her eyes, stricken from grief. But she cannot be older than fifteen. Holds herself straight and her chin high, but Oberyn sees her eye almost twitches when the palace guards pass her. Sees her flinch when they are close enough that one of their white capes’ snaps against the skirts of her dress. And he sees the purple bloom around her cheek, fresh and angry, a scabbed cut at the centre of it.

“A wedding present from the King,” Varys says, following Oberyn’s eyes.

“For when they married off a child to a Lannister, or for her to wear to the King’s wedding?”

Varys pulls his hands from his sleeves and locks his fingers together, rests them over his stomach. He blows air out through his teeth in a sound like he’s affecting disapproval. Likes the chance at gossip. Oberyn sees the people flitting about them, waves of silk and laughter, and wonders how many are the famed little birds of the man at his side. “Oh, both I imagine.”

“And what of her husband, he does not tell his nephew to stop?”

“Certainly not.”

“And this boy is King.”

Varys lifts his thumbs from his fingers and shrugs. “He is.”

“A king who beats women and children and holds innocent people hostages. It would seem there is a grand tradition of the types of men to sit in the Iron Throne.”

Varys sips delicately at his own wine, and skin along his forehead creasing as he lifts his brow. “She has found a good friend in the Lady from across the Narrow Sea.”

“This Lady is from Pentos?”

Varys leans in closer to him. “Tywin Lannister would like more allied a little closer to the Targaryen girl who makes a claim to the Iron Throne. I’m sure you would know all about this. Although maybe Braavos would feel a little more familiar.”

“I have heard of her.” Oberyn looks away from Sansa for the first time, glances down at his companion, at his pale, watering eyes. Has not missed the threat against himself and his brother. At the knowledge of their actions against the Baratheon King. “The girl with the dragons.”

“That is what they say, my Prince.”

Oberyn hums. “And what does this Lady from Pentos gain from her friendship with the little wolf?”

“I would hazard to say they find comfort in knowing they are both going to be married into a den of lions.” Varys has a wavering smile, watering like his eyes. Oberyn looks away from him again. Leans his hand against the stone railing, warm under the sun, hot against his fingers so that it almost burns. “Kings Landing is full of girls who are married for the ambitions of others. I’m sure you would know all about that too, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn only wraps his fingers tighter around his cup. Lifts it to be refilled by the cup bearer with a grim smile. Varys watches him with closeness, follows the liquid as it drains steadily, a single gulp till empty. Offers Oberyn a small bowl of berries as he fills his cup again. Oberyn shakes his head and watches until Sansa Stark disappears around the corner of the garden path and is lost in the foliage.

.

Oberyn can feel the lightness of the drink still in his walk. Had not stayed much longer with Varys. Every time he looked up at the looming walls of the Keep above them had felt the feeling of being a child once again, looking up at a tall building in front of moving clouds, like it was going to topple down and crush him. He feels the night without sleep catching up to him in the wine. Has no slept enough to have drunk so much. Had not eaten yet that day. His heart aches for Ellaria, that she would be there to give him advice. To hold his hand.

Oberyn twists and turns further into the garden, away from the Red Keep. Further from the crowds of people in the dwindling sunlight, turning the world red as it sinks into the horizon, sinks beyond the sea. Distant sounds of laughter begin to sound like screams, like cries for help, warped amongst the trees. He tricks himself into thinking about what Elia might have sounded like as she died. That the desperate pleas for the lives of her children are held in the long memories of the trunks around him. He is not quite drunk, light enough to remember the tree struck by lightning on the road to Sunspear. The smell of it burning. His steps speed up as he moves past others, countless others without names or faces and their laughter edges at his skin, beneath his nails, and grits through his teeth. Finds himself deep in the gardens of the Keep, the sound of distant waves, of laughter somewhere beyond hedges, but he is alone. And he forces himself to stop moving. Concentrates on slowing his erratic breathing and the urge to pull his dagger from his belt. To fight away the shadow of his sister’s ghost, following him everywhere in the heat.

The light of the sun is blazing right before it sets. And in his stillness deep in the gardens he suddenly hears it. A soft sound, almost lost in the rustle of the leaves in the sea breeze and the water crashing against rock. And despite the thickness of the trees around him Oberyn realises he must have found his way to the edge of the gardens again. Can hear the swallowing rushing of water meeting water at the delta of Blackwater Rush. And above the sound of waves he can hear a song, high and light and carried on the air, just out of reach.

He moves before he knows what he is doing. Follows the sound of the song through the deepest part of the gardens, and finds himself in an almost maze. Hedges and trees and bushes. There is no path anymore, just worn tracks through the dirt, and he picks his way through them. Sometimes a trick of light through leaves leading him to a dead end, and other times twisting back on itself so he circles, and ends further from the singing than when he began. But like a man possessed he follows it. Finds a stone wall separating the wood beyond from the garden proper. Overgrown with climbing vines and leaves. He can hear the singing here most clearly, a sad and beautiful voice just beyond. He rests his hand against the wall and begins to follow it slowly along, his fingers bumping over dips in the stone and his rings catching against vines. Until his hand slips and plunges into leaves alone. So thick he missed the spot where the wall has a break in it. A hidden doorway, concealed in the hanging vines.

Oberyn stops before it, drops his arm back to his side. Watches the leaves dance slightly on the wind. Rustle like silk. The singer is quiet now, but no longer distant. He has to crouch slightly to clear the top of the arch.

He slips first his hand, his elbow, then his whole arm. Parts the tangle of green with his other hand and ducks beneath the stone. The air is cooler beyond the curtain of leaves, a small alcove. Taller inside so that he can stand straight. There is a small stone bench carved into one wall, the crumbling rock held together by the vines and blooming all over with fragrant white flowers. The smell of them light and sharp, not heady like the flowers of the groomed promenades of the main gardens. Enclosed all around him but for the arch behind him and another ahead, filtering light and more garden beyond. The forgotten room has a dragon carved into stone over the archway ahead.  

Oberyn makes his footsteps silent with practiced ease. Moves carefully. Inches forward and stops before his boots touch the reaching tips of the evening sun through the arch. The garden is small, surrounded all by walls and trees beyond those, and a little part of Oberyn realises that beyond the garden lies the godswood. At its centre there is a small bubbling fountain, not the type favoured by the Lannisters, but more of a trickle. The sound of a fresh stream. It is overgrown and filled with twisting plants and leaning trunks. Cluttered in its neglect. But Oberyn does not linger on those things for long.

There is a woman sitting on a low bench by the fountain. Her hands work steadily over a piece of silk, her needle rhythmic and deft, the catch of blue thread weaving in and out almost hypnotic. A lighter blue than the deep colour of her gown. She faces away from him, so Oberyn glimpses only just the roundness of her cheek through a thick curtain of red hair, dark and rich and in the dwindling light blazing like flames. And her voice. Quiet but echoing everywhere around him, through the garden and against the walls and filling the space of the alcove with song. Like the sound of dawn breaking a grey sky, lighting the darkness of the ocean. And beneath it the crashing of the waves against the shore. And his mother’s voice whispering in his ear of songbirds who are in love with the sun, who mourn the sunset, who sing for fading love.

Oberyn has to turn and press his back to the inside of the little hidden room, out of sight of the garden. He slides slowly down the wall until he is sitting against the cool ground, lays his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. And when his eyes are closed he cannot hear the sounds of Elia screaming, or the laughter of the people from the Keep. He can hear the sound of the ocean and the song filling his head and he can breathe. He pushes his feet to the ground and his elbows to his knees. The heels of his palms into his eyes and he feels drunker than he knows he is. Wishes he were in Sunspear so he could cry like the songbirds in mourning for his sister. He sits there until the last light winks over the walls of the garden and turns the world purple. Purple like the silk of the Stark girl’s dress. Like the bruise around her eye. And he thinks he will ask Daemon about her, about the little wolf, and thinks somehow at the same time that he does not wish to know. Until finally he feels steady enough to push himself to his feet and slip back through the hidden doorway and out into the world.

Oberyn finds himself in a deeper part of the gardens in the dusky purple light. The sound of waves is distant here, has turned to the rushing of water over stone, a river where the sea rushes towards the heart of Westeros. There are no people in this part of the gardens, more of a wilderness now, and he is glad for the chance of being alone. Of trying to clear the aching from his chest from the sound of the song. Still ringing in his ears. Is so distracted that the sound of voices does not stop him until he is almost upon them, just around the next bend. He presses himself to the trunk of the tree nearest him, not ready to see others. Not ready to smile easily at them and play at bravado.

He waits until they are gone before he finds his way back to the main gardens.

The light in Kings Landing lingers on into the night, and the Red Keep is dark and looming and the colour of blood in the long twilight.

Perm tags: @btillys @vercopaanir @damndamer0n @starwarsiscooliguess @space-floozy @hopplessdreamer

[kpophours]

Summer Time

➵ The Boyz: Kevin x fem. reader / one shot, summer trip AU, college AU / fluff

➵ warnings: none

➵ word count: 2.6k

Gentle wind sweeps over you, and almost immediately, goosebumps rise all over your body. You just smile contently, and turn your head towards the sky, inhaling deeply and enjoying the soft sound of the waves. You taste the salt of the ocean on your lips when your tongue darts out to wet them. It’s already quite warm for late Spring, so you’re barefooted, able to bury your toes in the cool sand underneath your feet. You had been surprised yet pleased when Kevin had asked you to join him and some of his friends on a day trip to the beach, and being here now, you’re more than happy he did. 

The day has been great so far - filled with lots of fun, laughter and sunshine, even though you were sadly unable to go swimming, the sea still being too cold to do so. So instead, you had resorted to basking in the sun, playing beach volleyball and building sand castles. Together with Jacob, you had spent almost an hour under the blindingly bright midday sun, searching for pretty seashells to take back to your dorm as a small souvenir. That was, until you had been interrupted by Younghoon’s horrified high-pitched screech when a seagull had suddenly decided to chase him. The tall boy had sprinted up and down the beach, trying to shake off the bird, and making you laugh until your belly hurt - thankfully, the seagull had finally decided to let him be, and simply flown off into the sky again.

Now that the sun has slowly begun to set, you’re all searching for driftwood, wanting to build a bonfire and to make some s’mores, something you’ve been really looking forward to. Kevin walks a few feet ahead of you, wearing a ridiculously big straw hat - which he still somehow makes work though -, and bending over from time to time to pick up another piece of driftwood, all while humming a soft, familiar tune under his breath. You can’t help but smile when you listen to his voice, and close your eyes for a few seconds while continuing to walk. When you open your eyes again, you squeal - Kevin has come to a sudden halt, and is now standing directly in front of you, his dark eyes softly boring into yours. He giggles at your surprised expression and playfully pinches your cheek. “Never walk with your eyes closed, silly. Knowing you, you’ll just stumble and probably hurt yourself.”, he says affectionately, and you blush and roll your eyes at him, but nod nevertheless. He is right, after all. “Can you take this back to the others? I’ll search for some more and will join you guys shortly.”, he then asks, and, after you nod again, drops some pieces of driftwood into your arms. You stagger under the weight, but give him a soft smile. He returns it, gives you a mock salute, and continues to tramp towards some sand dunes not too far away. You just sigh and turn around to walk back towards your little camp, joining the small group of Kevin’s friends again. 

“Oh here, let me help you.”, Juyeon offers the second he spots you staggering towards him, and you thank him when he takes the driftwood out of your arms. “Y/N, come join me!”, Marie, Juyeon’s girlfriend, says, waving at you. You smile  and fall down beside her, stretching your legs out in front of you and wiggling your toes. She smiles as well, and hands you a bottle of water. “You should drink something, you’ve been in the sun all day. I hope you put on enough sunscreen this morning!”, she says, and you chuckle. “Thanks, mom.”, you just say playfully, but her worried words actually warm your heart. You take the bottle from her, and she grins at you, before turning around to watch Juyeon stacking the driftwood, a dreamy expression crossing her face. Without wanting to, your eyes wander towards Kevin, who’s currently trying to climb one of the sand dunes, but almost failing to do so as the soft sand continues to slip away under his feet, making it almost impossible to walk on. You press your lips into a tight line to stifle a giggle, and jump when Marie suddenly pokes your side. “You like him, don’t you?”, she whispers, low enough so no one except you can hear it, and you shoot her a surprised look. Her face is open and inviting, eyes kind, but you just shrug, averting your eyes and taking some sand into your left hand, letting it run through your fingers - you don’t really like talking about your feelings, especially not with someone you’ve only just met. “He likes you too.”, Marie just says, and you whip your head around to face her again. She just winks at you and leans back on her elbows, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “What makes you say that?”, you finally ask, and she chuckles. “I’ve known Kevin for a long time now. He’s never asked a girl to join one of our trips before, because he’s usually too shy to do so. That can only mean you are someone special to him.” You don’t answer and simply look back to watch Kevin, who has finally managed to climb up the sand dune and is now busy picking up some more driftwood. You gnaw on your lower lip, thinking about what Marie just said. 

You and Kevin have gotten to know each other thanks to a shared class, both of you being enrolled at the same college. For some reason, he had chosen to sit beside you on the first day of said class, striking up a conversation and complimenting some of your doodles he had seen you draw into your notebook, showing you some of his own in return. Even on that first day, you had already noticed that talking to him was just... easy. And by now, you can’t deny that your heart always skips a beat when you see his small smile or hear his soft giggle. You’re also definitely thinking way too much about how it would feel like to run your fingers through his soft looking, dark hair. You truly like him and enjoy his company, and all his friends have been very nice and welcoming today too. But you yourself are too shy to say anything about this to him - you’re not brave enough to make the first move. Knowing Kevin though, he’s probably never going to make the first move either... You shake your head at that thought, sigh and empty your bottle of water, leaning back on your elbows and closing your eyes as well. 

You must have nodded off, because the next thing you know is someone softly chuckling beside you, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. You scrunch up your nose and slowly open your eyes, blinking a few times until Kevin comes into focus, sitting cross legged beside you and looking at you, amusement written all over his face. He grins when he sees your sleepy expression, and shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Unbelievable - everyone is working so hard for the bonfire and what are you doing? Taking a nap!”, he jokes, and you just stick out your tongue at him, before standing up to stretch and brush the sand off your clothes. Kevin jumps up as well, helping you get rid of the sand on the back of your shirt, his hand lingering a bit longer on the small of your back than necessary. You feel your whole body heat up under his touch, and quickly clear your throat, feeling a bit awkward, but giving your friend a shy smile nevertheless, which he immediately returns. He seems to be wanting to say something to you, but before he can do so, he gets interrupted by Hyunjae: “Does anyone know how to build a fire?” Everyone looks at one another, expression clueless and questioning, until you chuckle. “I can try, I was a scout once.”, you offer, deciding not to tell them that your scouting experience was not only very brief, but also quite some time ago. 

You begin to build a cone-like structure with some small pieces of driftwood, Kevin standing beside you looking quite impressed by your skills while Hyunjae just observes you critically. “First of all, we need to use the smallest pieces of wood as kindling, then we can slowly add some bigger pieces to fuel the flames and afterwards, we can finally use the big logs you guys found.”, you explain after you’ve finished stacking the smaller pieces, taking the matches from Hyunjae and lighting one, carefully holding it to the kindling and patiently waiting for it to catch fire. Afterwards, you do exactly what you’ve just told the others, and soon, the bonfire is burning bright and high. “Our fiery queen.”, Jacob says, shooting you an angelic smile and giving you a high five, while Younghoon just stares at the flames, his big puppy eyes wide and round while his mouth hangs slightly open. “Bear Grylls is shaking right now.”, Kevin murmurs, and you just grin and playfully roll your eyes at him. 

Suddenly, he slips his hand into yours to pull you with him towards some of the pillows Marie has placed on the ground around the fire pit to make sitting on the ground a bit more comfortable. As soon as you’ve sat down, Kevin lets go of your hand again, finally taking off his ridiculous straw hat and beginning to fiddle with it, probably trying to keep his hands busy. You’re both silent, but it’s a very comfortable silence, you don’t really feel the need to make conversation right now. Jacob has begun to strum his guitar and is playing a soft tune, while the others are talking in low voices. Juyeon and Marie are laying on their backs, staring into the sky - observing how its colors slowly shift from hues of purple and red to soft blues -, their hands intertwined, sharing secret smiles and giggles. Younghoon and Hyunjae are deep in conversation, the latter one’s loud laugh piercing the quiet atmosphere from time to time. You can’t help but smile while you observe the others, curling your toes into the cool sand. 

“I- uhm, I just wanted to thank you for coming today, I truly had a great time with you.”, Kevin suddenly says, and you whip your head around to look at him. His eyes are trained on the straw hat in his hands, as if he’s afraid to look at you. Your lips twitch and you tilt your head to one side. “I’m glad you asked me to come. It was a fun day, your friends are really nice.”, you answer softly, and he finally looks up, locking eyes with you and giving you a relieved smile. “I’m happy you think so. I know meeting lots of new people can be a bit overwhelming sometimes, especially if you’re not really much of an extrovert.”, he says, and you nod in agreement, tucking your legs up to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. “Why did you ask me to come with you, by the way? I’ve been wondering, we only share one class and haven’t really hung out outside of it yet, and we only really talk via text…”, you drift off, biting your lower lip, and look at Kevin in anticipation. His gaze darts from you to the bonfire and back again, the flames softly illuminating his face. “I- uhm... I just… well, I think you are really… nice.”, he says, scratching his ear and ducking his head. You suppress a smile and raise both eyebrows. “I am nice?”, you can’t help but chuckle, and he laughs, a tad embarrassed by his own lame answer. “Well, I just… I like you. Every time we talk, I really enjoy it - you’re fun to talk to. So, I just wanted to get to know you better, I guess.”, he finally explains, apparently feeling a bit bolder now, and shrugs. You avert your eyes, a shy yet pleased smile gracing your lips. “I like you too.”, you mumble, and duck your head when you see a smile bloom on his face at your words. There’s the lightest of touches on your hand, and suddenly, Kevin intertwines his fingers with yours again. You look up, surprise written all over your face, and he gives you a soft smile which you return. “You want to take a little stroll?”, he asks, voice low, and you nod, letting yourself be pulled to your feet by him, your hand still securely held in his. The others don’t say anything, but you can feel their eyes following your every step - you decide to just ignore them for now. 

Dusk has fully settled in by now and night is falling, the first stars already lazily twinkling down at you. Kevin gently swings your intertwined hands between your bodies and you grin, following him towards where the sea meets the land. The soft sound of the waves drowns out the sound of Jacob’s guitar as well as the laughter of the others, and it feels like you’re truly alone right now. Your heart begins to speed up, hammering fast inside your chest, and you feel your hands get clammy. You jump and yelp when one of the waves suddenly comes close enough to lap at your naked feet, the coolness of the water making you shiver. Kevin breaks into loud laughter at your shocked expression, and you shove him playfully. He loses his balance, falling onto his back and pulling you down with him. You land in a pile of scrambling arms and legs, giggling uncontrollably until suddenly, Kevin’s lips are on yours. 

You inhale sharply, before you melt against him. He wraps his arms around your back to pull you even closer, while you push both hands into his dark hair - it feels just as silky as you’ve always imagined. After a few seconds, you pull back to catch your breath, staring down at Kevin, who’s looking at you with soft, dark eyes and a happy expression on his face. You break into a smile and nuzzle his nose, and he pulls you even closer, playfully kissing both your cheeks and nose before nipping on your lower lip. “I guess that’s one way of getting to know me better.”, you finally mumble, and he chuckles, pushing some of your hair back behind your left ear and nodding in agreement. “Absolutely. It might even be my favorite way, actually.” You can’t help but grin at his cheekiness, before diving in for another kiss. He just smiles against your lips and hums appreciatively. 

Suddenly, there’s a yell coming from the bonfire: “Y/N, KEVIN, WE’RE MAKING S’MORES NOW! ARE YOU COMING OR SHOULD WE LEAVE YOU ALONE AND EAT ALL THE S’MORES WITHOUT YOU?” Before either of you can answer, there’s a slapping sound followed by a yelp, and a second later, Maria yells: “DON’T WORRY, HYUN IS JUST BEING STUPID, AS ALWAYS! WE WON’T EAT EVERYTHING, SO DON’T WORRY! JUST TAKE YOUR TIME AND COME BACK... WHENEVER!” 

Kevin and you freeze for a few seconds, before you both break into loud laughter. You bury your face into his neck and he chuckles, one of his hands rubbing gentle circles against the small of your back. “Let’s stay here a little longer, before we join the others again.”, he murmurs, and you just nod in agreement, deeply inhaling the salty night air and Kevin’s unique scent. 

For now, you’re just happy to be in his arms and to bask in the warmth of his body - the s’mores can definitely wait a bit longer. 

[masterlist] | [requests] 

[littledrummeraussie]

remedy.

Word count: 2000+ Author’s Note: Bathtub cuddles and some light(?) smut.

masterlist.

It was like Ashton had a sixth sense when it came to you. He knew from the way you’ve opened the door and greeted him if you’ve had a good day or a bad one – if your co-workers were annoying you, if you had a particularly hard thing you had to deal with, or if your day simply was the don’t ask category.

He always had a solution for all your moods – ordering in when you were tired, a massage for your tense muscles after your stressful days, movies and couch cuddles to clear your mind from all the thoughts clogging your brain. And when things were getting really rough, the answer was always a nice, hot bath.

Over the years he had learned what to put in your bath based on your needs – lavender for your cramps, citrus for detoxing, rose for unwinding and relaxing. He knew where to reach when you had a cold or a migraine, what to add when you needed a pick-me-up, and how to tickle your senses if he was in the mood for some fun.

Ashton was an expert when it came to the temperature of the water, the lights, sounds and smells in the bathroom, and if you needed that extra soft towel you’ve liked so much. He was ready to bring you a glass of your favourite wine, a cup of tea or some homemade lemonade, and sometimes he even fed you with some grapes or strawberries while sitting on the edge of the tub. And you also knew you didn’t need to ask him twice to join you in the water.

So when he heard you silently closing the door and toeing off your shoes in the quietest way possible, he knew your day was just terrible. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry or annoyed, you were just simply done – and if nothing else, these small details were enough for him to know it was time for some stress relief. He stepped to you, drawing you into his arms, and even though your words were resisting him, your body willingly melted against his.

”Ash, I’m– I’m not in the mood–” you sighed heavily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

”Shhh, I know, I know. It’s okay,” he ran his hand up and down your back, pressing a small kiss on your temple. ”I’ll make it all better, I promise.”

You closed your eyes and let him rub your back for a few moments, trying to let go of all the pent-up tension. His warmth and scent were a comfort, and you’ve been holding onto him more and more strongly, grabbing the back of his shirt. His fingers ran up to your neck and into your hair, slowly tilting your head back to press his lips against your forehead.

”Do you trust me?” he asked, holding up one of his pinky fingers, and you could already feel yourself smiling. It became a ritual, a little habit for the two of you – it wasn’t just a question to fill the silence. It was much more than that – do you trust me to take care of you, do you trust me with your mind, body and soul, do you trust me to heal you, to make this all better? Do you trust me to give up control, and just be as you are, while I take care of all your needs?

”Always,” you breathed, hooking your finger around his and slightly shaking your hands.

”Okay,” Ash smiled back at you, giving a short peck on your lips. ”Sit down and wait for me?”

You nodded, already sinking down on the couch as he made his way upstairs, running through his mental checklist. He started the bath for you, finding the temperature you’ve liked, then looked around in the cabinet for something to ease your anxious mind. He chose some Himalayan pink salt and vanilla – nothing too heavy, just enough to help you relax and make you feel better. He added those to the water, then lit some candles around the bathroom. The sun was slowly going down in the distance, the light shining through the windows – if he timed everything perfectly, the candles would give a nice, warm glow to the end of your bath.

When everything was ready, Ashton went back to you to escort you up the stairs. He took your hand, giving it a light squeeze, and led you up to the bathroom. You could feel your muscles relax just from the view and scent, and Ash knew he was on the right way. He pulled your clothes off one by one, making sure to leave light kisses on your skin, to caress every part he uncovered, to show you how much he cared about you. He held your hand as you’ve sunk into the water, enjoying the warmth that surrounded you. Ash smiled at you and gave your hand one last squeeze, ready to let you soak in your relaxing bath, when you’ve grabbed onto him, slightly pulling him back.

”Join me? Please?”

The small plea stopped him, and made him squeeze your hand again. Ashton couldn’t think of a time when he’d said no to such request from you, and he did not plan on starting now. He pulled off his shirt, throwing it into the hamper, his pants and boxers following. You scooted forward in the tub, making room for him as he sank behind you, his legs bracketing your body. With a sigh you fell back against him, resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you a little closer.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes as his fingers started slowly going up and down your arms, painting sudsy patterns on your skin. His lips found the soft spot behind your ear, pressing them against it lightly, nuzzling his nose all the way to the tip of your shoulder, following the path his lips previously kissed. Hands resting on his knees, you’ve squeezed them, encouraging him to continue his ministrations – there was no better cure for a day like this than your boyfriend making sure you were well taken care of.

His teeth gently nipped on your earlobe, his breath hot against your already heated skin. He kissed into your ear which made you giggle, making Ashton laugh as well.

”Better?” he asked you, resting his chin on top of your head.

You nodded against his neck, a small sound escaping you, somewhere between a satisfied “hmmm” and a “yeah”. He chuckled, kissing your temple, the corner of your eye, your cheek, leaning forward until his lips brushed against the curve of your lips. After that he leaned back against the tub, hands resting on your shoulder, massaging your muscles. His fingers ran down your spine, and back up to your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you relax.

”You have magical hands,” you whispered, melting under his touch.

”Of course I do – I’m the drummer,” he replied, making you roll your eyes.

”Wouldn’t be you without that comment,” you said, and Ashton snorted.

”Sorry for ruining the moment,” he laughed, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

”I might forgive you if you just keep doing that.”

Ash hummed, running his wet fingers through your hair, combing the strands that escaped your messy bun back into place. His nails lightly scratched against your scalp, making you let out a quiet moan. You could feel him smile behind you – he knew exactly what he was doing. One arm wrapped around your chest, just under your breasts, fingers caressing your side as his other hand made its way down from your neck, over your collarbones, fingertips following the tiny water drops on your skin. A moment later you could feel his thumb and forefinger gently running over your nipple, giving it the smallest tease, just a slight little pinch.

You leaned back to brush your lips against his neck, nuzzling against his throat, feeling every breath he took as his fingers and hands slowly ran over your body, touching every inch, every dip and curve, every scar, every soft and sensitive spots, but only for a moment. His chest was vibrating against your back as he quietly hummed in your ear, making you melt against him completely.

Then one of his hands slipped over your knee, drawing wet patterns on it, the other slowly mirroring his movement. You could feel him slowly brushing them over the inside of your thighs, parting them with the lightest of touches. Your breath caught as his fingers ran over your sensitive skin, finding the spots he knew will drive you crazy. Ash started out with gentle strokes, just adding enough pressure to make you squirm, to make you part your legs more, giving him enough space. When the first moan left your lips, his fingers slipped inside, rubbing against that spot that made your thighs shake. His thumb massaged you with a little more pressure now, and you threw your head back on his shoulder, lowly whining against his neck.

Ashton’s fingers picked up the pace, pleasuring you until your toes curled and you grabbed onto his arms, nails digging into his skin as your body shook from the ecstasy and desire he’d caused you. His other hand slid up to your jaw, angling your face towards his, and he kissed you through your orgasm, tongue slipping into your mouth, lips lightly nipping your lips.

Finally his hands stopped, pulling back and resting back around your waist as he once again pulled you close to his chest. His lips kissed your hair, brushing against your temple and he continued pressing small kisses there as you both relaxed in the water. Neither of you needed to say much – his fingers playing with your fingers, interlocking them on your stomach was enough for the both of you. Ashton held you as you’ve watched the sun going down, the candles painting the bathroom in a warm orange-yellow glow.

”You’re good to go?” he asked finally in a whisper, fingers lightly running over your legs, making them shake a little more.

”Aftershocks,” you murmured as an answer, and he chuckled. ”Magical hands.”

”Anything for you, beautiful,” he kissed the back of your neck, making you shiver. ”Alright, scoot over.”

You gathered all your strength, ordering your muscles to work and move forward so Ash could get out of the tub. Your legs still felt a little weak, but you did not mind it at all. If all of your bad days could be cured like this, so be it.

Ashton already wrapped a towel around his waist, and held his hand out for you to help you out of the bathtub as well. He held you around the waist as he reached for the fluffy towel he chose for you, and wrapped it around your body, pulling you close to his chest when he was done. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder again, breathing in the scent of vanilla and him, and you nuzzled happily into his skin.

”You don’t seem like someone who wants to walk,” he commented, rubbing his hand over your hips. ”Was it that good?”

”Hmm, much better,” you sighed against his neck, and he pressed his lips to your hair again.

”Okay, I see duty calls,” he laughed lightly, picking you up in his arms, and made his way to the bedroom with you. ”The things I do for you…”

”You’re the best, Ash,” you kissed his cheek, the side of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

”Even better than that guy you like on TV so much?” he asked with a cheeky grin, and you snorted, pushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

”If we order in tonight, I might give you a blowjob until our food arrives.”

”That’s a deal I can’t say no to,” he grinned, putting you down on the bed, already making his way to the living room. ”Let me just grab my phone.”

But before he could take another step, you gripped the edge of his towel, pulling him back, loosening the knot holding the towel up on his waist. He knew that sparkle in your eyes, and it made his knees weak.

”I think we can put a hold on that order,” you bit your lip with a cheeky smile. ”What do you think?”

[unicyclehippo]

lonely for beau again, sorry for the trauma lol

Meditation never comes easy but with practice it comes, at least. She settles into it like she does a new pair of boots; it pinches a little, discomfort making itself felt, and Beau wants to move and shift, wants to tap her feet against the constraint of all the stillness.

She forces herself to remain. To breathe. Concentrate past the discomfort to that moment where the energy running through her nerves doesn’t prickle and buzz anymore but hums instead.

There’s something she’s been wanting to try.

//

It takes a while to get to a point where all she has to do is breathe. Blink. Coat the inside of her eyelids with the depths of a blue sea. Her ki thrums with intent. She’s used sparks of it before to stun and feel the resonance of energy, of strengths and weaknesses, but she’s never experimented with it like this. But she’s far from any teachers right now and she has more than enough time on her hands and—if she’s being honest? She’s curious.

//

‘You want me to what?’

‘Talk, le Pual.’

‘Just...talk? Like I am right now to you?’ He seems confused by the very simple instructions and Beau barely—just fucking barely—holds back from dragging her hands down her face. It’s an expression of frustration, Fjord would say, and frustration looks terrifying on her.

She doesn’t want to terrify the guy. Just. Beau’s left eye twitches.

‘Marius.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Relax.’

‘Please don’t punch me.’

‘I’m not—I’m not going to punch you,’ she huffs, a little grit to the words, a little gravel. ‘Just - you know how to speak Sylvan, right?’

Marius slides from one extreme—cowering—to his other—primping. He drags long fingers through his swoop of hair and nods, tilts his head so the light streaming in the starboard porthole catches his eyes. ‘Wood elf on my mothers side. Taught me when I was younger—I practiced daily with a very handsome gentleman—’

‘I don’t need to know that. Better yet—if you really gotta tell me your life’s fuckin’ story, why don’t you do it in Sylvan?’ Beau clicks her fingers like she’s just thought of it and not told him to do exactly that a full five minutes ago.

Marius frowns. ‘But you won’t—ah. I see.’

Beau claps him on the shoulder. Shakes him the smallest bit. ‘Don’t look so upset. At least I’ll be listening.’

He tilts his head consideringly.

Beau sighs. ‘Five gold.’

‘Done!’ Marius palms the coins and counts them cheerfully into his purse. Turning back to the breakfast mush Caduceus had left for everyone on the stone, he ladles a few slops into a bowl and sits.

Beau joins him. Waves for him to begin. After a moments hesitation, Marius starts to talk between mouthfuls.

The language is strange. Beautiful. A trilling sing-song language that seems to rely heavily on tonal shifts, vowels dominating the words, very few harsh letters involved, and guttural sounds fewer still. There’s a curious trill-click Beau picks up on—a repeated word? Maybe indicating a question?—and the longer she thinks on it, curiosity ticking over in her mind, the more she pulls on the ki that buzzes to the forefront of her mind.

That clicking trill again! If only she could figure out what it meant. She pictures her mind—as clear and open as the sea, as full, as dangerous as the sea—and the unfamiliar words begin to sink beneath the surface.

‘—mother once lived in a village to the north—’

She loses it with the shock of clarity, the dual sensation of hearing one word and understanding the other. The immediacy of it, the volume, is nothing like learning a new language—she has learned several in her years, and even with Halfling she has to translate, has to hear a word and connect it to the meaning in her mind.

Hearing Marius now was not that.

Hearing Marius now was—impossible. Improbable. Incredible.

‘Did I...do something?’

Beau jerks, blinks out of the heavy frown she has levelled at Marius. ‘Huh?’

‘It’s just...you’re glaring at me.’

‘That’s just how my face is.’

Marius nods easily. ‘Unfortunate, that.’

‘You’re unfortunate. Fuck you.’ Beau slams up from the table. Before she can leave the mess, she slaps a hand on the doorframe, wheels back to face Marius, staring after her with mush dripping from his spoon. ‘Hey, thanks for doing that for me.’

He shrugs. ‘You paid me.’

‘I... Right.’

‘Did it help?’

Beau drums her fingers on the salt-crusted wood of the frame. Presses her lips flat, thoughtful. ‘Maybe.’

//

Gallan, their carpenter, knows a language that sounds like burbling water and either he’s just a good natured dude or he’s used to strange requests and he keeps up a one-sided conversation for long minutes as Beau listens. He tells her about the damage barnacles do to the bottom of ships, of reefs, of strange creatures like watery termites that bore holes into wooden planks. He tells her about whales and jellyfish and immense sharks the size of whales—not that he’s ever seen one so big but a friend of a friend, you understand—and mermaids prettier than anything with the most incredible voices and eyes like golden coins and that one can block their ears from ensorcellement with wax or cotton.

//

She doesn’t tell anyone. No one asks and it has always been Beau’s habit to keep her cards so close to her chest that even she can’t see them. Days pass and she hears Marius’s life story twice and knows more about ships than she ever needed to. And she learns, against her wishes, that even when she can understand when others talk, no matter the language they use, it doesn’t make her feel less lonely. If anything, it makes things a little more stark to hear the words and know that they were never intended for her.