#written for a drabble prompt

[batbirdies]

“What are you-” Tim blinked, standing in his doorway in his underwear, hair mussed and holding his ribs gingerly.

Dick smiled and held up the containers in his hands. “I brought food.”

“Oh… uh,ok just um–” Tim glanced behind him, registering the load of laundry still sitting on his couch from three days ago, the sink full of dishes and the overflowing trash, the spread of coffee mugs and papers over his kitchen counters. He grimaced. 

“You can come in, just- sorry for the mess, I didn’t know you were coming,” he mumbled as Dick stepped past and went straight for the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry about it. You’re injured, it happens.” Dick shrugged as he set down the large stack of tupperware on the one free square foot of counterspace. 

Tim chose not to bring up that nearly all of the mess was from before the mentioned injury, though he was willing to bet Dick knew that already anyway. “Did you… cook?” Tim stared at the containers, knowing he was being a little weird but he just woke up when Dick knocked and he was still on painkillers and the brainfog was lingering more than usual.

“Yeah, it’s just chili and some corn bread, but I figured you wouldn’t be up for cooking for a few days with the ribs and arm.” Dick started clearing counter space, carefully stacking papers in alternating directions so they weren’t shuffled together and setting them on his laptop keyboard, which he closed and unplugged, setting it to the side.

“I could have just ordered in.” Tim shuffled back inside from the entryway, heading to the couch and grabbing a zip up hoodie to slip into. Putting a shirt on over his head was annoyingly difficult at the moment.

“Yeah,” Dick agreed, looking up. “But this way I had an excuse to check in. Since you’ve been radio silent since last night and all.” The raised eyebrow was just that hint of scolding.

“I was sleeping–” 

“That’s what I figured.” Dick held up his hands, dropping the act. “This way I get to confirm that you’re still alive and make sure you eat real food.” As he spoke he grabbed onto Tim’s sweatshirt ties, tugging him toward the kitchen bar stools. 

“Now sit, I’m making us dinner.”

Tim sat, watching Dick move around his messy kitchen, tidying just as much as he was “cooking”, humming under his breath as he went. He leaned his elbows on the counter, still drooping from the pain meds and the pain itself. He hadn’t expected the company, and normally he’d be embarrassed by the mess and being caught sleeping into the early evening but Dick didn’t seem surprised or concerned. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Tim halfheartedly mumbled, stomach growling pitifully as it reminded him that sleeping all day meant not eating nearly enough.

“Yeah yeah,” Dick dismissed, pulling bowls down from the cabinet above the microwave. “I wanted to.”

Tim swallowed, surprised by the sudden pressure in his chest and cleared his throat. “...Thanks.” He barely managed after a too long silence, voice coming out oddly strangled. 

Dick looked back at him, eyes alert, scanning his face before his expression softened. 

“Anytime.”

[bunnyscrypt]

“a devouring hunger, a complete, violent passion, like a storm.”

pairing. college au - jason todd x reader

based loosely off the scene from may (2002). disclaimer: this story is based in a separate universe to my upcoming self indulgent college au!jason todd universe.

♱ synopsis: . jason todd is a transfer student. he's tall, he’s big, and he has gorgeous hands. he hangs with the football crowd despite not playing the sport himself, you keep your distance however. he’s infatuated with you though. you find him…. intriguing. 


♱ cw: reader is very gothic and black girl coded but no descriptors (anyone can read), fluff, college!au, smut ♡


you were the one that told jason it was best that you stayed away from each other. you just didn’t trust him, not with the crowd he hung around, but he seemed sweet and sincere - sad eyes that bore in to yours as you turned him down. almost feeling bad until the eyes of his friends watching made you walk up away leaving him looking dejected. oh well.

you’d still sneak glances at him every now and then. admiring the outline of his profile, the hook of his nose. the flex of his arms at the slightest movements. oh and his hands - the thought of them sending your brain in to a tizzy. you’d wonder how they’d feel against your skin.

jason was upfront with his fixation on you. long glances, not caring if he got caught. asking around about you, ignoring all the warnings from his friends about how weird you are. taking any chance to talk to and be near you.

it’s what put him on your radar and made you suspicious, but you will admit he is handsome and he was always so sweet with you. 

better to be safe than sorry though. 

the library smells like cinnamon, wood, marijuana, and hand sanitizer

you sat in a love seat, reading as you listened to the sound of pages turning and pens writing, eyes occasionally darting towards the sleeping boy sitting at the table across the isle. head on his arm as his hand hangs in the air. you try to focus on your book, but again you glance back up at jason’s hand.

it just looks so inviting.

chewing on your bottom lip, contemplating.

your body shakes as you slowly get up, dropping your book on the seat. moving towards him with anxious breath. eyes wide, like a predator hunting its prey.

kneeling besides him, your eyes dart over his large frame, stopping at his hand as you observe it in fascination. your own itching to hold his. one more look at his face- he breathes slowly, soft snores leaving his lips.

inching your head closer to his hand, you lift his fingers with your cheek. oh his skin is so soft. his stillness, gives you the courage to keep going. unaware of the audience that watches you.

eyes fluttering shut as you press your cheek further into his palm- feelings of peace and comfort filling you. his hand cups your cheek. a perfect fit. letting out a sigh of content, you feel his fingers twitch.

pause.

“hello?”

your eyes dart open, he starts to lift his head and you back away. standing up quick, not daring to move any further. jason rubs his eyes with a sniff before seeing you in front of him like a frightened deer.

before he can say anything! you swiftly walk away, almost tripping in the process while jason watches with confused and concerned eyes, following as you leave.

“i told you she was a freak, man.” his friend appears by his side, shoving his phone into his face to show him the footage of your actions.

his head darts back to where you once stood, thumb subconsciously rubbing his now warm palm.

night falls and you're laying in bed — ignoring the movie playing on your laptop as you think about jasons hand. your fingers grazing where his was.

reminiscing on his past interactions with you. the lingering looks and soft touches. kind smiles and rambling words even if you never said anything back and when you did it was in a blunt and flat tone. he just enjoyed your presence.

you come to the realization that you liked it. you liked him. you liked holding his attention and you desire him carnally.

a knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts — thinking its just your roommate who forgot her key.

jason greets you at the door, donning a band muscle tee that makes his arms look good.

“hey.”

“what are you doing here?”

“can we talk?”

sitting on the edge of your bed side by side— the silence is comfortable. to you that is. jason doesn't know where to start, his brain going a mile a minute trying to figure out where to start but to his surprise you beat him to it.

“you think im weird.”

it wasn't a question and he glances at you to see you're already looking at him. his gaze is a soft one as he looks in to your intense yet curious one.

“no, i know you're weird.” a small smile graces his lips. your eyes flicking down to his hands.

his elbow bumps yours, “but hey, so what i like weird.”

you meet his gaze again, his going from your eyes to your lips.

“i really want to kiss you.” his voice dropped into a whipser.

“is that all you want to do?” your question makes his eyebrows raise, mouth opening a bit.

grabbing his hand, you place kisses along his thumb to his wrist as you place it on your cheek, eyes never leaving his.

thats how jason wound up on his back, staring into your eyes as you rolled your hips. grunts and moans leaving his plump lips.

jason todd was a loud lover.

sloppily sucking on his fingers while he used his free hand to knead and grip at your tits and hip.

"so good. you feel so good around me - im gonna make you all mine." jasons brows furrow, watching the spit trail down your chin and his wrist.

he shudders as you gyrate your hips faster, “r-right after i take you on a real date.”

he moans loudly, bucking his hips up into you. your clit grinding against his happy trail. breathless moans escape past your lips.

"'m yours, jay.” you whimper, your sticky walls throbbing around him.

"oh my god" he groans. reaching behind your neck to pull you down against him to fuck you harder. hips slamming into you with desperation.

you pant like a puppy, biting into his shoulder hard enough to make him hiss. the bed knocking against the headboard as he pummeled against your g-spot.

"m'cumming!”

he keeps the pace as you cum with a load groan- body trembling on top of his as he pulls out to jerk against your ass.

catching your breath, you pick your head up to stare at his face — eyes closed with droplets of sweat on his forehead, licking his lip as he regains his composure. he's so pretty.

you trace your finger over nose to his lips making him open his eyes. “hi gorgeous," a smile tugs at his lips.

"you okay?" his fingers tenderly graze your cheek.

"mhm" you pause as you take in his gestures. the softness in his eyes. "can we go on our real date tomorrow?”

he smirks, letting out a low chuckle. "yeah, that's perfect for me”

[winterrrnight]

you are obsessed with your husband’s freckles <3 more on this! <3 a husband!rafe x wife!reader blurb <3 cw: none! just a lot of fluff, intentional use of lower case <3 dedicated to the one and only @chenslucy; happy birthday anna!! 💐 I love love love you and i know I am late, but this is my small token of gratitude of how supportive you've been since the beginning 🦕

part of this little universe <3

the moonlight cascades over the white sheets under which you and your husband are snuggled close to each other. it’s nearing 2 in the morning, and rafe is asleep with his bare back facing you, your arm slinging over his waist and your face nestled against his back as you let his warmth flood over you completely.

you watch his body rise and fall with each relaxing breath he takes in his deep slumber, your own mind at complete peace watching him take his proper rest.

the silver glow casting through the windows of your bedroom dances along rafe’s skin, the small freckles littered all over his shoulders lighting up under the moonlight. you gently run your fingertips over the freckles, letting out a soft sigh as you feel his skin under your own touch. his skin is a complete contrast to his brooding demeanor; it feels so soft and supple beneath your touch that you glide your fingertips effortlessly over his shoulders.

his freckles though, as always, stand out the most to you as you shower them with your gentle touch. you reach out with the fingertip of your index finger and gently tap over each freckle as you quietly count them under your breath, something you do often when you find yourself awake late at night. it helps you fall into a slumber yourself, the activity feeling equivalent to counting sheep. sometimes, you find this small activity distracting you from your stresses and anxieties, your mind busying itself with wanting to know the exact number of freckles littered over his shoulders which over the course of time helps you feel more relaxed over the little things that are bothering you.

your finger trails over to his other shoulder to resume the count, the numbers progressing under your breath as you tap every freckle you can spot under the pale light of the moon.

you reach what you assume is the last freckle and stop the count, letting out a deep exhale as you finish the count. each time you do this certain activity, you turn up with a different number, although the result is always quite close to all the other results you get. some freckles go unnoticed by you, and sometimes you spot new ones that you are sure weren’t there before. but that’s the beauty of it; it’s not a predictable activity, it gives you a new conclusion every single time, and that makes you appreciate the freckles on his body even more.

you lean closer and press your lips gently to the freckles, peppering the softest kisses over the smooth skin. your heart is almost bursting with your deep love for him as you press kisses over kisses, starting to feel his body gently shift in bed.

he slowly starts to turn on his back and you pull back from his shoulder, watching his eyes slowly open and sleepily meet yours.

“hey,” he murmurs, his voice carrying the raspy tinge it always does after he wakes up.

“hey,” you murmur back, resting your head on his chest and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

“can’t sleep?” his soft voice reaches your ears as you shake your head against his chest, feeling him look down at you through his barely open eyes.

you look up at his face, your eyes trailing down his shoulders as you gaze upon the freckles again. your hand reaches up to run your fingers over them just like you were doing just a few moments ago. rafe lets out a deep exhale at your actions, feeling your fingertips circling over his shoulder in the most soothing fashion, his eyelids threatening to droop again.

“it’s okay, sleep,” you whisper as you watch how hard it is getting for him to keep his eyes open. rafe makes a feeble attempt to say something, but his tiredness wins over and he drifts off again, the feeling of your touch lulling him into sleep faster than ever.

you smile softly as you hear his breathing getting even, his heartbeat thumping rhythmically against your ear. you start to gently count the freckles again, tapping your fingertip over each spot just like how you always do. the counting falls perfectly in rhythm with his soothing heartbeat, and before you know it, you feel your own eyelids getting heavier, your entire body relaxing under the feeling of his comforting embrace.

— —

tagging everyone who wanted this specific fic 🥰: @maddsxfall , @zyafics , @destrolid , @drewsephrry , @ihe4rttwd <3 thank you so much for your support! 🌟

[starkeyvhs]

cw: soft!rafe, scholar reader / wc: 488 / masterlist / prompt taken from this list

Reader is stressed for finals so Rafe keeps sticky notes with words of encouragement on them in her textbook.

It’s that time of the year again. 

You are surrounded by an endless number of books, printouts of assignments and flashcards at the library, your mind not thinking a single thing beyond the millions of words scribbled over your study material.

It’s like your mind is becoming a huge boggling mess, forgetting what’s up and what’s down, and it doesn’t help when you keep on forgetting the things you swear you understand because you’ve done them nothing short of a million times. 

The frustration builds up in you like a dark, windy storm, frustration clouding every sense of yours. With a loud groan you scratch over the incorrectly solved numerical for the fourth time, almost tearing the page in the process. What is wrong with this? You flip through the pages which cover all your previous attempts at the goddamned numerical and every single word and number just looks like utter bullshit to you. 

You throw your pen to the side, the pen rolling off an opened notebook on the side and dropping to the floor. You rest your elbows on the table unceremoniously, crushing the papers you were just writing and aggressively scratching on, and bury your face in your hands. 

Your mind plays all the words, formulas and numbers from what you’ve been working on for – you don’t even know how long it’s been since you started studying, but you know it’s enough to turn your brain into a mush – and it only seems to mess up your mind even more. 

You shut the notebook close and slide it aside, bringing your theory textbook closer to you instead. Maybe some easy peasy theory instead of the mind mushing numericals will make you feel better. 

But the moment you open the book, the tiny font, the lack of any kind of media or color makes your head spin. You’re about to shut it close too and give up for the night but the corner of a yellow colored page sticking out a page in the middle of the book attracts your attention. 

You flip open to that page and see a square post-it sticking on the page. 

hey babe, you’re doing great! Don’t stress, you’ll do just fine :)

your rafe

A huge smile pulls your lips, lighting up your otherwise tired face. You glance over at the edge of your book again to see more corners of post-it notes sticking out, which makes you smile even wider. 

You open your book to all those pages and read them all one by one, every word like a soothing balm to your tired, jumbled mind. Once you finish reading them all, you carefully close your textbook, your smile still lighting up your face as you think over the sweet notes. 

God, you really do have the most adorable boyfriend ever.

[hanasnx]

how do we feel about daddy!anakin and dumification

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: we feel insane. thank you.

“what’s that, baby? you feel good?” ANAKIN SKYWALKER jeers overhead, holding himself over you with his hand clutched onto the headboard. “too good?” maliciously, he thumbs your clit. clumsy, and careless, his callused finger pad roughs up your bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body. you writhe underneath him, the sharp quiver in your thighs intensifying with each moment they spend folded over themselves.

you can’t speak, a mess of your fluids wet under your ass, a range of temperatures based on how fresh the finish is. your skin is sticky. his fat cock driving into its home over and over again, so hard it hurts, but it’s too fucking much for you to form a thought much less act on it.

“yeah, yeah. all you can do is take it, huh? fucking dumb for me. that’s all you wanted, right? a little bit of dick before bed? fuck the thoughts right out of that pretty head so you can knock out? i’ve got news for you, angel, your brain’s always empty. all you think about is me.”

a mindless, pained keen escapes you, your pussy slurping him up and flooding around him for the countless time tonight. “daddy!” whether it’s meant to be indignant or chastising, you don’t know. you just want him to know you’re thinking about him, trying to thank him. you just can’t get the words out, can’t even process them.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

For the trope mashup thing whatever: arranged marriage and neighbors 👀 - CX

again not one i would've picked but thank you for prompting it !! this also uh, got longer than i thought.

(from the prompts mash up - still taking submissions)

--------

“What do you mean your visa’s running out?” Lando asks.

“I’m Australian. Not a magician. Commonwealth only gets you so far.” 

“I thought you were here on a scholarship.”

“Well. Yeah. But scholarships stop. Once you graduate.” 

Lando toes the doorway rug. It feels weird to be talking about this in the middle of the hallway, though the only other person who would be listening might be Mrs. Kapoor, and half the time it’s only because she sticks her head out to ask if Lando or Oscar would take one of her mystery vegan curries. Lando is neither a huge fan of vegan food nor curry, and he trusts Oscar’s word for it that it’s good because they eat it while playing Gran Turismo at Lando’s place. But Lando always accepts the curries nonetheless, because his parents raised him to be polite, and he wasn’t raised in a barn. (Even if he technically grew up in converted farmhouse in the countryside, but that was besides the point.)  Either way, this is slipping away from him much quicker than he’d anticipated. Late night hangouts, dropping mail and post-it notes, text messages about the community garden. The most inane smalltalk about things big and small from the origins of moths to whether aliens were out there or just chose to ignore the +44 area code. Oscar always laughing in the right places when Lando regales him about tales of his terrible online dating stories, Oscar always picking the pickles out of the roast beef bagels before he passes one to Lando. The corner of Lando’s sofa that Lando has started to think of as Oscar’s because he’s there so often, reading one of his books or trying to speedread a JSTOR article about the lifecycle of urban pathogens while Lando worked on artwork for his upcoming store launch. 

Lando’s synapses are firing too fast. His brain did that most days, and that was what made him exceedingly good at his job, and today in particular - it doesn’t feel like there’s any logical way out. 

Lando remembers that movie they watched once though. As a joke. The one they both pretended not to enjoy, with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds in Alaska. The one they watched when Oscar sat next to Lando on the sofa, and they both pretended the entire night that their knees weren’t touching. 

His therapist said he had a tendency to get ahead of himself when under stress. But it’s a joke, it’s not serious, there’s no way—

“We could just like, get married.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. That came out way more calm and cooler than he thought it actually would.  And to his credit, Oscar doesn’t drop his mug of tea. Lando knows that’s his favourite one, because Lando got it for him, and it says Science is my superpower. Oscar does, however, slightly shift his grip on the mug.

“I feel like it’d be complicated to explain to my mum why I randomly married my upstairs neighbour?” 

“But it’s not a no.”

Oscar tilts his head. There’s a glimmer of something focused, maybe even hungry in his eyes. Oscar gets like that when his mind turns, when he’s working on an especially difficult thesis, when the pieces are forming and he can lock into the crucial details.

Lando is a little alarmed at how much he already recognises it, and how much more often he’d like to draw that reaction out. 

“If the facts don’t fit the theory, then reexamine the facts. Right?” Oscar says.

And Lando is there, in the doorway. Conscious that Mrs Kapoor might’ve heard everything, but all the more conscious that there’s a hammering in his heart that he can’t tell is nervousness, or anticipation. 

What’s the stress limit for a joke you’re probably already pushing too far? Lando thinks.

He isn’t sure.

But maybe it’s a thesis worth testing out.  

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

(and ok maybe i cheated a little on arranged marriage but i think this is the closest i could get with the contemporary context. thank you @cx-boxbox for the prompt <3)

[motleyfam]

Damian’s temperature is 99.6.

He stares at the thermometer in his brother’s hand, dumbfounded. One degree. One measly degree above normal cannot possibly account for the utter misery he feels. His sinuses ache, his ears feel clogged, his throat screams at him with every swallow, and he’d nearly nodded off at the dinner table. Despite wearing a turtleneck, sweater, and a hoodie, he can’t seem to stop shivering.

“Probably just a cold,” Richard diagnoses cheerfully, as if Damian should be grateful for this nonsense. Give him a proper infection any day—let him die with some dignity.

99.6. 

Pathetic. 

(Art by @batboycentral!)

[acekindaneat]

Serirei Week !!

Day 3: firsts/love languages

Reigen finds himself speechless (rare occasion)

continuation below but it's written form !! ↓↓

Serizawa gave him a slight nod, his face unreadable but tense. He gently directed Reigen towards the couches and sat him down. Wordlessly sitting beside him, he opened the first aid kit and rummaged through it.

Reigen watches in cautious silence, eyeing his coworker's rigid movements. The cloth he used to temporarily cover the large scratch left by the spirit was starting to itch. He slowly untied the knot with his uninjured hand and peeled off the blood-soaked makeshift bandage. It was drying off, but it still looked terrible. Four large gashes across his forearm, it almost looks like a scratch from a big cat.

Serizawa shifting closer brought Reigen's attention back to him. Their eyes met for a second before Serizawa looked down at his arm with a wince. Guilt evident on his face as he wet a towel with water and started to wipe off the blood with the lightest touch he could manage. Reigen swallowed the lump in his throat, the tense silence was getting to him so he spoke up.

"This could be part of your training, you know." He lightly joked, shrugging with his unoccupied shoulder. "It's important to know first aid, especially in our line of work." Serizawa's eyebrows furrowed as a frown formed on his face, but didn't take his eyes off his work, nor did he say anything back. As soon as the blood that smeared was gone, he grabbed the disinfectant and a cotton ball.

It was gonna sting, Reigen already knew that, but he still felt his heart flutter when Serizawa glanced up at him with a sorry look and muttered, "This might sting..."

Reigen didn't miss the way Serizawa was holding his hand with his free hand. He didn't miss the way his thumb was soothing the back of his palm with light strokes. He didn't miss the way he could feel the warmth radiating off of Serizawa's body just from how close they were sitting. Reigen felt himself gulp, not sure if it was in preparation for the pain, or to force himself back to retain his composure.

He let out a small hiss and a wince, before letting it dissipate quickly upon seeing Serizawa's face look more like a kicked puppy. He knows the man felt guilty for not arriving quick enough to prevent the spirit from hurting Reigen further. It wasn't his fault though. He can't blame Serizawa, not when he looked this sorry.

Gentle, flitting hands finally wrapped the wound in a bandage and secured it carefully. When it was done, Serizawa didn't move away, but instead let his hand rest on the wrapped arm, slowly rubbing his thumb against it like it would help heal the wound faster. It might, Reigen could hope. He could hope that this moment lasts. He looked up at Serizawa with a soft look, hoping that his message came across. Please.

Serizawa looked up at Reigen's eyes with the same level of fondness. Despite what he feels, it still scares Reigen, to see someone look at him like that. He's scared of seeing it often that he'll get attached to it, attached to the fondness, attached to feeling loved.

He almost felt himself jump when Serizawa gently held his hand up and pressed Reigen's palm against his lips with closed eyes. It's like his heart stopped, his breath hitching as he inhaled sharply.

This seemed to wake Serizawa from whatever trance he was in and pulled away, his face flushed red. His gaze landed everywhere except Reigen's as he cleared his throat and gathered up the used cotton balls and the bloodied washcloth. "I'll, uhm, throw these away. I'll grab some ice for your neck.. and make you some green tea in a bit..." He paused, sparing Reigen a glance and assessing his state.

"I'm glad you're okay, Reigen.." Serizawa spoke again, then escaped to the restroom to clean his hands off. Reigen sat there staring at his palm, dumbfounded and speechless.

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 19/1/24

prompt: "what? where?!"

character/pairing(s): stobin

-

Steve's completely zoned in on sorting through returns near the Family Video cashier when Robin gets his attention from across the room.

"Hey, Dingus!" she pauses her task of putting tapes back in their place to say.

"What, Rob?"

"You got a little," Robin gestures at his general person as she talks, "something on you."

The way she says it, a little scrunch of awkward displeasure to her nose, makes Steve panic. Immediately, he wonders if there's a spider on him, and stands as still as possible.

"What? Where?!"

She points toward his t-shirt, but doesn't look anxious so- no spider. Thank fuck. Actually, not thank fuck. He must have a sauce stain or something on his white t-shirt. Or toothpaste, or- or a drink stain. Or something worse.

He looks down, but can't see anything, even when he pulls the fabric away from him a little to see better. He still finds nothing.

He looks up to ask Robin what the fuck she's talking about just in time to see her sniggering to herself.

"Rob, what-"

"I can't believe I made you look."

"What are you talking about?"

"God, I wish I was close enough to point at it and then flick you in the forehead when you looked down."

"What is wrong with you?"

[lordofkavaka]

(photo's original post)

He stopped in the doorway, head tilting to the side as he admired the view of his wife sleeping, lying on her side, her back to him, the window open to the tropical air outside. His gaze traveled over the gorgeous contours of her body. The blanket only came up to her hipbone, leaving the rest of her tantalizing form exposed to his greedy eyes.

I'm a lucky man, he thought as he milked in the scene, wanting to remember it for the rest of his life. He still couldn't believe it was real, that Kate Beckett was his wife. She married him. She actually said yes.

"Castle?" came a drowsy voice.

He blinked, and glanced down to see her arching her neck over her shoulder, her brow wrinkling adorably as she squinted up at him.

"Yes?"

"Stop staring, it's creepy," she grumbled softly, adding a little glare to punctuate her words.

"I wasn't staring," he objected. "I was admiring the view."

"Well," she said, rolling over to give his eyes much more to feast upon. "Get back in bed and you can do much more than 'admire the view'."

He grinned and eagerly followed her suggestion, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her close. "I love you, Mrs. Castle."

She smiled back up at him. "And I love you, Mr. Beckett."

Before he could protest the nomenclature appellation, she was kissing him, and all other thoughts were pushed aside.

[yuzurins]

# taken by surprise

in which nagi unintentionally knocks you off your feet during your first meeting. a meet ugly, as one might say.

warnings: not proofread, vv casual drabble i wrote on my way to class, a bit of cursing, and reader is a tease.

likes, reblogs and interactions are appreciated!

you scoff in disbelief, briefly scanning your surroundings to see the damage. your canvas was face down on the floor, the easel it was on lost a leg, and paint was splattered everywhere.

holding back the urge to curse out in frustration, you shifted your vision over to glare at the cause. about 2 feet away stood an antsy looking white haired boy who seemed to be around your age. he was probably in a rush to go somewhere, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look where he was going.

“oh shit,” he mutters, and you could see his eyes darting around in a panic, unsure of what to do. “uh, i—“

“watch where you’re going.” you interrupt, voice laced with hostility.

the boy bites his lip in response, opening his mouth to try and say something but nothing comes out. you’re still sitting on the floor, white uniform now covered with specks of red and blue all over.

wow, you think to yourself, this guy must have really low eq, because why hasn’t he helped you up yet?

“hey! nagi!” you hear someone call, most likely for the white haired boy in front of you. “hurry up or else you’re gonna get killed by reo!”

nagi hears another scoff come from you, snapping him back to reality, as he finally starts moving and picking up all the things he knocked onto the floor.

you stare at him with an unimpressed expression. “aren’t you supposed help me up first?” you tell him, just slightly feeling in the mood to tease.

like the dense guy he is, he shoots his right hand over to you as he continues to pick up your paint. no words spoken at all, and you start to think, this nagi dude seems a bit strange.

though obviously you were capable of helping yourself up, you just wanted to see him do something in return after disrupting your time relaxing in your own world. this sense of wanting to get back at him was natural, you think, because he was the one who knocked you over in the first place. right?

in the motion of him pulling you up, you gravitate closer and almost bump into him. he’s still squatting on the floor and you’re looking down at him, merely a few inches away. but from this position you finally get a good look at his face, and you realize that, oh, he’s kind of—no, actually—very handsome.

as you stand there dumbfounded, nagi finishes picking up all your stuff and stands up, turning over to look at you.

you furrow your brows in response, and for some reason, you feel like if you didn’t say what was really on your mind, you’d never get the opportunity to do it ever again.

“so, how are you going to compensate me for all this?” you point to the messed up canvas that had accumulated a bunch of rock from the floor.

it takes a few seconds for him to reply. “uh,” he starts, and he thinks back to what he sees all his football teammates say when they’re in a predicament with a girl. “wanna go for dinner?”

he says this with such an unfazed guise that you let out a laugh in surprise. was this careless lost little boy actually a playboy?

you don’t even give him the pleasure of replying with a yes or no, and instead fish his phone that was sticking out of his blazer pocket, opening a quick-note and typing your number in.

despite nagi not showing it on his face, he’s amazed by the fact that you snatched his most beloved possession from him so easily, and makes a mental note to himself to take more care of it next time.

you study the absentminded expression he has on his face as his eyes stay locked to his phone, and you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“here, you better not be joking.” you say, attempting to sound as harsh as possible, though you’re actually on the verge of breaking into laughter.

he looks down at his phone like it’s a foreign object, and looks back up at you blankly. his expression seems aloof, but you can make out the slightest red forming on his cheeks.

“NAGI! get your lazy ass here right now!” a purple haired boy is now calling for him from the football field, voice so loud that you can hear it even though he’s a whole building away.

nagi jumps at the sudden scold from his friend and he’s finally reminded of what he was doing originally. “see you later then, i guess.”

you flash a small smile, waving to him as he runs off. you’ve forgotten all about your painting now and your mind is plagued with the boy who had taken you by storm.

he destroyed your work that you spent hours on, but in the process, captivated you as well. compared to all the other snobby boys in your school, you swear it was his contrasting demeanour that piqued a bit of your interest.

and well, he’s actually pretty cute, isn’t he?

[hannyoontify]

[0:12] 'you have... one new message'

*beep*

"hey! it's me... chan. um, i just- well, i wanted to tell you- uh... did- did you know that i was jealous of you when we first met? crazy, right? it felt like we were from two completely different worlds. y-you were from this world that was just full of people and i was in like, a realm of silence.

i was jealous cuz you... you seemed to brighten up whatever room you entered, and i was... i was so envious of that. the light you emitted seemed so dangerously... real? if that makes sense? i don't know, but then, i got to know you.

you- you approached me and struck up a conversation first. it honestly scared me. why would someone like you want to have anything to do with me? but you were sweet to me, so kind and so... caring. and- and as we grew closer, i found myself subconsciously looking forward to the classes we had together, like who looks forward to first period AP Lang? i did, because of you.

i started to wonder like 'hm, i wonder what kind of jokes they'll make today'. i don't know if you ever noticed, but i started to fall asleep in class less too... heh i bet mr. davis would've loved that.

and... in a world full of darkness, you became my light, so, i guess i just wanted to say thank you? i mean it's not a question but it's like- i mean, i guess? wait no- sigh

what i mean is... thank you for showing me what happiness is and what true friendship is like. thank you... for keeping your promises and always bringing a smile to my face.

... and thank you for loving me. whether it was romantic, platonic, or whatever other kind of love there is in the world, thank you.

and... i'm not sure if you still have my number saved, hell, you might've changed your phone number for all i know. oh my god if you're a random stranger and you're listening to me ramble, i'm so sorry, i'm sure this isn't how you wanted to spend the first few minutes of the new year listening to some drunk, lovesick dude ramble to his first love. but i'm not drunk! i've sobered up and i've had plenty of water to drink... just like you told me to do back in college....

.... but if this is your number, you're probably out with friends right now, or maybe with a special person. regardless, i- i hope you're happy. i'm doing fine, so you don't have to worry about me. i've already taken a couple tries to record this message, but i won't pressure you to respond or anything. i just had to get this off my chest.

happy new year [name]."

[winterrrnight]

also maybe bsf!Rafe dealing with a drunken reader that keeps saying sweet nothings in his ear (but truly truly heartfelt) and Rafe has no clue how to take those things while he keeps taking care of reader (and making sure nothing happens to them)

did I go absolutely feral when I read this? yes. this is probably the most one of the girls rafe and reader coded idea I have ever read and I want to worship the ground you walk on for sending me this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I love love u🦉nonnie <3

you render bsf!rafe absolutely speechless with your affectionate drunken words… <3 listen to fantasy by kali uchis & don toliver for this one <3 cw: slightly suggestive content (no actual smut!), mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, minimal usage of nicknames like babydoll <3 for: @ilyrafe who’s probably one of the most talented writers i’ve had the honor of getting to talk to :’) you’re the absolute sweetest gabi, i adore you so much 💟

part of this little universe <3

the purple strobe lights flash all over the dancing bodies at the party, highlighting the subtle skin on skin touches, the intertwined hands, the sweat dripping down the slope of the necks, and the smoke leaving the weed joints.

you and rafe would more or less usually get wound up in the dancing too, having the lights flash across you two in the otherwise dark party manor, your bodies pressed up, his arms always tight around you to keep you as close as he can.

but right now, instead of getting to dance, rafe is standing next to your sitting figure on one of the bar stools, your body leaning against his and his arm tightening protectively around you.

“c’mon rafe let’s go dance please!” you slurred, looking up at rafe with pleading eyes. he lets out a sigh of exasperation and tightens his grip around your shoulders, shaking his head.

“no, I told you, you’re way too drunk,” he grumbles. “you can’t even stand straight. you’d be trippin’ over an’ shit all the time on the floor, so no,”

you pout at his words, reaching out for the glass kept on the counter behind you but rafe pulls onto your arm with his free hand, tugging it away from the glass.

“I told you, no more drinks f’you,” he sighs. “c’mon babydoll, adjust with me here,”

he lets go of your hand and tugs you closer to him from his arm around your shoulders, and you snuggle up against his side. you look up at him, his eyes scanning around the crowds, his weed joint hanging limply between his two fingers.

you bury your face in his side, taking in a deep breath and letting his scent cloud your senses. “you smell very good…” you murmur, letting your glazed eyes flutter against his tshirt. “something new you’re trying?” you ask quietly, your arm coming up to wrap around his torso, your fingers fiddling mindlessly with the hem of his tshirt.

“it’s the same one as always,” he mutters, his gaze never stopping scanning around the crowds. his eyes have already zeroed on people who he noticed eyeing you in a way he wasn’t particularly fond of, and mentally preparing himself to not let them even in a two mile radius around you both.

“you sure? smells different…” you mutter, taking another deep breath. “well, whatever it is, you smell really good…” your words spill from your lips, the different sounds running into one another to sound slightly incoherent to rafe, yet he understands you perfectly well.

“and this shirt…” you mumble, your fingertips starting to sneak under the hem of his tshirt, tracing gently over the skin of the side of his torso, the sudden movement causing rafe to take a sharp breath, “you look very good in it… suits you… brings out your eyes…” your fingers start to trace small shapeless patterns on his skin, your eyes trailing over his arms in the half sleeved tshirt, “and… and your arms too… look good…”

rafe can feel his heart starting to thump louder in his chest from your words and the way your fingertips glide over his skin, but his eyes keep on examining the crowd, something he has done uncountable times already, but he isn’t so sure what his next move should be when your words is causing his breath to hitch in his throat. he moves his hand to take a hit of his joint, letting the joint stay in between his lips, his hand coming back down to his side.

your fingers come out from under his shirt and find his hand on his side, softly trailing over his fingers and forearm, tracing the visible veins gently.

“you always take such good care of me…” you murmur quietly, “always makin’ sure i’m okay…”

your fingers trail over the sensitive underside of his forearm, and you can feel goosebumps rising on his skin in the wake of your touch.

to give himself a grip rafe tightens his arm even more around your shoulders, his fingers starting to dig into your skin through the fabric of your clothes. he feels your fingers descend back down to his hand, starting to interlace with his which he doesn’t complain about at all, easily letting your fingers slip into his.

you give his hand a faint tug, which finally causes him to look down at you. you give it another tug, this one a little firmer than the first one. rafe moves in front of you, your back pressing against the bar counter as you look up at him.

you pull on his intertwined hand, bringing it closer to your mouth before you start to gently press kisses over the back of his hand, the kisses just slightly sloppy from your drunken and hazy mind.

“you’re so perfect… so caring, so loving…” your mumbled words spill out against his skin, “and just so so handsome...”

rafe has to hold back the sound wanting to escape past his lips, his teeth almost biting down on the joint in his mouth. he can’t help but look at you with your mouth running over the back of his hand and his wrist, pressing a kiss to whatever patch of skin you can succumb to, his mind starting to go into an overdrive.

you’re going to be the death of him.

[starkeyvhs]

cw: soft!rafe, intentional use of lower case / wc: 196 / masterlist

there is something so beautiful about rafe’s primary love language being gift giving. what makes it perfect is that you never have to explicitly tell him you want something. he’s more observant than you thought; he heard you casually talking to your friend about a book series you want to get reading, and the very next day the entire book series (most probably the collector’s edition) is awaiting you. he saw you getting attracted by the flower shop at a walk so he surprises you with fresh flowers almost everyday. he knows your favorite drink and dessert at your favorite café so he lets you sit down and orders the delicacies for you. he noticed the kind of jewelry you like to wear, so he makes sure to get you the exact kind (it’s going to be real metal, believe me). he does that because your face lights up the moment he gives you the gift. he loves watching you wonder when did you even tell him you wanted or liked this, a big smile on his face as he thinks of the pinned note in his notes app about everything he observed about your likes.

[whumping-valentine]

Content: Captivity, conditioned whumpee

I wrote this like a year ago back when I first found out about whump and was experimenting with dynamics. Thought I'd make some edits and post it because why not.

~~~

Whumpee was sat in the grass, smiling as the warmth engulfed them. Cool wind was blowing through the leaves of the trees and the strands of their hair, light rain falling against their face like tiny kisses. Birds were singing, chirping and chattering all around as they searched for worms to feed their young. The outside world was so free and open, and Whumpee was grateful to even get a gaze upon it, let alone sit among it.

They looked up at Whumper with wide, grateful eyes, "Thank you for taking me outside." They said sincerely.

"Well, you've been good, haven't you?"

Whumpee wasn't sure what the right response was, "I am not sure, have I?"

"You tell me, what do you think?" Whumper said, crossing their arms as they did a small roll of their eyes, "Why else would you be outside? Yes, of course you've been good."

"Oh— I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Yeah, yeah. Just because you're apparently stupid doesn't mean you're bad. Enjoy this privilege."

"I will, I'll enjoy it."

"Good for you." They said, uncaring. "I'm going to run inside real quick, and you're going to stay right here until I get back, okay?"

"Yes Sir/Ma'am." (???)

"Good."

As they walked away they turned their head and continued smiling, feeling grateful for the opportunity to be outside. Though now left alone, a terrible realization struck. The smile vanished from their face as they sunk their nails into the dirt.

What am I thinking?! Being outside is a privilege? It's not a privilege! I should be allowed go outside whenever I want! And explore the woods alone! And make my own food, in my own kitchen, whenever I want! Those aren't privileges!

A hit had been taking to their pride as they realized how conditioned they became. It had happened so slowly they couldn't even see what was happening right in front of them. They were blind to it.

All of this niceness isn't because Whumper actually likes or cares for them, it's just so they'll be good and obedient and not cause them any trouble! It's manipulation! How could they be so stupid?! So conditioned?! They were smarter than this, smarter than to fall for manipulation, and yet they still did.

This monster had them doing all these things just to have the privilege to what, eat? Go outside? Not be tortured?!

If they had any sense of dignity left, they would stand up and take off right now. They were alone, they were outside, they were... not free.

It didn't matter if Whumper gave them a key to the outside world and a map to get home. It didn't matter if they opened the door and let them go. Hell, if they told them to go. It didn't even matter if they dropped them off right back in their old bedroom, because they'd still come crawling back to Whumper.

Physical freedom means nothing if your mind is held under lock and key.

And it's just what Whumper wanted.

They've got them.

"Look at you." Whumper cooed as they returned, "Still here. I knew you were too good to run off. I'm so proud of you."

Whumpee felt defeated, and Whumper could see it in their eyes, which just made their next words all the more satisfying to hear

"Why would I go... when I have everything I need right here?"

[fyreflys]

Prompt if you’d like it! Peeta giving his cold to Katniss on accident but since she no longer has a spleen, it turns into a more flu like illness for poor Katniss and Peeta must nurse her back to health (similar to her caring for him in the cave but ya know… #married)

Oooo this is an adorable idea! And I got another prompt that I think I can include that would work perfectly together. MERGE TIME!

Chicken Noodle Soup

(Katniss’s POV) - Love and Some Verses, Iron & Wine

Everlark period/sick-fic, just fluff fluff fluff

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you sick.”

Is what Peeta keeps telling her. Constantly apologizing for transferring his cold. Even though Katniss didn’t even bother trying to keep her distance to avoid getting sick, so really it’s her own fault.

Katniss is pretty sure that no one ever really intentionally tries to get others sick, it’s always an accident. Happens as a result of what being sick means. And she knows Peeta didn’t do it on purpose, he couldn’t possibly have wanted to make her sick as a dog. So the fact that he keeps apologizing, as if there’s any possibility that he did do this on purpose, is beginning to make it feel like maybe he did. That, and it’s getting annoying. Very quickly.

“Peeta,” she groans, “Just- shut up.”

She doesn’t actually mean that. He’s really the only thing keeping her sane right now. She’s been bed ridden for three days now, and if her body didn’t feel like shit, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for a hike in the woods.

“Sorry.” He whispers, dabbing the wet washcloth on her forehead.

Yesterday Peeta dragged her to the doctor, because he’s convinced she’s dying. The doctor just confirmed it’s a bad cold, made worse by the fact that Katniss no longer has a spleen to help her immune system. He gave them some medication that “might” help, and then sent them on their way.

Needless to say, Katniss was not happy. Mostly because Peeta had dragged her out of the house when she felt like shit for no apparent reason.

Peeta was angry too. Kept mumbling something about “malpractice” and the doctor being an “idiot” and then trying to convince her that they need to go to the Capital, to see a “real” doctor.

“Peeta, I’m not sure if you have forgotten, but I’m in exile. Banned, to stay here in twelve for the rest of my life. So no, we cannot go to the Capital.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that she really doesn’t want to be re-reminded of all the terrible things that they’ve seen and had happen to them; most of which happened in the Capital.

“You’re the mockingjay. If something was majorly wrong with you, they’d have to save you.”

“I don’t want to be the mockingjay, anymore.” She’d grumbled as he tucked her back into bed, “and I’ve lived through worse than this.”

He frowned. Much like he is right now, as he looks at her with those big, blue, pleading puppy dog eyes.

“What?” She rasps.

He licks his lips. “I just…I’m so sorry you’re sick.”

She swears his heart is too big for his own good.

“You know what would make me feel better?” She sighs.

He perks up. “What?”

“Cuddle.” She whispers. She’d usually reach out to grab him, but her body feels too much like lead to exert that much energy.

He smiles. “I can do that.”

He peels back the bedsheets, and Katniss shivers at what feels like freezing air. He curls in behind her, gently squeezing her close. She melts against him. The arm around her warm and comforting. Until his hand slips under her shirt and his fingers start tracing patterns on her side, and he begins to pepper kisses to her shoulders. Despite them being small and gentle touches, her nerves feel overly sensitive with how feverish she is, and each soft graze almost feels painful.

“Stop- please,” she whispers, “that- too sensitive.” She mumbles.

“Oh. Sorry.” He places one more peck to her cheek, and then leaves her be.

She falls into sleep like a rock tossed down a ravine, skipping sleep entirely and diving straight into dreams. The world feels like it’s tilting and spinning around her as she dreams. They start out as strange and uncomfortable, but somewhere along the way they get more and more unhinged, twisted visions persisting, until finally-

She startles awake suddenly, eyes snapping open as she gasps for air. The nightmare feels plastered to her eyelids.

“Peeta?” She croaks softly, heart hammering in her chest as a tear slips down her cheek.

But she’s alone. Peeta is nowhere to be seen. She forces herself to reach across the bed behind her in search of him. But he’s not there either.

Momentarily she fears he’s abandoned her, but then she realizes that’s ridiculous. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to.

She tries to shake the nightmare from her head. Desperately trying to imagine something else, like- Deer. Deer and squirrels, prancing through the forest. The nightmare was not real not real not real, as Peeta would say.

She takes a deep breath. Her entire body aches painfully. Specifically her lower back and her hips and- oh.

Even sick, and aching all over, she knows this feeling well.

“Damn it.” She huffs.

She supposes it was about time this happened again. She doesn’t bother keeping track. There’s no use with how irregular she is.

“Peeta.” She calls, but her voice is weak.

He doesn’t come. Where is he? She sighs. She’s going to have to do this herself, isn’t she?

She wills herself to gather any remaining energy she has to sit up. It takes a few minutes to convince herself.

I could just wait here, until he comes back-

No.

She sits up suddenly, impulsively, not giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it. Her head spins, pain pounding through her skull. She coughs, clutching her head.

When the throbbing passes she manages to will her legs to dangle over the side of the bed. And then on the count of three she stands. She’s shaky, and the air is freezing agaisnt her feverish skin, and it’s awful.

Just get to the bathroom-

She makes it a few steps towards the door. And then she stumbles. She just barely catches the doorknob. She sends the door slamming closed as she falls.

“Katniss?!” Peeta shouts from down stairs.

She rolls over onto her back, and the world feels like it’s still spinning. He comes rushing into the bedroom, crouching down when he sees her.

“Oh my god are you okay?” Hands are immediately at her head, feeling for any bumps or bleeding, “What happened? Why are you out of bed?”

He sits and sets her head in his lap, brushing hair out of her face.

“Bathroom.” She whispers. “Just. Fell.”

“You should have called for me I would have helped.”

“I did.” She breathes, and even talking is exhausting. With Peeta right above her the world finally stops spinning.

He frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was making pasta.”

She takes in a breath through her mouth, nose too stuffy. “Bathroom.”

“Well- I think we should take a moment. You just- what, fell trying to walk? That’s pretty concerning,” He feels her forehead, “and you’re really burning up, gosh.”

She could have told him she had a fever. It feels like it’s radiating through her bones.

“Toilet,” her tongue clicks softly in her mouth, feeling dry, “Bleeding.”

“Bleeding? What- where? Why didn’t you say you were bleeding! Oh my god-“ he starts to shuffle, pulling at her clothes to find the source.

“Period.” She groans, just about fed up with him.

“Oh.” He pauses. “Right. Okay. Let’s get that taken care of then.”

He shuffles to sit her up against the wall, and then scoops her up bridal style. He carefully sets her down by the toilet, holding on as he pulls down her sweats and underwear in one fell swoop.

And yep- there it is. A massacre in her pants.

Peeta helps her sit, making sure she’s stable enough to sit up on her own. He pulls off her sweats and underwear, turning on the sink to set them in.

“Cold,” she whispers.

“Cold? You’re cold?”

Well- yeah, she kind of is. Despite feeling like she’s burning up from the inside, the floor and the toilet seat and the air is freezing against her skin. But she’s referring to the water.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “But-water. Cold water.”

“You need cold water? I can get you water. You’re probably thirsty you’ve been asleep for like four hours.”

Okay, yes, that too. She could use a glass of water.

“Yes, but- blood. Needs cold water.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay. Cold water. Right.”

She closes her eyes, slumping on the toilet as she pees. Peeta leaves to grab stuff from the bedroom. He returns with a fresh pair of clothes. He holds a cup of water up to her lips, and she sips. It feels like heaven down her throat.

“Thanks.” She breathes.

He just pecks her forehead. “How bout I run you a short bath? Luke warm. Try to get your body temp down. And you could really use a shower.”

She groans.

“I know- I know. But it will make you feel better, I promise.”

She just grumbles. He gets to work running a bath, and then scrubs the blood out of her underwear under the sink. He struggles to get a pad into the clean pair of undies, and Katniss finally wills herself to use the little energy she does have to show him. He kisses her cheek.

“Right. Got it. Now let’s get you in.”

She complains, but doesn’t have the energy to fight against him. He pulls off her sweaty t-shirt, and picks her up and sets her down in the tub. The water feels freezing at first. She yelps, clutching at him.

“I know- I know it feels cold but I promise it will help. You’re burning up Katniss. We need to cool you down.”

She holds onto him, and he presses kisses against her head. After a few minutes it starts to feel okay. He gently pours water through her hair. He scrubs in shampoo and rinses. He gently scrubs her with a warm soapy washcloth after he pulls the drain, just under her arms and between her legs, barely batting an eye at the blood. They’ve both seen enough of it for a lifetime. He turns on the shower head to rinse her off. The water feels like freezing needles against her overly sensitive skin. By the time he gets her out and finishes toweling her off she’s pissed.

She glowers at him from the toilet as he dresses her. He ignores her scathing eyes as he sprays in conditioner and brushes her hair, fumbling to put it in a makeshift braid.

“There! See, all better!” He smiles when he’s done.

She is not amused. Yes, her body feels less like a boiling fire, but she still hurts. And despite him doing all the work, she’s exhausted. But she’s too angry and stubborn to admit it, or even consider closing her eyes for some shut eye.

He chuckles. “You’re such a sourpuss when you’re sick, you know that?”

“That was hell.” She snips.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, okay Haymitch.”

He pulls her off the toilet and pulls up her underwear and pants. He gently scoops her up.

“You want to set up camp downstairs on the couch? That way it’s easier to get my attention if you need something. Also I’m making you soup.”

She gives a grunt, and winces as the pain that radiates up and down her spine and belly.

“I’ll grab you some painkillers.” He adds on.

She would usually turn those down. But at this point she’ll take them.

He gently lays her on the couch. He runs back upstairs to grab linens. He comes back down with arms full of blankets and pillows. He drops them in a heap on the floor. He leaves again. Katniss looses track of all the things he runs off and gets, eyes slipping closed.

He takes her temperature.

He hisses, “One o’ two. Yeah. You’re definitely getting meds.” Which he shoves into her mouth very shortly afterward. He tries not to look worried, but she can tell that he is. She’s worse than she was yesterday. He forces her to take the medication the doctor gave them the day before. She doesn’t have the energy to fight him.

He tucks her in under one blanket, but gives her plenty of pillows. He sets tissues and a glass of water on the side table next to her head. He kisses her forehead.

“Anything else you need?” He says softly.

Probably. But right now she’s exhausted. And talking is too much energy. So she just hums.

“Okay. Soup should be ready in thirty minutes or so. Do you want me to wake you up or let you sleep?”

Truthfully, she wants him to curl in beside her on the couch and not leave her side. Because with him pressed against her, she has a semblance of relief.

Instead she just grunts. He pecks her forehead again, chuckling softly.

“Okay.”

And then she’s left alone. And despite being tired, she can’t seem to fall sleep. The pain is just too much. Enough that she’d toss and turn, but she doesn’t have the energy to do so. So instead she lays motionless in agony, waiting for meds to kick in.

It’s possible she does drift off. But it seems like each time her eyes open the grandfather clock by her mothers old bedroom door hasn’t moved an inch.

Finally Peeta reappears, with a steaming bowl in hands.

“Chicken noodle soup, for m’lady.” He bows, just for the dramatics.

He helps her sit up, and carefully spoons it to her lips. With how much pain shes in, the thought of food makes her nauseous. But Peeta coaxes her to eat. And she does. One small spoonful at a time. With how stuffed her nose is she can barely taste it, but what she does taste is good.

And it reminds her of the cave, in their first games. As she spoon fed him. Monitoring his leg. Trying everything she could think of to keep him alive.

Thankfully, now is nothing like that. This is peaceful, and warm, and safe.

With food in her belly she realizes how hungry she is. And she just about scarfs down the rest of the bowl, along with the hunk of bread he dips in the broth. And she feels like she has a little more energy.

“You want more?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head. She feels too full. Any more and she might puke.

“Your appetite is back. That’s a good thing.”

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” She grumbles.

“Like- actually?” He freezes, shifting as if ready to grab a bin.

“No- just- a lot of food. Nauseous from the pain.”

He frowns. “The pain meds should have kicked in already. You look better. Less pale.” He feels her forehead. “You don’t feel as hot.”

She winces. “Cramps.”

His face relaxes. “Oh.”

She closes her eyes. With a full belly she’s ready to pass out.

“What if…I tried to rub them out?” He says softly.

Her eyes flicker open lazily. “Please. And- my back- please.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He leans in press a kiss to her forehead.

He gently pushes her to lay down. He tugs up her shirt and pulls the waistband of her pajama pants lower.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks softly.

She slowly moves to touch, fingers almost feeling numb against her own skin as she traces just inside of her pelvic crests, and down below her belly button. His warm hands are still almost too much against her feverish skin when he reaches out. But she needs this.

He’s far too gentle.

“Harder,” she whispers, “like bread.”

He’s good at kneading bread.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you-“

“There’s no way you could make me feel worse than I already do. Please.”

And finally his palms and thumbs press in. She urges more, and more, and finally gets impatient and shifts his hands to press right there and- oh. It feels so good she actually moans.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” She gasps.

He grins wickedly. But doesn’t comment on any more of her breathless gasps as he digs in and finally gives her relief.

“When- you’re done,” she breathes, “gonna need- bathroom.”

He pauses, “Do you have to pee? I’m literally pressing like right on your bladder-“

“No- new pad.” Because he’s quite literally kneading the blood right out of her. Which would usually be disgusting, but right now the relief feels too good for her to care.

“Oh. Okay.” And he keeps going.

She nearly falls asleep with his hands on her stomach. She still hurts, and the pain still radiates through her bones, but the stretch of her cramping muscles is almost heavenly. She closes her eyes, and Peeta presses kisses to her shoulders, trailing down to her stomach. He rubs softly after he pulls back, hands sliding over her hips.

“You want me to do your back?” He asks softly.

She hums. He helps flip her over. His hands and fingers roam over her skin, pressing and pulling all the way up her spine and between her shoulders. She practically melts into the couch as he soothes her aches. His lips ghost over her skin in subtle kisses, and she never wants it to end.

Eventually he pulls away, tugging her shirt back down.

“Bathroom?” He asks.

She grumbles. “Don’t wanna move.”

He hums. He forces her off the couch anyways, and drags her to the bathroom. She changes things herself, and then he helps her back to the couch.

“I’m gonna eat and then we can snuggle. If you want. I can turn on the TV.”

She just grunts. He turns on the screen above their fireplace mantle, and flips through channels. He lands on a show they’ve binge watched over the years, and then leaves for the kitchen. She zones out the sounds and clatter that he makes. Finally he sits down by her feet with a bowl of soup, and her eyelids feel heavy. She drifts halfway between awake and asleep, until he curls up with her. He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you.” She whispers. He’s done more than enough for her. And she knows he’d do everything if he had to. And she is thankful.

“Of course.” He breathes. And pecks her lips.

She smiles, and uses the little energy she does have to snake an arm around him and hold him close. Their foreheads knock together.

“I love you.” He breathes softly.

She hums, “Love you too.”