#just wrote a cool thousand words this afternoon

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Fine Line - Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: 1.1k words. loosely inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles. Your relationship with Jake is unconventional. Jake lets himself into your home in the middle of the night after a deployment, you let him into your bed.

Warnings: some angst, language, reader is ex-military, references to 18+ topics but no explicit content, references to a military-related accident that resulted in an honorable discharge, no graphic depictions of aforementioned accident, redemption fluff (?)

a/n: I wrote this in one sitting between my morning lecture and afternoon lecture. I'm really happy with how it turned out :))

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The soft sound of the front door creaking open down the short hallway roused you. It wasn’t so much the near-silent sound, but rather the infinitesimal shift in the air.

You’d never been a good sleeper anyway.

You probably should’ve been alarmed. You lived alone, and you weren’t expecting anyone. Much less at 2:38 a.m., according to the glaring red alarm clock on your nightstand. Still half asleep, you did the math in your head. He was deployed 6 weeks ago. Based on the average time it took for landing procedures and debrief meetings, he probably returned to base from God knows where within the past 3 hours. And now he was here.

Down in the unlit foyer—if you could even call it that, the townhouse was hardly bigger than a postage stamp and the entryway was no exception—Jake toed off his standard-issued combat boots. You aren’t a clean freak, but you’d prefer not to have asphalt and remnants of jet fuel tracked across your floors. Years in the service ensured that your living space was always ready for inspection, for better or worse. Even after you retired, the habits stuck with you.

Just like being a light sleeper.

He padded silently down the hallway towards your room. The knob turned and he pushed the door open, wincing as its hinges whined in protest.

Jake wasn’t surprised that you were awake, staring at him as he entered the room. He didn’t text you or give any indication ahead of time to let you know he’d be coming over. Given that it was a Friday night–well, early Saturday morning–anyone else might’ve reached out first for permission. Or to at least confirm they wouldn’t be intruding on time with a different overnight guest. But Jake never did.

You had an unspoken agreement that neither of you would see anyone else. It was a delicate dance, a fine line that the two of you traced across. Having no label, as was made clear by Jake years ago, but feeling an overwhelming unnamed feeling, a sense of obligation and loyalty kept the two of you from venturing outside the bounds of your non-relationship.

“Hi,” he whispered, gravel in his tone. You couldn’t see the dark circles underneath his eyes or barely present wrinkles forming on his forehead in the darkness, but you could imagine they were there. Jake liked to pretend that the stress didn’t get to him. Like he was unaffected by the atrocities he saw and was forced to commit thousands of feet above the rest of the sane world. Like he was invincible. But you knew better. You knew he had nightmares, like most service members. Most of his missions were entirely confidential and on a need-to-know basis. In the eyes of the United States Navy, you did not need to know. Jake was true to his oath. Sworn to secrecy, and never even slightly indicated something that civilians should know. Being a veteran somehow lumped you into that category.

You hummed in response. Barely audible, but certainly there. Your limbs were tired. Aching. Rehab and physical therapy could only do so much to help you after the accident, but you were doing okay now. You wordlessly pulled the sheets back as you scooted over on the mattress, making room for Jake. He chastely stripped down to his boxers before joining you under the sheets. It was cool, but it didn’t surprise him. You always ran cold. Ironically, he always ran hot, in temperature and temper.

No one spoke as he inched closer to you, the movement magnetic. Rustling sheets and the gentle hum of the window AC unit softly filled the room. 2:40 a.m.

Jake teased you when he was here last. “You oughta get your central AC fixed. That window unit is annoying, darlin’. Don’t know how you sleep with it running like that,” he chided while absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair. It had become mussed from your previous activities, but that was the last thing on your mind; you took a break from memorizing his unguarded face to roll your eyes. Your landlord was useless, and a bit of an asshole. You’d both established this the last time you needed something fixed. Jake ended up taking care of it for you anyway, like he always did.

2:41 a.m. He wrapped his arms around you, and you let him. Your hand came up to brush a few stray strands of his usually perfectly styled hair out of his face. It was still damp. You imagine he did what he had to at base, probably begrudgingly going through the motions. It was late and he could feel the weeks-long worth of exhaustion in his bones. After the last meeting that nearly did him in, he showered and came straight here. Driving in the state he was in probably wasn’t the best idea. But the roads were quiet and he needed to be near you. He wouldn’t have slept anyway.

You knew one day the fine line you toed, the relationship that refused to be defined would break one of you, if not both. He’d probably throw himself even deeper into his career and go back to his old habits, picking up a new girl every weekend at whatever bar he inevitably ended up at. You’d probably distract yourself and go back to grad school on Uncle Sam’s dime. Maybe you’d study physical therapy. Or mental health therapy. The patient becomes the practitioner.

There was only one way the two of you got out of this unscathed, and Jake was too fucked up to commit. He knew it would hurt you, but he was selfish. He knew you deserved better. He didn’t think he could be better.

As he pulled you further against his warm chest, tucking your head and hair that smelled like home underneath his chin, you snuggled against him deeper. Soft, yet rugged skin that stretched across his defined pecs met your ear. You listened to the steady beating of his heart–proof that he had one–lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

His hand caressed your back, holding you tighter against him. His breathing evened out and you knew he was asleep. Daring to glance up at his finally peaceful face and aching to become one, you decide this is enough for now.

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[me-and-your-husband]

if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different? 

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson. 

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her. 

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm. 

When she spoke up, her words were usual. 

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends. 

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water. 

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud. 

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.” 

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing. 

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?” 

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you. 

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air. 

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between. 

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways. 

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face. 

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips. 

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that? 

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze. 

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream. 

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end. 

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips. 

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it. 

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you. 

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time. 

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears. 

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before. 

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers. 

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving. 

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name. 

“What is it?”

You shook your head. 

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around. 

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did. 

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening. 

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered? 

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over. 

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently. 

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on. 

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair. 

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction. 

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded. 

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end. 

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says. 

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other. 

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?” 

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer. 

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly. 

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side. 

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction. 

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide. 

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there. 

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there. 

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it. 

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you. 

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting. 

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing. 

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle. 

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright. 

“Shit,” Ellie breathed. 

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.” 

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything. 

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now. 

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do. 

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter. 

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out. 

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death. 

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name. 

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't. 

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with. 

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously. 

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances. 

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent. 

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites. 

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided. 

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed. 

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate. 

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill. 

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out. 

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight. 

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again. 

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too. 

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything. 

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation. 

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding. 

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered. 

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite. 

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work. 

It wouldn't work on you. 

She knew that. 

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer. 

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever. 

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone. 

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak. 

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered. 

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth. 

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter. 

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around. 

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin. 

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away. 

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite. 

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground. 

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped. 

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you. 

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last. 

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly. 

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds. 

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual. 

You couldn't really blame her. 

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want. 

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment. 

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open. 

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger. 

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt. 

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more. 

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched. 

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape. 

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came. 

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words. 

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain. 

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain. 

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep. 

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake. 

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now. 

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew. 

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail. 

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed. 

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket. 

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper. 

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss. 

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will. 

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look. 

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone. 

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep. 

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come. 

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened. 

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble. 

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way. 

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers. 

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it. 

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo. 

She doesn't remember what happened after that. 

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you. 

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo. 

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] Use Your Words

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Morpheus) Rated: T Word Count: ~2500 Warnings: Mistletoe Notes: My first foray into this fandom. Be gentle; I may not have them quite right. It's been four years since last I wrote anything and I'm a bit rusty.  Many thanks to @virgo-dream for the beta!

Summary: Hob finds mistletoe hung in the bar. Dream is. Insistent. That they adhere to tradition.

On AO3

~~~***~~~ "Now where did that come from?"

'That' was a bright sprig of dark green leaves and waxy white berries, hanging innocently from a random low beam near the end of the bar, and Hob was very sure that he hadn't hung it there. Mistletoe was all well and good among friends and holiday parties and such, but putting it up in the pub where random strangers might happen beneath it in the middle of the afternoon, not so much. Bit of unneeded potential for harassment and Hob wasn't keen to invite that sort of trouble. He'd have to take it down post-haste and make sure his staff knew not to re-hang it.

Beside him, Dream blinked up at the little plant. "Mistletoe," he pronounced, in precisely the overly-casual tone of discovery one might use to imply one had just noticed something one had in fact already been aware of. "We. Would seem to be standing beneath it."

Hob frowned and peered up at the little sprig, which they were indeed now directly under when he was quite certain they hadn't been a moment ago. "…So we are." Which. Huh.

And didn't that set his nerves afire, just a little bit.

"We are meant to share a kiss, then, I believe?" Dream was staring at him now, intent and direct, the bare tilt of a question in his eyebrows.

And that set Hob's pulse racing, quite definitely, no 'little bit' about it.

"You know the tradition, then?" he hedged, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Dream favored him with a look that could have withered the greenery above them, and yes, right. Prince of Stories, entirety-of-the-collective-unconscious, all that. Holiday traditions surely fell within that purview.

Hob swallowed, nerves still singing a gloriously freaked-out tune over the drumbeat of his racing heart. Surely Dream was not expecting—

Dream was still looking at him, expectantly.

And it's not like Hob had any objections, of course! Not like he hadn't thought about the possibility of kissing Dream dozens of times, hundreds even—thousands perhaps, who was counting—but he'd never expected that Dream would suggest it first, under any circumstances, that it would ever be anything Dream could possibly want.

Was he reading things right?

He didn't think he was reading them wrong, but...well. Sure it'd been a hundred and thirty-odd years and there was certainly an openness to Dream these days that hadn't been there then, but "You DARE??" still haunted Hob on many levels and he'd rather not earn himself an encore. Especially not over a frivolous holiday tradition.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, aware of the heat in his face. "Okay but don't feel like you have to; there's no obligation." He glanced away, fiddled self-consciously with his earlobe. "I mean, it's just a silly tradition, not as if there's mistletoe police lurking about…"

Hob's dismissive rambling trailed off unconvincingly and Dream tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing the slightest bit.

"I would honor this tradition, Hob. Unless. Are you opposed?"

"Oh no! Not opposed, no." God, no, couldn't have him thinking that. "In that case then, ah, let me just—okay—" He leaned over and brushed a quick peck against the corner of Dream's mouth, quick enough to avoid the temptation of more, but not quick enough to avoid feeling the cool smoothness of Dream's skin beneath his lips in a way that would surely keep him awake long hours tonight.

Desperately trying to school his expression to 'normal' versus 'hopelessly besotted and dying to do that properly except I'm afraid of driving you off for another hundred years', Hob dared a glance at Dream's face. Which was…impassive as ever, with a hint of not-what-I-expected lurking in the downward tick of his mouth.

Wrangling his nerves, Hob flashed a grin and glanced up. "Can't forget to pick a berry, now, else people'll be stuck kissing under this forever—" What a completely inane thing to say, but he couldn't seem to quite get a handle on his tongue. At least none of the bar patrons were paying them any mind; they may as well have been alone for the lack of attention they were drawing.

The berry vanished from his grasp as soon as he'd plucked it, dissipated into nothingness, but that was to be expected, perfectly normal, right? He glanced at Dream to confirm and instead found himself watching transfixed as Dream reached up, pale, slender fingers caressing a waxy white berry of nearly the same shade, and Hob's fool mouth just kept running. "We don't both have to pick one, it's only, y'know, one berry one kiss—"

"I am aware." Dream cut him off and then, quite deliberately, pulled the little berry free of its stem. "But, as I wish to receive another kiss…" He was staring at Hob expectantly again.

Oh.

Still off-kilter, still not sure quite how this was actually happening but also still possessed of enough faculties to not question his good fortune just yet, Hob leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Dream's, full-on this time, lingering just a little. Dream tilted into it, moved his own lips in complement—and oh. Again. Hob shivered, a thrill of delight running effervescent down his spine, goosebumps blooming all along his arms.

He pulled back before he could let himself get lost in it, because getting lost in it would be so easy yet terribly unwise.

"Dream?" Now apparently was the moment to question, his mouth decided, to suss out what his (very dear) friend intended because surely, surely this couldn't be as straightforward as it was trying to appear?

But Dream was regarding him with something approaching consternation, mouth flat and eyes disbelieving; he reached up to pluck another berry, swift and precise, flicking it away to dissolve into thin air as he spoke. "Hob Gadling." He plucked another, and another, punctuating his next words sharply. "I would—" pluck "—have you—" pluck "—kiss me—" pluck "—properly."

Okay. However they'd gotten here, that was clear enough, and Hob wasn't waiting to be told again.

Dream met him halfway this time, fingertips lighting on his face to guide him properly-as-requested to Dream's mouth and Hob just went with it, tossed aside dozens of decades of caution and restraint and finally kissed Dream like he meant it. Dream made a tiny little sound, high and soft like a wish at long last granted and that was it. Hob threw his arms around Dream's skinny frame and Dream's hands tangled eagerly into his hair and they were kissing, kissing, kissing like they couldn't get enough and never mind the public setting.

Hob couldn't hear whether or not they were getting catcalls or wolf whistles, not over the thunder of his own pulse in his ears, and he couldn't have cared anyway because Dream was clinging to the curve of his skull, was kissing like he meant to devour him and Hob was one hundred percent down for it. He pressed himself flush against Dream, arms wrapped tight around him, feasting on Dream's ravenous intensity as the kissing went on and on.

Dream pushed forward and Hob followed his prompting, let Dream guide him one step back, two, and then they fetched up against the bar, the edge of the counter digging into Hob's spine. "Hob," Dream murmured, right against his lips, and Hob shivered at the way his name sounded in that voice at this moment. Dream was kissing down the line of his jaw now and Hob sighed, tilted his head up to offer his throat as well.

"God, is this really happening?" Running his mouth was going to be a continuing theme, apparently. "D'you have any idea how long I've dreamed about you, like this?"

Dream tucked his face into the arch of Hob's neck, breath soft against the skin there before he kissed, grazed it with sharp teeth. "Have you any idea, how long I have wished to do such things with you?"

"I—wait, no. Really?" Hob pulled back to look at him, but was caught instead by the silence of the pub around them. Was everyone staring; had they made that much of a scene?

No, as it turned out, because when Hob actually looked, he found that all the patrons had vanished and the pub itself was sort of washed over like watercolor, barely-there around the edges, an unfinished painting. Only the two of them and the beam hanging the mistletoe above them were in focus and fully rendered.

"Oh no, this is only—I'm dreaming, aren't I." He kissed Dream again anyway, absolutely crestfallen, remembering vanishing mistletoe berries and other unheeded anomalies that suddenly made sense. "You aren't even—this isn't real, is it, just my imagination. Again."

"I have told you, Hob, the Dreaming is as 'real' as the waking world."

"To you, I'm sure," Hob lamented, kissing him mournfully, speaking against his mouth, drawing the words across his cheek. "But are you actually here? Am I even going to remember this when I wake up?"

Dream paused at that, stepped back—stepped out of Hob's arms—and Hob ached at the sudden loss. Then, with an expression somehow equal parts annoyance, arousal, and apology, Dream reached up and pulled down the entire mistletoe sprig from overhead, made a quick horizontal gesture with his other hand. "This dream is over."

Hob startled awake, sprawled into the corner of his couch, disoriented for half a second at the abrupt change and scrambling madly to sit upright, to hold onto the threads of the dream. Because Dream had been in it, had all but demanded his kisses—and if he'd really been there—

His head jerked up toward a sudden shifting of displaced air across the room. Dream stepped into existence in a soft swirl of sand and stalked toward him, dropping the mistletoe sprig on the coffee table, swinging himself down to straddle Hob's lap with his knees snug against either hip. He pushed Hob back into the couch, looming over him in a way that had every bit of Hob paying very rapt attention.

Dream's hands smoothed over Hob's shoulders, as if to gentle a high-strung animal; ironic, that was, when Dream himself was held taut as a bowstring, so tense he was trembling with it.

Hob barely managed an almost-steady tone. "Not just a dream, then?"

Dream's eyes were boring into his with intensity, gone dark and starry. "Be assured, Hob. I would have this in the Waking as well as in the Dreaming. I would not have you…doubt, my affections—"

"Oh good," Hob croaked, and then both hands were buried in Dream's hair, mouth open and angling for Dream's, and Dream collapsed against him, melted into the kiss with a soft sound of relief that sent Hob absolutely soaring.

It was several moments before they drew apart, Dream's hands carding through Hob's hair now and Hob's at Dream's hips, keeping him settled close. Dream rested his forehead against Hob's, eyes fluttering shut, fingertips stroking gently against Hob's scalp. Hob shivered at the sensual touch, fragments of their dream encounter resurfacing while he caught his breath.

"How long, then?" He slid one hand gently up Dream's spine and back down.

"Long enough." Dream kissed him again, soft and eager. "Too long."

"You never said anything."

"Nor did you."

Hob slipped both arms around Dream's waist, underneath the galaxy-lined coat, giddy that he was allowed. "You were—I didn't think—clearly I'm an idiot, because here we are, but I couldn't imagine you taking kindly to my interest."

Dream drew back enough to study him, considering his words carefully. "I…would not have taken it kindly, before, no matter my own feelings. You are correct."

"But now?"

Dream kissed him again, fierce and insistent and sincere, a long moment of poured feeling before reining it in. "Much has happened, to alter my perspective." His lips brushed Hob's as he spoke and bloody hell but it was difficult for Hob to hold back when the promise of kissing him again was right there. He managed, though, because Dream wasn't done yet and Hob was desperately interested in what he had to say, actually.

Dream put a little more distance between their faces, held his gaze now, fingers still laced into his hair. "Hob. I would. Give you candor. I would have you know, the value I place on your friendship. I would express my regard for you in every way you will accept it."

"In any way. Every way. I'm yours. However you'll have me, whatever you'll allow." Hob was reasonably successful, he felt, at corralling his mental babbling into coherent speech. "I'm yours, Dream. I'm yours."

Affections. Regard. Bloody brilliant. He felt the radiant smile splitting his face and let it happen.

Dream kissed it as it blossomed, reverently, and Hob's heart ascended.

"I should like to kiss you more often, Hob Gadling," Dream declared then. "It is every bit the delight I had hoped it to be."

Hob was never coming back down to earth, was he. "Y'know, if you'd led with that and your pretty little speech instead of bleeding mistletoe, I would have been kissing you sooner?"

"It was meant to be…spontaneous, and whimsical." Both things that Dream was decidedly not, generally speaking, but Hob held his tongue. "The dreamers are currently…awash, in their various holidays and accompanying traditions. This tradition, in this season, seemed an opportune means to express my intentions."

'Intentions'. Wasn't that just a fine old-fashioned way of saying it.

Hob grinned wider, trying (and mostly failing, but trying, dammit) to keep the giddiness under control. "So…what you're saying is, you're my Christmas present?" It was a terrible joke. He couldn't help it.

Dream gave him a look halfway between askance and consideration. "…If you wish to view it as such, then…very well. I am your Christmas present."

Delighted, joyful, Hob leaned up and kissed him, because he could.

Dream straightened up a moment later, regal as anything never mind that he was still perched astride Hob's lap, and his well-kissed expression shifted into something mildly imperious. "It is customary to unwrap one's gifts when presented with them, is it not?"

Hob's brain stuttered, ground to a shuddering halt, full record-scratch Hob-dot-exe-has-stopped-working blue screen. Dream had allowed his terrible joke to stand, that was remarkable enough, but now he'd gone and turned it around and lobbed it back? Embellished it with innuendo, of all the impossible—?

He stared up at Dream, wide-eyed and tongue-tied. "Um."

Was he. Did he mean it?

Dream gave him a mildly unimpressed look, with a little curl of smugness underneath; he leaned back in, pressed himself close, grazed his rose petal lips across the shell of Hob's ear. The softest of sighs ghosted after, and then his voice, warm and dark and rich as velvet.

"Unwrap your present, Hob. That you may. Open it, properly."

Hob-dot-exe restarted with gusto; he didn't need to be told a third time.

All in all, it was a very merry Christmas indeed.

===== Started: 12/8/22

Drafted: 12/23/22

Posted: 12/25/22

[hairringtonsteve]

a welcome reunion.

[eddie munson x reader]

summary: eddie was away for a while, and the reunion is even better than you'd imagined.

word count: 1,193 words

a/n: well friends, a lot of life things changed and instead of updating quixotic I speed-wrote this fic in under two hours. i am in love with eddie munson and needed to share this. let me know what you think! (also, spoilers for season four of stranger things!) (also also, not edited at ALL I am sorry)

masterlist | ask | taglist form

*****

The soft morning light filters through the navy blue curtains. A slight breeze wafts through the air, causing the rays of light to shimmer and move as the curtains move. For once, the oppressive summer heat is bearable. You bury your face into the cool pillow. It’s nice to just relish in the quiet, to bask in the perfect temperature when you have nowhere to be until the late afternoon. You take in a deep breath. 

This is great. 

It’d be even better if — 

“Hey, you awake?” A voice comes from the doorway. You jerk up in surprise, your heart stopping somewhere halfway up your throat. Your head swivels around, eyes wide as you see him leaning in the doorway. His arms are crossed as his shoulder rests against the doorframe. He’s the picture of casual. Your gaze rakes across his form, heart skittering as a slow smirk stretches across his lips. He’s got his jean jacket on, what’s he thinking? He should take it off, he deserved to be comfortable. “Miss me?”

Keep reading

Your cheeks grow warm as he gives you a knowing look, catching the way your eyes linger on his arms. You shake your head once, then twice. “Eddie, I thought you were —”

“Got back early,” he shrugs. He pushes himself away from the door and starts towards you. Like clockwork, you scoot over and push the blanket aside, just as you’ve done a thousand other times. Eddie climbs in beside you, stretching his long legs out across the bed. He lifts his arm and juts his chin at you. An invitation. You press against his side in an instant, burrowing your face into his neck. You breathe in. A faint whiff of cigarettes, deodorant, and just him. 

“I’ve decided I can’t handle Dustin on my own,” you murmur. You’d been half-awake at best before he’d spoke, and he was comfortable. Sleep threatens to tug you under once more. “I’ve confiscated three homemade fireworks in the last week. Three!”

You can feel the vibrations of his chuckle rumble through his chest as he presses a kiss against the top of your head. “C’mon. That’s not bad. That’s like, a Tuesday for that kid. He’s taking it easy on you.” 

“Maybe easy to you. He’s exhausting.” He nudges his leg against yours before moving to sit up straight. You pull away to mirror his position, the both of you sitting cross-legged and facing one another. “I'm serious, Munson. No more trips away. Deal?” 

Eddie stares at you. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back up again. “You gonna make it worth my while if I stick around?”  

Despite the breeze, your body goes hot. He places his palms against the tops of your thighs, nudging your shorts up so they don’t get in the way. His thumbs rub small circles against the soft skin. His teeth drag across his lower lip. 

You swallow. His eyes narrow as you shift a little. The corners of his mouth quirk up. “God, you’re pretty,” he murmurs. He leans in, mouth mere inches away from yours. His palms are hot on your thighs. Any chance of rational thought is gone with his proximity. “You going to be good for me and convince me to stay?”

You don’t know who moves first. It’s impossible to tell as suddenly his lips are against yours and his hands are at your waist. With practiced ease, the two of you maneuver so you’re on the bed, his weight pressing against you. Your hands grasp at his jean jacket. It needs to come off now. He moves to kiss your jawline, and then down your neck. 

“Off, off, off Munson,” you mumble, jerking your hips into his to urge him to hurry up. 

“What, you want this old thing off?” There’s laughter in his voice, but it’s hard to care when you need as few layers as possible separating you. “Is that what you want?” His voice dips and he drags his teeth against your neck. “Patience, sweetheart.” 

You groan. There’s no time for patience, not when his fingers are thrumming  on your waist, the callouses from playing guitar scratching against your soft skin. He bites down on your neck and sucks, causing your back to arch up against him. 

“Eddie, jacket off.” His breath is hot against you as he laughs. He sucks once more and a moan leaves your lips as he finally sits up. He takes his time in shrugging off the jacket, rolling one shoulder back at a painful speed before sliding his arm out. The sleeve of his t-shirt hugs his bicep. You swallow. 

“This what you wanted?”

You nod, greedy for more skin, for more of him. 

He’s faster now, shrugging off the other sleeve and tossing it across the room. It hits your dresser, knocking some  books over in the process. Eddie grins down at you before tugging  his t-shirt up over his head. Your lips part as you stare up at him. 

“What do you think?” 

“You’re beautiful.” He preens as his cheeks go red. You sit up just enough to trace a finger down his chest. He shivers at your light touch, eyes never leaving yours. You trace a few of his tattoos, eyes flicking between his chest and his gaze. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. The emotion in his voice makes you pause. You look up at him and quirk a brow. “You know I love you, right?” 

“I know.” 

He grins at the reference, the warmth in his gaze still there. He regards you for a moment before launching forward and tugging you down to lay on top of him. Your head rests against his chest, his heartbeat strong. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

You twist your head to rest your chin on him. “Eddie Munson,” you begin. The look on his face sets butterflies off in your chest at full force. “I suppose I love you.” 

He pokes at your side. You try to twist away, but his other hand stays firm on your waist. “Say it with feeling. C’mon.” 

“Of course I love you.” Your words are quiet, only for the two of you. His thumb strokes at your skin. 

“God, I could stay with you forever.” 

You resume your previous position, head firmly on his chest. 

“You should, Munson.” 

Sleep begins to seduce you once more. It’s comfortable there, the breeze wafting through the air as his hand begins to stroke up and down your back. Your eyes slip shut and you let out a content hum.

“Maybe I will,” he eventually responds. “Maybe I will.”

After what feels like only a few seconds, you open your eyes. The light is harsh through the curtains. There’s no breeze to make the heat bearable. Instead, everything just sits, sweltering. The humidity makes the air almost thick. Sweat slides down your back. You frown as you realize your head isn’t where it was before. You sit up. You frown as your chest begins to ache. 

It hits you suddenly, the weight of it all crashing into your brain with a vengeance. 

It’s been four months.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Midnight

Hello Tumblrverse! I’m coming at you with something very special today for my friend @blossom-adventures as this week is her birthday! I hope you enjoy this little piece I wrote up for you and that you have the loveliest of lovely weeks, Blossom. ❤️

“Would you meet me at the top of the Palace’s parapets at midnight?”

The question has echoed in Jaina’s ears all afternoon, distracting her from being able to get anything else done. Try as she might, her thoughts seem to always drift back to Ulfric’s words in her ears. What could he want with her and at midnight no less?

She sighs heavily as she walks the streets of Windhelm’s infamous Snow Quarter, various friends and citizens alike calling out to greet the familiar figure of the Dragonborn. While being in the city has been an adjustment for her, the people there—and Ulfric—have certainly made her feel at home.

“Would you meet me—”

She blows a piece of hair out of her face in frustration with herself. 

Surely, she hasn’t done anything wrong or broken any of the city’s rules, and it isn’t as if she hasn’t seen or interacted with the Jarl before. What on Nirn makes this so different? And why can’t she get him out of her head? 

Jaina bites her lip as an image of his face drifts into view.

Oh.

Her face turns a mixture between red and maroon all the way up to the tips of her ears. While she has been trying to deny that she feels some sort of attraction to the Jarl, her body tells no lies. She had been hoping that the situation would just resolve itself on its own, and she could go on ignoring this little infatuation, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

If only she could save him and herself from her own emotions—and the secret she is hiding.

Jaina shakes her head. There is no use dwelling on it now, especially since she has already told Ulfric of her troubles, and he hasn’t treated her any differently because of it. Perhaps, that’s it. She feels some sort of affection for him or some type of companionship with him because he has been one of the few who she has trusted enough outside of Jorrvaskr to know exactly what she is.

Either way, there is no use thinking on it any further. All she can do now is wander the snowy streets as she waits for the appointed time.

It comes sooner than she thought it would.

Minutes turn to hours, and the sun sinks into the horizon, but Masser and Secunda are nowhere to be found. They have chosen to hide their faces from the world, shrouding the sky in inky blackness.

When Jaina arrives to the Palace’s roof, there is no one there. The only thing she sees is a worn blanket thrown across the floor. She glances around carefully once more to search for Ulfric and then sits down on the blanket, leaning her back against the cool stone of the walls.

Where could he be? She was certain he had said midnight.

Her fingers pick at the beds of her fingernails as she looks for something to distract herself from her nervousness. Eventually, she turns her face to the sky.

There she sees an ocean of stars unlike any she has ever seen before. It takes her breath away.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it.” A voice whispers in her ear, and goosebumps erupt over her skin. 

She knows that voice, and as she turns her head just a fraction, she finds herself centimeters away from Ulfric’s face. How did he get so close to her without her noticing?

“Good evening, Jaina.” He smiles at her slightly, and her heart bursts into a thousand butterflies. “I’m sorry I am late, especially since I was the one who asked you here, but I was trying to see if there was a better place to watch the stars.”

“No, no. That’s quite alright. I was more than content here.” She stops herself, and then realizes she has stuck her foot in her mouth. The fluttering in her body and pulse pounding in her ears makes it nearly impossible for her to focus. “Not that I am incontent to have you here now or that—”

“Relax, Jaina. I know exactly what you mean.” A small chuckle escapes from his lips. “Windhelm has some of the best conditions in all of Tamriel for stargazing.”

Is this why he asked her here?

Jaina is suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness. For if he could see her face now, it would be clear to him that she is blushing furiously.

“I—I didn’t know you liked to watch the stars too, Jarl Ulfric.”

“I did quite a bit of that when I was a soldier in the Great War.” He answers her without prompting. “I heard that you like to do so as well. I may have asked around.” He clears his throat and suddenly points up. “That is the constellation of the Lady. It was one of the first I learned to recognize many years ago.”

For a while, neither of them say anything else; however, Jaina notices that as the night stretches on, Ulfric’s hand steadily gets closer to hers until it brushes against her own fingers. It is the barest whisper of a touch, but it is a touch nonetheless. And despite the fact that it is not exactly inappropriate in nature, her skin against his own calloused hands sets her alight, causing her to shiver.

“Are you cold, Jaina?” Ulfric leans over to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps we should turn in for the night. It is late.” 

She looks at him, mouth opened, yet no sound coming out. If only she could force the words out. However, Ulfric shakes his head at her.

“I had a very nice evening.” Boldly, he tucks a piece of hair behind her slightly-pointed ears. “I would very much like to do this again with you.”

Their eyes lock for a moment, and although Ulfric has stated that they should retire for the night, she doesn’t move. She is too entranced by the shifting emotions in the Jarl’s stormy blue eyes. It is as if he warring with himself and holding himself back from something, but then slowly, she sees him move closer to her—feels the stubble of his beard brush against her skin—and then finally, his lips press against her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Jaina.”

[katsukikitten]

In which Shoto is an asshole Oni and I am the author that wrote the majority of this fic tipsy, you’re welcome! Bnharemcollab masterlist found here

Warnings: Non con bruv. Claws horns? He's an oni bud

"And they say he's been stealing the hearts of beautiful women for centuries. So don't go talking to any ole handsome man that steps over a threshold." The tour guide adds to the end of her ridiculous story about some Demon King that drags women to hell before she leads the group onto the next painting.

Still there was something captivating about the art work, how the man has his back to the viewer and how women bow to him, foreheads pressed into the tatami mats with their own bleeding hearts held high over their heads. Blood drips from their hands, splattering on the mats like rain or tear drops. The man, who is assumed to be the Oni, is looking over his shoulder, hand reaching out for the nearest offering. Both figures are forever suspended in brush strokes and desire for more. The closer you inspect the other worldly looking figure the more your gut tightens. His elaborate kimono hangs loosely from his body but you can still see the broadness of his shoulders, the thick bands of muscle on his forearms, the apparition of elongated nails when you look closer and finally the faint strokes atop of his two toned hair that are in the shape of sharp horns.

A God among men or maybe you should say a Devil among friends. A sigh escapes you as you admire the work before the tour guide announces the title, artist and time period of the next piece. “Wrath of the Mountain God.” A large man, with long hair so deep in hue you first mistake it for black, stands in a Kimono. His chest on display as he stands giving the view his profile, his eyes glow red in the light of the full moon, in his arms seems to be a maiden, a flower crown falling from her hair. It looks as if his strong form had just taken a step, beneath his foot begins a nasty fissure that gapes the Earth for miles and miles. The painting feels charged and emotions practically drip from the ink painting and yet still your eyes flicker to the painting to it’s right. At this angle you can see a faint shimmer in his smoky quartz colored eye. It sends a shiver down your spine as you feel a faint breath on the nape of your neck. Quickly you turn your head, craning your neck to look over your shoulder but no one stands behind you. Just another painting, “Golden God of Destruction.” Red gaze glowering as his hair drips gold, while he walks over the hellish landscape of cooling and erupting lava. You swallow thickly before following the tour guide onto the next section.

The tour lasts another half an hour but your mind lingers on the shimmering eyes of the dangerous entity. The more you think of him the bigger the sinking feeling in your gut becomes, not to mention the more you feel as if something is stalking your every move. Another quick glance over your shoulder as you exit the museum while you ponder over why this particular Oni was handsome when all of the other artworks featuring a yokai or oni were depicted as ugly, grotesque even.

Maybe it was because he was the King? You couldn’t be sure, all you knew is that you could understand why the women would rip out their hearts and offer them up to him. He was hot as hell, no pun intended.

Suddenly the fall air smells of frost and the threat of snow, you wrinkle your nose before you jump out of your skin. .

"So you liked the "Oni King, stealer of heart’s'' piece best?" A smooth voice calls from behind you, you press your hand over your rapidly beating heart as you try to catch your breath. Startled, you turn around to see a handsome man opening the gate, stepping over the grass line onto the sidewalk. Instantly you feel heat rush you as a cool autumn breeze swirls around fallen leaves around your boots.

"How did you…"

"I come here often and no one has ever stopped and looked at that piece as long as you have." He seems stoic and you can just barely see the corner of his mouth lift up. You take a moment to really drink him in, his tall stature, his hair a shocking white with contrasting red and a scar that sits beautifully over one of his gem stone eyes. One a smoky quartz and the other a bright turquoise.

You swallow thickly as you stare at the other worldly man, finding little to no words as your heart beats into your ribcage. You grip at the fabric of your jacket over your heart, it pounds against your rib cage like a fluttering wild bird.

"Where are my manners? I am Todoroki Shoto. But you can call me Shoto." Again he offers his barely there smile, "And you are?"

It's laughable how you stumble over your own name, you have never had issues talking to attractive people before, what the hell was your problem now.

“It sounds lovely.” He says your name, it rolls off of his tongue like music makes you swallow thickly, your knees threatening to buckle and you can’t understand why you’re acting like a love struck teenager again. There is a contrasting air about him, just like his hair. Passion and reservation, raging power and quiet tranquility, and the feel of it is making you dizzy. Tipsy almost, drunk if you linger here too long. Just as you’re about to express how you’ll be late for dinner he smiles at you.

Fully this time.

And you think your heart was going to claw out of its calcium coffin but it stalls when you notice that it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Well since you have a good appreciation of art, would you care to join me in the garden, the Chrysanthemum are in full bloom this time of year.” You swallow as you look at him, a twinge of fear lingering in your blood that is soon lost as he steps over the threshold of the garden, waiting patiently.

“Uh, yea I think I can spare some time.” You smile nervously, he offers out his hand.

“Be careful, the step down can be quite steep.” A genuine small form on your lips now as you remember the first time you set foot into this garden and almost twisted your ankle. You step over the threshold, blinking against the late afternoon sun as you do.

Except when you open your eyes once more, you are no longer in the garden. There are no shrubs and bushes, no cinderblock wall of the old museum, something more sinister stands in its place. The sky is an inky black, the full moon hangs overhead shining down onto a small village that thickens the closer it gets towards a large feudal era looking castle. Fading sunlight filter behind you as you whip your head behind you. A giant Torri stands where the aging fence and garden gate stood before, a hazy image of an autumn afternoon in the shape of the gate rapidly begins to shrink. Panicked you lunge arm outstretched as if catching a full elevator as you’re running behind for a very important meeting.

If only your paralyzing panic was over something so trivial.

A strong set of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards a chiseled chest as hot breath whispers cooly in your ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep all of your limbs, love.”

Shaking you glance over your shoulder before you watch the portal to home close up.

Just like that the landscape that could be seen through the gate was endless night and rolling hills dotted with homes here and there. When you turn to face your captor his eyes narrow as he studies you. His gem stone eyes glittering in the rich moonlight, following your hands up to your chest. He stills as he listens and while he looks you notice the horns growing from his head. Thin and shaped into a deadly point. He tilts his head as if you are bewitching before he leans closer, capturing your hair between his fingers. Now that you were in the moonlight, in the realm he ruled, you looked...familiar and the feeling made his chest tighten.

“How does your heart feel?” He asks, eyes anywhere but yours. You try to jerk out of his touch but his warm hand wraps around your bicep keeping you well within arms reach.

“My heart?! What does that have to do with me standing in HELL!” You scream and it echoes across the chilled landscape. Some women in kimono pass by, keeping their eyes turned down as they pass but once they are a few steps behind this brute’s back, they send you withering glares.

Your attention comes fully back to the man in front of you, or maybe you should say demon. He presses his hand over your heart with a puzzling look. Your body heats from the contact and embarrassment, you were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding. All the while his brows knit upwards.

“Seems you aren’t affected…”He murmurs to himself, tonguing his cheek. Suddenly he tears your sweater, pressing his hand against your chest and part of your breast.

“Hey!” You protest until a burning sensation blooms on your skin, when he pulls away you see kanji puckering up, that reads “Shoto”

“That should keep the lower demons away...for now.” He grabs onto your wrist tightly, too tightly before your world bends and blurs. Folding in on itself as if Space and Time were suddenly a beautiful origami paper creased until the maker was satisfied.

The world is bright when you open your eyes next, cradled in an abundance of candle light as your stomach sours causing you to lurch.

“Ugh, not on the tatami!” A woman’s voice scolds, but her state doesn’t help the nausea that hits you in waves. She wears a beautiful kimono, embroidered with gold and silver thread on violet cloth, the chest stained a deep cherry and a hole is where her heart should be. Her hands stained blood red and you back up, panting as you try to keep a level head.

“Get her cleaned up.” Shoto snaps, “I will want her in my room promptly.”

The women in the room shake slightly, keeping their heads down, distantly you can hear the sound of a thousand thundering hearts, deafening in a sense. The stately woman gently guides you towards the bath in the large mansion, shock sets in as your gaze glazes over. Every hall has a woman, anywhere from the feudal era to today, all dressed in kimonos, most were dressed in the ones they obviously died in or dressed in old clothes with their tattoos and fresh wounds peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Every single person sends you a death glare.

You’re stripped of your clothes and dignity in the company of about twenty women, hands shove you into the steaming water, cupping the cloudy water to wash your skin.

No matter how often the woman dip their hands into the water, the blood never leaves their fingertips, forever stained in their sin.

“We gave them away, you know. Ripped them from our chests….” She looks up at you with a timid look.

“Kiyoko, hush.” An elder hisses as she straightens the thin piece of cloth you were going to wear once you were all pieced together.

“No, she deserves to know..” Kiyoko hisses back, “The story is similar for a lot of us, he appears in a doorway, he seems kind enough, and then we look into his eyes. Gazing too deeply before our hearts seize in our chests, flopping around as if behind your flesh was killing it and it should sit in the palm of his hand. The only logical thing was for us to reach deep inside of ourself and give him what he deserved.” A quite falls over the room before a heavy solem air settles on your shoulders.

“He stopped for a while….after he met you.” Your eyes flash to hers and the elder’s hand wraps into Kiyoko’s hair, pulling her away from you.

“Enough.” She snarls as tears run down her cheeks, down all the women’s cheeks and you swallow thickly.

After an hour of primping you find yourself in front of two sliding tatami doors that have Oni and other yokai decorating their sheets.

“Send her in.” A deep voice sounds from the other side.

“Yes master.” The women answer, opening the doors before one shoves you in.

Doors to the eqwaa are open as he lounges on the polished wood, staring at the moon. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and it eerily reminds you of the painting in the museum.

In an instant he is in front of you, backing you into the plush bed that sat in the middle of his room, you fall onto the raised futon looking up at him.

The lowlight plays tricks on your eyes, the square paper lantern and the moon painting him in strokes of kind, of hurt, not some beastly thing he obviously was. Even his horns seemed soft, but nothing was softer than his lips as he pressed them to yours. Embarrassingly ecstasy blossoms under your eyelids as liquid heat floods your core. His tongue probes yours as he leans over top of you, playing with you nipples through the thin cloth as you moan into his mouth. Your body arches into his his as your heart flutters, trying to pull you away from his addicting touch.

Maybe you could have gotten away, maybe….

If only his hand hadn’t slipped between your thighs where he teased your sex utnil you pruned his figners, singing like the song bird he knew you were. His hard cock presses against your thigh twitching with delight. He kisses down your throat before he shreds the thin white kimono away from your body. He groans audibly before he leans down, one finger pulling at your pebbled nipple while the other pulls it between his teeth.

“Shoto…”You cry and he moans into your supple skin. Taking off his own thin kimono to align himself up to your fluttering hole. Eyes glued to your heart, fingers tracing the kanji as he eases himself in inch by inch. Stretching you and filling you pleasantly. He sits for a moment, taking in your body and how you burn under his touch. Free hand roaming your body as the other prods your fresh burn. Tracing the strokes over and over as if he wrote it himself.

Well technically he did.

“Please.” Your mouth betrays, hips pressing up into his to get any sort of friction, his free hand comes down, slamming your hips into the bed.

“Say it again.” He huffs, “Say my name again.”

“Shoto.” It's a hushed, reluctant breath but your skin was icy hot, lifeforce feeling as if it were evaporating away from the heated tension that sat between you two. He watches your body wither, feels your cunt clamping down onto him desperately and it’s all he can do not to thrust into you widely.

“Again.” He barks, pulling at your nipple harshly.

“Shoto.” You moan, the sound is enough to make him start his harsh pace. Pelvis slamming into yours as his tuft of pubic hair glides across your clit. Your vision blurs with tears, it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve ever had or could ever remember as his claws ghost over your soft skin.

“You thought you could escape me.” He grunts, ramming himself into you harder, you moan in response, “I marked more than your flesh two hundred years ago, I marked your soul.”

“You couldn’t help yourself, coming back to the very piece of art you created.” He continues with a laugh, claws raking down your skin, slicing at your skin superficially. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you cannot fathom what he’s said. All that there is the feel of his hands, the pleasure that threatens to snap in your stomach.

He watches the way your cunt coats his cock in a silvery sheen that has his lips parting. Taking wanton ruts, the motion of it rattling the art on the wall. Pieces fall around you and any of the scrolls that try to block his view of you get shredded mid air. His thrusts turn sloppy as he comes down to bite at your neck.

“Shoto!” You cry out, vision going black as your body convulses around him, eyes rolling in to the back of your head as you forget your name and only cry out his.

“That’s right, tell me who you belong to. Who owns you love.” He pants, holding his own release for a moment longer just to hear your sweet voice scream his name over and over. Finally your milking cunt sends him over the edge. He grunts, staring into your eyes as he paints your wall a creamy white.

“Mine.” He growls, biting at your breast, at the skin over your heart. You feel his spilling cock harden again as your body melts into the sheets.

Most of the night is spent in mind numbing ecstasy and in those few short hours you forget you were ever brought here unwillingly.

You sit on a throne, overlooking the vast landscape of Yomi, Oni running the underworld as heartless women wander the streets. Their mortal heartbeats keeping time as they ceaselessly beat just beneath your feet. Mind’s eye miles away as you see a ghost of a hand before you. Memory playing out as you take careful brush strokes against your canvas, hoping this would serve as a warning for other women as you dab the brush in the deep colored liquid that stains the tatami floor of your home.

Ever the artist you wanted to add final touches even as you drew your final breaths, having thought it better to take your own life than to sit at the right hand of a demon, your chest was already mutilated with his name.

Irony weighs heavy in your stomach as you realize how futile it was to even make that masterpiece. It did not serve as a warning.

No if anything, it served as a beacon, drawing you like a moth to flame until you circled to close.

Burning up in the flames of the very thing you admired.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Do you do poly ships? :0 if not feel free to do these two characters separately lol May I get some hcs of Zhongli and Venti on a picnic date with the reader? Just a quiet day in the sun where the Archons can relax for a moment and watch the world go by :D (if you wanna insert some angst maybe they suddenly realize this moment is fleeting bc reader is mortal and won't be with them forever?? Up to you lol 👀) thank you in advance!!!

I actually don't :D kidding ahahah

What I meant to say was that I haven't wrote anything related to poly relationship before so this a cool, first experience for me! And like the dumbass that I am, I took on this request and butchered the heck outta it. Welcome to "A Day In The Life Loving Two Broke Gods"-

Rendezvous with the Gods

Picnic Scenario with Poly!Venti, Zhongli, and You

Background!

It's pretty WACK how you got two of the seven archons to be interested in you in a romantic level.

But I can imagine that the thing that attracted them the most to you is your sense of humanity. As ex-archons, what they needed now is a sense of normalcy and a grasp on reality, and with your knowledge and presence they've come to realize the ways of the mortals fairly easily.

But like, you got the two oldest archons in existence. Even the Traveler is in disbelief at this turn of events.

I think you somehow ended up in this situation when the two of them had a reunion after their retirement, and the conversation went like this: "Have you heard of the fair maiden, (Y/N)? Their existence greatly reminds me of Celestia!" "I had the honor of meeting them yes, how tantalizing they are, even the slightest sight of them invigorates me through the whole day."

They'd shower you with praises among one another, and you're forced to sneeze for an hour straight somewhere in Teyvat.

Preparation!

*wheeze*

First thing I thought was "How probable is it that Venti drinks Dandelion Wine at 4 in the afternoon?"

The answer is yes.

You three have planned this picnic days ahead, maybe even a week. As all of you have your own work and errands to deal with, probably not Venti tho, a gathering of this magnitude that requires you three to be present for hours are not as common as you'd think.

First order of business: location! The most obvious answer would have been Starsnatch Cliff, Windrise or even Dihua Marsh.

While thinking, Venti and Zhongli ended up sharing a look, and suddenly the location was settled.

No, you don't know where it is, and they tell you that they'll handle it.

You don't have to worry.

You are very worried.

Next, the food! Being in a relationship with two broke Gods made you the alpha in terms of Mora, and on this occasion, you're once again forced to put your foot down and provide.

With that in mind, both of them could only offer a guilty smile and a nervous laugh.

The outcome of your meal depends on your cooking skills really: if you're good or decent, what a heart-warming picnic that would be.

They must have tasted your cooking before so they would ask for requests on your delicious home cooking —

something light that goes with tea, said Zhongli.

something meaty and heavy to pair with wine, said Venti.

It's a wonder how you deal with these two together.

If you're absolutely terrible at cooking, like Suspicious Dish™ rating, you're gonna have to rely on your Mora to get takeout for this date.

Everything else you've pretty much wrapped up quickly, all you have to do now is wait.

Picnic Time!

Venti was the one to pick you up from your housing to guide you to the location, greeting you with a chaste kiss on the cheek before aiming for the picnic basket hanging by your elbow.

You don't let him; he might eat it on the way there honestly

Cute boy is practically shaking with excitement as he hauls you up over a cliff face and carefully nyoom! over the sea

Where is he taking you?

You didn't dwell much longer when you saw a small island in the distance, a rock formation by the edge and most notably, you're tall lover standing next to an elegant patterned brown and gold blanket placed over the sea of flora.

Welcome to Heart Island!

Very cheesy

The Geo archon greets you with a kiss on the hand before being tackled to the ground by a buzzing Venti.

How that was physically possible was beyond you-

You set up and laid down all the food you got for today's picnic: Fresh apples, 'Breakfast' Sandwich, Chicken and Mushroom Skewers!

You've also noticed a picnic basket to the side that wasn't yours. Noticing your stare, Zhongli pulled out his contributions: Mora Meat, a pitcher of Iced Tea, and a bowl of Mushroom Stew.

Out of nowhere, Venti manifests his own offerings to the table: Apples, Dandelion Wine and Mondstadt Hash Browns.

You have no idea how these two managed to prepare or afford such meals but you appreciate it nonetheless.

They had the whole week to save up Mora just for this picnic, how cute aww

The first to take a bite is Venti, defo. You and Zhongli would be prepping the utensils while the Anemo boy sneaks some food into his mouth, even if you smack his hand multiple times, he's not gonna relent.

A lot of catching up happens in this picnic: your wild commissions, Venti's recent performances, Zhongli's uh consultant stuff.

These are the rare moments where Zhongli isn't the one filling up the conversation more, satisfied with hearing the voices of his lovers and listening to their joys or woes.

The whole picnic is accompanied by Venti's lyre, strumming softly, unrelenting, to make sure all of you are enjoying the serenity of the island.

You and Zhongli take turns spoon feeding him cuz he just won't stop PLAYING

Zhongli made the Iced Tea

Zhongli made the Iced Tea

Very refreshing, right amount of sweet, would honestly be a good alternative for Venti's alcoholism

Speaking of, he's tipsy now

He's on a full-blown performance now, serenading and urging you two into a dance after eating "to digest the food faster"

Not really believable but you danced anyways.

Zhongli would decline first as he starts cleaning up

But give him a little more nudge, pull on his hand, he'll crave eventually

Rex Lapis is actually a pretty decent dancer

HAVE YOU SEEN HOW GRACEFUL HE DROP KICKS HIS SPEAR

Such a relaxing day off the three of you deserve

By the time the sun already dipped the horizon and you guys still had time to spare, you and Venti would be dozing off on the blanket while leaving the few remaining clean up to Zhongli. It was a tiring yet enjoyable day that's deserving of a nice and dreamy nap.

"Morax..." He'd hear an uncharacteristically somber voice as he makes his way over to where you both lay. Your back resting on the Anemo archon's chest as he spoons you. His teal eyes stare unmoving at your open palm of which the Geo archon takes into his as he sits down.

Little cuts litter your rough hands, from your adventures, some fresh from today to prepare your dishes. How frail and sensitive mortal hands are.

"I'll miss them, so so much." Venti confessed as his grip around you tightens, free-flowing tears erupt from his eyes that are unfocused, as if he was years away with that thousand yards stare that the other God had familiarized himself with.

For the second time in his whole lifetime, Rex Lapis found himself at a loss for words.

------

"Ohhh, a luxurious chest! What's it doing so far out here?" The Traveler lets the floating companion ramble as they pull the chest open, excited for the new artifacts they'll come by.

A teal goblet with gold accents worn out through the years from disuse as parts of its paint are chipped off as gray splotches, laid perfectly in the middle of a brown wool blanket with intricate gold and silver geometric patterns. On each side lays an Anemoculus and Geoculus, softly glowing yet dimming in pulses.

They pick it up with utmost care for safe-keeping, to ask for their archon friends in the future. Who knows, it might be the closure they needed.

This took some time and a lot of pondering wow! This is even more chaotic than the Albedo one ahahah I've made myself sad just thinking about this— anyways thank you so much for requesting and your lovely support! Please let our archon bbs be happy ywy

[ackerfics]

slow dance with you — mikasa ackerman

— goth!mikasa ackerman x soft!female reader (modern au)

— warnings: slight mention of alcohol, pure rotten fluff

— summary:  after gaining some courage from the drinks she had in the party and from the advice she got from her friends, mikasa is ready to become your girlfriend.

— word count: 3.9k

— author’s notes: i would like to thank the anon who gave me some ideas for goth!mikasa, you are so amazing !! thank you for the small headcanons. and since we’re on the topic of writing abt goth!mikasa, i couldn’t help but pair her up with a classic soft girl who likes to wear pink at every time of the day. this dynamic is based on marceline and princess bubblegum so i hope you enjoy !!

p.s. the reader will have dyed hair here, if this is not your cup of tea, just let this fly by your dash.

listen to this while reading.

“She dyed her hair pink,” came a dazed yet mesmerized tone.

“You’re staring at her again.”

Mikasa jumped on her seat at Eren’s nonchalant observation. She whipped her head to her best friend, his attention directed on his laptop, hands flying across the keyboard as he typed out the next few words in his essay. Noticing the incredulous look the black-haired girl was shooting him, Eren rose an eyebrow before rolling his eyes. Mikasa huffed, crossing her eyes with a subtle hue of red on her cheeks, complimenting her dark lipstick. “I am not staring,” she mumbled. “Shut up, Eren.” She looked away from her subject of interest but continued shooting small glances.

Eren sighed, running his hand through his hair. He was always one of the witnesses of his best friend slash sister being meek around her crush. At first, he was teasing her because not going to lie, Mikasa’s crush is a pretty person but as their years in college made them juniors, Eren will be the reckless idiot that he is (courtesy of Armin) and set Mikasa up. But he liked to live his life out first — Mikasa will probably curse him with that spellbook she bought from the antique bookshop they encountered in their little exploration back when they were first-years. “Mikasa, why don’t you take the chance and confess to her? It’s not going to be the end of the world.”

“If she rejects me? What then?”

“Then that’s the next problem that you will have to face.” The brown-haired boy turned back to his essay. He stared at his laptop screen blankly before spewing out curses. “Now, I forgot what to write next! Damn it.” He picked up his iced coffee and drank from the metal straw as his life depended on it.

Mikasa rolled her eyes at her best friend’s first statement. “Gee, thanks for the advice. It was very much appreciated.”

“Glad to be of help.”

There was a thud on their table that made the two look up from their respective activities. Eren had a scowl on his face because for the nth time this day, he was interrupted from finishing his essay (for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t want to fail Ackerman’s class). Mikasa blinked from scrolling through her crush’s Twitter account (the last post she wrote was about how Levi Ackerman, Mikasa’s relative and everyone’s Anthropology professor) and fixed her attention on their blonde friend, Armin. He looked too bright after a round of morning classes, something that Eren doesn’t comprehend. The blue-eyed young man has always been the rational and genius third of their little group. There wasn’t a time where Armin’s advice got a situation to erupt in flames. It was either the situation became an inferno instead (Eren) or nobody had the guts to do it (Mikasa).

“Hey, guys!” Armin greeted, arranging his side of the table, meticulously placing each component of his lunch in front of him. “How were your morning classes?”

“Shit,” Eren spat out.

“Of course, it is.”

“They were alright,” Mikasa shrugged.

“Figured.” Armin glanced at his friend’s sides of the table, nodding at Mikasa’s balanced lunch while blankly staring at Eren’s laptop. The device should’ve been a good tray of lunch. “I thought you were eating lunch, Eren? That’s what you said in your text.”

“Can’t,” the brown-haired boy huffed. He gestured at his iced coffee without taking his eyes off the laptop. “I guess, this counts as my lunch.”

“When’s that essay due?”

“In about,” Eren looked at the time on his laptop, “three hours. Ackerman is my first period later. That fucking terror professor has no mercy when it comes to this. Can he just piss off for once? Mikasa, do you even tell him to get laid? Because I think that would solve his attitude. I swear to God, he’s getting more pissed every damn day.”

“Wow, I guess getting my short, grumpy, middle-aged uncle to start his sex life will be a nice conversation starter,” Mikasa drawled, half-lidded, bored eyes reading every tweet her crush has posted for the entire week. Mikasa couldn’t help but smile at one post about a new movie her crush just watched, saying that it was now a new favorite. She was tempted to give a heart on every single post but that would it weird because they never followed each other despite the small interactions they shared in between classes. With a sigh, she looked up, only to be met with Eren’s unamused stare. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “What? Do you think that would work, Eren? Levi is probably a virgin his whole life and will continue his record until he’s all shriveled up.” Eren blanched at the image. “Just finish your homework and stop complaining.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough, that’s for sure. If you just started that essay the day he assigned it to your class, you would have finished it way before the deadline.”

Eren pointed at Mikasa with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even go there, Mikasa. I have a life aside from being a sleep-deprived college student.”

“I mean, she’s got a point, Eren.” Armin immediately rose his hands in defense when Eren shifted his glare from the black-haired young woman to him. “You always tend to procrastinate in the most impeccable timing that we sometimes have to remind you of your backlogs. And now, here you are, doing things last minute when you could’ve prevented the rush by doing it immediately.”

“Thanks for slapping the reality to my face, you two,” Eren dryly replied, going back to his essay for the final time. “And by the way, Armin, give Mikasa some solid advice that she will finally follow because she’s making googly eyes at Miss Pretty two tables from us a couple of minutes before you arrived. You know, the love of her life?”

Armin roamed his eyes in the lunch hall and sure enough, there was Mikasa’s goddess sitting with her group of friends. There was that brown-haired girl that was dubbed as the Potato Girl for eating mashed potatoes during Ackerman’s class (the professor told the class his rules of no eating or going out of the room while he’s discussing the moment the girl took a spoonful of her snack). A young man with a buzz cut snorting at what the brown-haired girl said. Armin remembered sharing a class with him. He never got the chance to introduce himself because the young man was sleeping throughout the lecture. There was usually a fourth person in the little group but it seems like he was running late or already in his class. That person was Eren’s sworn frenemy, the reason for that relationship was unknown to this day.

The three people at the table all stood up, the brown-haired girl and the taller young man leading the way. Armin instantly had an idea.

“Hey, [Name]!”

Mikasa nearly had whiplash from turning her head to Armin. “Armin?!” she hissed under her breath, face becoming hotter when you looked at their table, a bright smile lighting up your face. You called your friends, telling them to go on ahead without you, to which they nodded before walking towards the trio’s table. Her brain wasn’t processing the moment you lifted a hand to wave at whoever you were smiling at. Mikasa wished it was her. “Fuck,” she whispered, registering how cute you look. You donned a salmon pink plaid sundress and a white cardigan, matching with the bubblegum pink locks you let down. Her heart was hammering a thousand miles per second and there was no hope of stopping it.

“Hi, Armin,” you replied, stopping a few feet from Mikasa, who looked away from you to fix her wide-eyed stare on her empty plate.

“I was just going to ask if you already have a partner in our Molecular Biology lab?” The blue-eyed young man then turned to Mikasa and Eren. “I’m in the same class as her this year.”

“As if calling her here wasn’t that obvious,” Eren murmured, still typing out his essay.

“I don’t need your dry remarks right now, Eren, don’t want to ruin the atmosphere. So, [Name], you have a partner?”

You shook your head. “I think not. It would be great if we could be partners though. I need a break from the people I’ve been partnered with throughout college.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. It was true, though. Most of the grouping during your first years of college were all set up by the teachers so the students really had no say on the matter at hand. Even Armin was exposed to a variety of students, most of them being too slacking to participate or too overbearing with their suggestions that they have no plans of doing. He nodded with a smile, “I’ll be sending an email to Professor Zoe about this and we’re done.” He glanced behind you, noticing that your two friends weren’t there anymore. “I’m sorry for holding you up. I’m pretty sure you have a class after lunch. See you around?”

You waved him off. “It’s fine, I told them to go ahead since Sasha has a class scheduled right after lunch and Connie had to nap in his dorm. And I don’t have any class the whole afternoon, except for an online session so yeah, see you around, Armin.” You acknowledge Eren with a nod, to which he responded with a cool expression (as if his mind wasn’t a mess from the cramming), and gave a soft smile to Mikasa, “Bye, Mikasa.” And you were off to your dorm, leaving behind two amused men and an awestruck Mikasa.

The black-haired young woman was hyperventilating the moment you disappeared from the lunch hall, hands clenched on top of her black shorts. She regretted wearing a thin, long-sleeved striped sweater under her black shirt because it was so fucking hot after that encounter. Her entire body was vibrating with too many emotions all at once, short-circuiting until she became a heap of flustered mess in front of her best friends. “Oh, my God,” she muttered like a prayer. She definitely needed one after seeing you all pretty in pink. It was too much for her soul because you two are a perfect match this time. Her grommet belt and choker were not helping because she couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Mikasa, breathe,” Armin reminded beside her. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Once she regained her composure, Mikasa realized she probably looked like a gaping fish. “Oh, my God! I’m so sure that this time, she thinks I’m weird. My name is the only one she mentioned aside from Armin which is saying something because she’s classmates with him. But why did she say goodbye to me? Oh, my God, she’s giving me so many butterflies right now.”

“Your gay is showing,” Eren pointed out calmly.

“Eren, not the time,” Armin murmured, hovering his hands over Mikasa’s back.

“Just wanted to alleviate the tense atmosphere. No need to get so worked up.”

“But, Mikasa, your feelings for her are showing.”

Eren clapped his hands, pointing a finger at Armin. “That, my friend, is a genius observation.”

Ignoring the green-eyed man, Armin continued, “I think it’s time you confess to her. Three years is a pretty long time pining for a person. In the end, her knowing your feelings will be inevitable. That is if you have no plans in letting her know.”

“Of course, I want her to know,” Mikasa murmured, fiddling with the sleeves of her striped long-sleeves.

“I heard that there’s a party this Saturday in Reiner’s frat,” Eren told them, meeting both of his friends’ eyes over the top of his laptop screen. “We’re in the same football team with Jean. The horseface is a friend of your girl,” he nodded at Mikasa, who erupted in a sputter of her crush not being her girl, “okay, not your girl — yet. As I was saying, [Name] is good friends with Jean and if Jean is there, Miss Pretty in Pink will be, too. That’s your chance to ask her out, Mikasa.” He met the blinking gray eyes of his best friend. “The question is, are you up for that?”

-

“You were staring at her so hard at lunch again.”

You looked up from your book to acknowledge Sasha entering your dorm room after a whole afternoon of packed lectures. The brown-haired young woman was so tired that she immediately plopped on top of her bed on the other side of the room. At first, you didn’t register what she said because you were preoccupied with your book. You chose to indulge the night in a good book because it has been a long time since you’ve done that. With furrowed eyebrows, you asked, “Can you repeat what you said, Sasha?”

Sasha tilted her head to look at you with one eye uncovered by her duvet. Her hair fluttered after puffing out a breath of disbelief. “Oh, don’t pretend that you have no idea, Miss Pretty in Pink.”

“That’s because I didn’t catch what you said,” you replied, gesturing at your novel. “And what’s with that Miss Pretty in Pink nickname? Did some of the students around campus started that?”

“Sort of,” Sasha hummed. She sat up from her bed and took out her phone from her backpack lying on the floor. You watched the whole time she stretched her arm without changing her position on her bed. With her phone in hand, she opened her Twitter account. “Actually, a friend of mine tweeted it, wait, I’m just going to scroll through my Likes tab to find her tweet. Oh, here it is.” Sasha showed you her screen, patiently waiting for you to take the device from her hand to get a closer look. Her hopeful smile turned into a small pout when you made no moves in doing so. “Take my phone and see for yourself.”

You sighed, following her pleas. “It’s probably just someone from the volleyball team. You know how some of them never stopped following me around campus. Can’t they take the hint that they’re not my type?”

“This person is much better than those himbo simps following you around. She’s an amazing person behind that shy exterior of hers.”

You only hummed, blankly staring at your roommate’s phone before your eyes widened in realization. Your eyes skimmed over and over again at the handle, mkackerman, beside the display picture of a short-haired girl in pigtails. It was the girl that managed to capture your attention during your first year at Eldia University. The girl with an air of mystique that the stars are jealous of. You always admired her from afar, appreciating her style each day. But your admiration was getting replaced with something more at the five words she tweeted. 

You’re so pretty in pink.

Roses bloomed in your cheeks, complimenting your pink hair the longer you gawked at her short post. 

“What?” you breathed out after a full minute of silence.

“Mm-hmm,” Sasha hummed with a smug smile. “And who dyed her hair pink impulsively last weekend?” She intentionally looked at you with sharp eyes, her smile turning into a smirk full of mischief. In actuality, Sasha knew of Mikasa’s crush on you since they were acquainted with each other. It was an embarrassing first meeting between the two, with Sasha latching on a random person’s arm in the station and it turned out to be Mikasa. The two became great friends after that, well, after Mikasa lowered her guard down, leaving her pocket knife safely tucked underneath her checkered skirt. It was Sasha who managed to make Mikasa confess of her undying love for you, the former squealing her heart out in the library. (They were kicked out after that.) 

“I don’t know,” you denied. “There could be a couple of people in the campus who thought that spontaneously dyeing their hair pink is an awesome idea.” You threw your hands in the air, giving back Sasha her phone right after.

“Trust me. Mikasa doesn’t have any interest in any other girl other than a special someone I know.”

You chose to ignore her, turning back on the discarded book on top of your covers. The words flew around your mind, aggravating you until you placed the novel on your lap. A defeated sigh came out of your lips. “Okay, let’s go out for some dinner.” You stretched, switching your pajama bottoms for a pair of loose jeans, and leaving your button-down pajama top on. The people in public will never know your top is a part of a pajama set. As you ducked down to roll the bottom of your jeans, you hear Sasha’s bed shuffling. Sitting up, you regarded her with an inquisitive raise of an eyebrow. “Spill it.”

“Oh, alright. Jean told me to bring you to a party.”

You stood up, patting your lap of imaginary dust, placing your things and book inside your tote bag. “Tell him no. I have a written exam coming up and I don’t want to fail one of my majors. He can manage without one person in our friendship group.”

Sasha huffed, mimicking your actions. “This will be the last time!”

“You said that the previous party you pulled me to.” You narrowed your eyes at her. “I couldn’t get up for a whole day because of that party. Don’t forget your wallet.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sasha threw her wallet in her small bag, throwing the strap over her shoulder. “I promise that this will be the last time, I’ll even call Connie for the witness of my pact!” She placed a heartfelt palm over her chest, lifting her chin a little in the air. “I solemnly swear I am … keeping my promise.”

“You hesitated.”

The brown-haired girl giggled sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s kind of hard not to continue the quote from Harry Potter. You can’t blame me for that!”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You better because Mikasa will be there.”

You blinked at her statement. “What does this have to do with her?”

Your roommate looped her arm with yours, pulling you in the direction of the elevators. “Because,” it sounded like she was talking to a child, “you were staring at her earlier during lunch period. I understand that because Mikasa looks so good every second of the day but there was something different about the way you’re staring at her.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “Let me see, there’s some pizzaz there.”

“The pizzaz you’re talking about is me admiring her make-up — nothing more.”

“Whatever you say,” came Sasha’s sing-song voice. “I will be the first one who will say ‘I told you so’ to your face when you two start dating.”

-

The night of the party was not as bizarre as you thought.

Sure, there were people having shots in the living room but there weren’t any extreme scenarios lying around unlike some of the parties Connie and Jean went to. It was mostly catching up with old friends or making connections with strangers by ranting about the education system of your university. All in all, it was a fun night, yet here you are, holding your cup of beer with two hands as you craned your neck to get a glimpse of Sasha. Your roommate disappeared as you turned to get a shot, leaving a confused you behind. To think you specifically asked Sasha to be by your side throughout the night. You cursed in your head, you being reliant on the presence of others surfacing. Your stress made you tip your head back, downing your drink in a go.

Without anything to do, you leaned back on the wall. Mind hazy, eyes glassy, you searched the living room for a spunky brown-haired girl that you were supposed to be buddies with. Instead of Sasha, you met gazes with a girl with stars for her eyes. She was equally mesmerized as she was staring straight at you. Everything became silent as your heartbeat resonated with hers. She was beautiful in her all-black outfit — a leather pencil skirt over fishnet stockings, cropped tank top, and combat boots. The two of you are contrasting with one another; her lipstick so dark whilst yours shone a pretty coral, her hair framing her face in a midnight pixie cut whilst yours were in pink waves cascading down, her entire appearance blending in the background whilst you were a beacon with your coordinating soft outfit. 

God damn it, Sasha was right.

You are definitely falling in love with Mikasa Ackerman.

Mikasa who you saw reading tarot cards of her blonde friend. Mikasa who you bumped into during the opening ceremony two years ago. Mikasa who you discovered to have an affinity for electric guitars when you stumbled in one of the auditoriums, her department’s band having an audition. Mikasa who never meets your gaze because you make her nervous at how effortless you carry yourself. 

But tonight, she never looked away from you, her eyes having an adoring yet determined shine.

She stopped in front of you, mere inches separating you two. You looked up at her, her combat boots making her taller than she already is. You saw her eyes flick to your lips, your breath hitching at the thought of having her dark lipstick on any part of your body. With a careful tilt of her head, Mikasa ducked her head a little to fully meet your eyes face to face. “I saw you’re alone,” her voice is still soft-spoken as if she was afraid that she was scaring you. It might be because of the liquid and verbal courage she got from drinking and listening to her best friends because Mikasa had no plans of letting you go tonight. “I thought you needed company.”

A breath came out of your lips, your proximity making Mikasa feel it. “Uhm, if it’s you, I don’t see why not?”

A large smile brightened Mikasa’s face before it dimmed as she lowered her gaze to your lips once more. “I’ve been waiting three years for this.”

Maybe your mind was too hazy with alcohol or it could be because you accepted your feelings for the black-haired girl, so you whispered, lips brushing against hers in the most addicting way possible, “Just kiss me, Mikasa.”

Her lips softly moved against yours in a slow dance, the inches separating you disappearing as Mikasa wrapped an arm around your waist. You lift a hand to cup her jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and to brush your tongue with hers. You felt her shiver, biting your lower lip to make you open up more, with your whimpers tingling her hearing. Mikasa pulled away, trailing firm kisses on the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Seeing the black kiss mark on your skin, she smiled and placed fluttering kisses on your neck up to your cheek. Opening your eyes, the silver grays in front of you have never been so beautiful. You returned the favor of placing kiss marks. You stood on your tiptoes, feeling Mikasa’s hand steadying you, and left a coral pink mark on the corner of her mouth. 

Mikasa dipped her head, placing her lips close to your ear.

“I want to slow dance with you,” she sung to your ear. “I know all the other boys are tough and smooth and I got the blues. I want to slow dance with you.” Mikasa hid a small smile at your flustered expression. “So can I be your vampire queen, Bonnie?”

The moment you said yes, there was a shout in the crowds. “Hell yeah, your plan worked, Eren, Armin!”

You and Mikasa stared at each other with wide eyes before laughing. 

“Let’s go ditch this party.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Bonnie.”

[geminiwritten]

heatwave ; bucky barnes

fandom: marvel

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: you’re not a huge fan of the hot weather until a certain super soldier finally gets his arse out of bed and gives you a reason to love it

notes: i wrote this over quite a few days so i’m really sorry if its disjointed, and i’m so sorry if its repetitive of my last piece! i’m still trying to get through a bit of writer’s block, so i hope y’all enjoy!

word count: 3359

The heat seemed to wash over you in waves. Pulses of warmth rolling through your body and stealing your breath. Every inch of your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, drawing all the hydration from your body and draining any energy you might have possessed if it wasn’t for the heatwave currently sweeping through New York City.

“Ugh,” you groaned, your head lulling to the side where Natasha laid, “I think I’m dying.”

She let out a breathy laugh, “You’re not dying.”

“I might be.”

“Oh, come on you two,” Sam hollered from the pool a little way across the balcony, “have some fun for once in your lives!”

Natasha propped herself up on her elbows and squinted over the top of her sunglasses, “With you idiots? No thanks.”

“Why are you always such a killjoy, Romanoff?”

“Why are you always such a pain in the ass, Wilson?” you called back, mimicking Natasha on your elbows.

He scoffed, “That’s rich coming from the whiniest member of the team.”

Your frown deepened, this time out of anger and not because of the bright glare from the sun.

“Watch it, Wilson,” a voice called out from behind you, “or she’ll come over there and kick your ass.”

Both you and Natasha whipped around to find Bucky. He had probably only just woken, his mop of hair tied up into a loose bun with escaped tendrils sticking to the hot skin of his neck and forehead. This time, it wasn’t the heat that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Nice to see you’re alive, Buck,” Steve chuckled as he waded through the pool toward where Sam was leaning against the edge.

Bucky rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to say something smart but having his breath stolen as he stepped out of the shade and into the sun. “Holy shit,” he gasped, “it’s hot.”

“Sharp observation skills, Einstein,” Natasha quipped.

“At least Barnes will get in the pool unlike you two party poopers,” Sam said, before copping a volleyball to the back of the head thanks to Bruce’s poor aim.

He spun around quickly, ball in hand and ready to hurl it back at his attacker.

“Well then,” Bucky sighed, now standing beside you, “I guess it’s time for a swim.”

He looked down at you sprawled across your towel, one arm draped over your eyes to shield from the sun and the other resting on your bare stomach. You suddenly felt exposed, nervous under the gaze of his pale blue eyes.

“Want to join me?”

Your pulse thudded in your ears, and you wanted nothing more than to get in the water with him, but the sound of shouts and spraying water reminded you of the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry, Buck, I’ll have to pass,” you replied.

He pushed his bottom lip forward, “It’s your loss, doll, this heat is a killer.”

Your limbs turned to jelly at the sound of that pet name rolling off his tongue.

“Ugh,” Natasha scoffed beside you, “you two are sickening.”

You wanted to turn around and bite back at her, but what happened next had you paralysed. Every nerve in your body ignited, goosebumps rising across every inch of your skin in spite of the steamy weather. Bucky’s fingers curled under the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head to reveal his sculpted body beneath. His abs rolled and tensed as he rid himself of the material and discarded it on the ground, making your mouth water and your head spin with a thousand different unholy thoughts.

A shriek from the red headed woman beside you broke you out of your trance, and only then did you notice the spray of pool water that had washed over you and most of the balcony.

“You’re an arse, Barnes!” Natasha yelled, standing and angrily snatching up her towel.

You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose as you let your gaze settle on the giggling men in the pool. Bucky’s now wet, broad shoulders glistened under the sunlight, his alabaster skin taught across the landscape of muscle.

“Do you want some lunch or are you just going to keep staring like a creep?” Natasha asked as she stood over you.

Your gaze hardly wavered, “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, her lips curling into a smirk, “because I think you’ve got a little bit of drool on your chin there.”

If Bucky wasn’t pulling himself out of the water right at the moment, you might have turned around to poke your tongue at her, but instead you opted for flipping her the bird while your eyes remained trained on the pool area.

The rest of the steamy day went by far too quickly. Despite your hate for the heat, you stayed out on the balcony until the sun began to set. Only when Bucky and Sam wrapped themselves in towels and declared that it was time for dinner did you finally put your book away, not that you had managed to read even a single page of it.

“Is it supposed to be this hot again tomorrow?” Sam asked as the three of you stepped inside.

“Yeah,” you replied, “and the day after.”

“I bet you’re happy about that,” he chuckled, watching disappointment sweep across your face as Bucky pulled his shirt over his head

“Shut up.”

He chuckled at your feeble attempt to jab his side, easily evading your attack.

“Alright, children,” Tony called from the kitchen, “dinner’s ready.”

Like moths to a flame, the rest of the team gathered around the kitchen bench where Natasha and Tony had laid out the pre-cut ingredients for everyone to make their own burgers.

“I’m going to have a shower before eating,” Bucky said, to no one in particular as he draped his damp towel over his forearm.

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, his grin evil, “Because I’m sure Y/N would love-”

“Sam!” you snapped.

Thankfully, Bucky remained oblivious, his brows knit into an adorable frown.

“Never mind, Buck,” you said, “I’ll make sure they save you some food.”

His face broke into that familiar smile that melted your heart, “Thanks, doll.”

Once again, your legs wobbled like jelly and you had to steady yourself on the back of the lounge.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned, “I can’t wait until they day you two finally fu-”

“Language,” Steve interrupted with a disapproving glare at Sam.

You poked your tongue out before turning toward the array of burger ingredients, your empty stomach rumbling at the sight.

The next day rolled around just as the weather forecast had predicted. The air was thick with humidity and the sun blared down just as it had yesterday. Once again you found yourself on a towel beside the pool, half of the team splashing around while the other half laid languidly in the shade.

“Still not getting in today?” Steve asked as he approached the bar fridge near where you had placed your towel.

You shook your head, “I’d rather not get caught in the crossfire of an overly aggressive game of chicken.”

“I mean, you could play the game with us, maybe even get to climb onto Bucky’s shoulders.”

You whipped around, your glare lethal, “What the fuck, Rogers?”

He chuckled, “Sorry, Sam told me to.”

“You are the last person I would expect to stoop to his level,” you said, crossing your arms indignantly.

He shrugged, “Well, no one has told Buck, if that makes up for anything.”

“I’m guessing everyone else knows, though.”

He didn’t respond, only smiled sheepishly.

“Ugh,” you sighed.

“In my own defence, Natasha told me about your crush months ago and I haven’t let it slip once. It’s been-”

“Sam,” you interrupted him, “I know.”

He took a generous sip of water before crouching beside you, “For what it’s worth, I think you should tell him how you feel.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed.

Steve knew he couldn’t say anymore. He knew nothing he said would convince you to tell Bucky how you felt, and he knew he couldn’t betray his best friend’s trust by divulging the fact that Bucky really had confessed his feelings for you before. He decided to let you be, gathering three more bottles of water before heading back to the pool.

The day passed almost identically to the one before it, and so did the next. It wasn’t until two o’clock in the morning on the third night of the heatwave that you felt a sudden change. You awoke abruptly, a shiver running down your spine as cool air blew through the open window and brushed across your bare skin. You frowned at the night sky before tiredly pulling your duvet up to your chin and falling back asleep.

By morning, the heat was well and truly gone. Clouds blanketed New York City, threatening to rain as they rolled angrily across the grey sky.

“I guess it’s back to work today, Avengers,” Tony said from behind his tablet.

Almost everyone was awake, crowded around the kitchen bench awaiting Clint’s famous French toast.

“What work?” Peter asked.

“Homework for you, kid,” Steve replied, earning an indignant frown from Peter.

You couldn’t help but giggle into your mug of coffee, before almost spraying it back out at the sight that then exited the elevator.

Bucky. Shirtless. Again.

You began to wonder what you had done to be so lucky, your heart thrumming against your rib cage so hard you worried that someone might hear it.

“Oh, my, Barnes,” Tony gasped, “you know it’s still in the A.M., right?”

Bucky simply rolled his tired eyes before slumping onto the lounge, mumbling, “Hungry.”

It wasn’t long before Clint served breakfast, everyone scoffing their food as if they hadn’t eaten in days, and soon after that, Peter dismissed himself for school and Tony and Bruce made their way to the lab.

“I think I need to get back into the gym today,” Clint sighed, stretching his arms above his head.

You sighed, “Same.”

“Bucky and I were planning on heading down there in the afternoon actually, we could do a group training session,” Steve said as he filled the sink, ready to wash everyone’s dishes.

“I’m in,” Natasha replied, “I was going to head into town for some groceries this morning, so the afternoon is better for me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clint added, “Count me in.”

“Me too,” Sam said through his last mouthful of toast, “and obviously Y/N will be there too.”

You turned to him quickly, a frown already etched between your brows, “What the hell does that mean?”

He chuckled, “Steve said that he and Bucky were planning it, so obviously you-”

You elbowed him sharply in the gut before standing from your seat at the dining table and stomping over to the kitchen.

Natasha sighed, “You better be careful, Wilson, you’re playing with fire.”

“But it’s so obvious that they both like each other, why can’t they just fuck already.”

Steve’s ears turned red and Natasha laughed, but neither of them seemed to notice as Bucky finally made his way over from the living area.

“Who needs to fuck already?” he asked, brows knit.

“No one,” Steve answered quickly, “Tony wants help moving a new delivery, I said we’d help him out. Come on.”

He ushered the confused Bucky out of the room, but not before shooting daggers at Sam.

After breakfast you decided to go with Natasha into town. The compound was running low on a few things that Tony always forgot to add to the weekly grocery delivery, so you took your time shopping and chatting. It was nice to simply enjoy the feeling of not having sweat drip from every inch of your skin, though you couldn’t help mourning the sticky weather that would encourage Bucky to constantly walk around shirtless.

It was almost four o’clock when you finally changed into your workout gear and headed for the gym. Most of the team were already in there, and those that weren’t had kindly declined the offer of a group training session.

Steve, Sam, Tony, and Bucky were gathered around the sparring mats each taking turns at attacking the training dummy, while Clint was over by the weights alone. You quickly found Wanda and Natasha on the treadmills and decided to start there.

“Afternoon,” Wanda greeted you, her smile sweet as she swiped the sweat from her brow.

You grinned back, “Fancy seeing you out of your room.”

“I don’t do heat,” she said, “but Nat has just been telling me about how much you’ve been enjoying it.”

You tossed your gym towel at her, gasping, “Oh, shut up!”

The two red heads giggled, thankfully too amused to notice the way your eyes drifted across the gym to where Bucky was training.

After almost an hour on the treadmill, chatting idly about nothing in particular with Nat and Wanda, Steve called the team to attention. Everyone moved in from around the gym, forming a misshapen circle around the sparring mats that he and Clint had just hauled from the storage room.

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Sam said as he plopped down on the floor and began stretching his legs out in front of him, “is the air on, Tony?”

Tony, who was chugging half a bottle of water, simply shrugged and waved haphazardly at the control panel by the main entry doors.

“I’ll check it,” you offered before turning on your heel.

You tapped the screen and it came to life, but the display wasn’t the same as the one in your room. It had more options and dials for more variables than just the temperature, but on the top right of the screen was a little green button that you assumed meant it was on. You chose the dial that looked like it controlled the fan speed and turned it all the way up.

“All good, Y/N?” Steve called.

You nodded before hurrying back to the group, bending your right leg up to your buttocks in a quick stretch. Steve and Nat then took their positions in the middle of the circle and began demonstrating the fight sequences that they wanted the team to practice.

“Now partner up, pick a mat, and practice until you can do it as fast as you can,” Steve said, before looking directly at Sam, “without hurting each other.”

Sam sighed with exasperation as he turned to his partner, Bucky. You turned to Wanda while Nat joined Clint on a mat and Tony stepped up to where Steve was. Each pair started slowly mimicking the moves that had just been demonstrated.

“It is hot in here,” Wanda said, her breath heavy as she ducked your fist.

You simply nodded, too focused on your movements to be able to speak.

Grunts, huffs, and the thud of heavy feet on the vinyl mats echoed throughout the gym for fifteen minutes before Steve called a break. You practically dove for your water bottle, only to choke on the first mouthful of water when Bucky yanked his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. Wanda caught your eye, giggling as you spluttered.

“I thought the heatwave was over,” Clint said.

Tony nodded, “It is, I think the air-con is playing up.”

“It’s broken?” Wanda gasped.

He shrugged, opening his mouth to respond but stopping when Steve spoke first, “Alright, enough chatting, let’s get back into it.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Wanda’s fist made contact with your shoulder, your abdomen, and almost your jaw if she hadn’t quickly noticed that you were too distracted to block her swing. Her foot then collided with your hip twice before she finally gave in on trying to get your attention.

Your eyes were glossed over and glued to the super soldier duelling Sam. His exposed skin glistened with sweat, muscles rippling under taught, alabaster skin. His stare was hard, eyes almost grey as they narrowed on every move that Sam made. Your palms began to sweat, knees wobbling as you watched his tongue swipe quickly across his pink lips.

“Y/N!” Wanda snapped, her fingers gripping your chin and forcing you to face her, “focus.”

“Shit, sorry,” you muttered.

You raised your shaky hands, trying to block out the shirtless man still in your peripheral vision.

By the time Steve called the training session to an end, the air was almost as dense as the storm clouds outside. Everyone was soaked in their own sweat, hair clinging to sticky skin and muscles beneath burning from use.

“I swear to God, Tony,” Wanda said as she draped her towel over her shoulder, “if the air-con is broken, I’m not going to let you sleep until it’s fixed.”

He chuckled, fingers already moving swiftly across the tablet in his lap, “It’s not broken.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” Sam exclaimed, arms gesturing wildly toward the gym’s huge windows that were completely veiled in condensation.

Tony nodded toward you, “Y/N turned the temperature up instead of down.”

Heat blossomed in your chest, crawling up your neck and to the tips of your ears. Every pair of eyes landed on you, a mixture of irritation and amusement etched across the faces of your teammates.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I got confused.”

Most of the group simply chuckled or shrugged, collecting their things and heading for the door, but Sam took his time. The devilish smirk adorning his lips made your pulse begin to race.

“Far out, Y/N,” he said, “you didn’t have to torture all of us just to get Barnes to take his clothes off.”

Your eyes went wide, brows shooting up toward your hairline as every coherent thought left your head. Your heart pounded deafeningly in your ears.

The team was suddenly silent, those closest to the door hurrying out and the rest quickly rushing after them. Wanda stuck her elbow into Sam’s side before dragging him out by his shirt collar.

Bucky remained, paralysed feet still glued to the ground as he quickly tried to catch up on what had just happened.

“Sam was just joking,” you finally managed to speak, “he’s an arse.”

Bucky blinked slowly, “Yeah… such an arse.”

You nodded, mouth dry as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, “Okay, well, I’ve got to-”

“He is an arse,” Bucky interrupted you, blue eyes wide with curiosity, “but he doesn’t usually lie.”

You didn’t know what to say, your nervous fingers tangling behind your back. His stare was heavy, pressing down on your shoulders and holding you still as he slowly stepped closer.

“Do you like me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I like you, Buck, you’re-”

“No,” one last step and his breath fanned the exposed skin of your neck, “do you-”

This time, it was your turn to interrupt. Every bit of pent-up tension and suppressed desire propelled you toward him, coming up onto the balls of your feet and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your lips crashed into his, so hard you might have worried about bruising them if the thought of a mark left by Bucky wasn’t so thrilling.

He hesitated only for a moment before his hands found your waist, practically lifting you off the ground and squashing your body against his. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue glided across your bottom lip, begging for entry. A low, almost feral growl rumbled up from his chest once you allowed him in, tongues clashing.

You only parted when breath became absolutely necessary, your lungs burning for air. He let you back onto your own feet, though his strong arms stayed wound around your waist.

“Um, yeah,” you said between gulps of air, “I really like you, Buck.”

He chuckled, “Well, that’s a relief because I really like you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours once more before pulling away completely and wrapping his gym towel around his shoulders.

“I need a shower,” he said, taking your hand in his and tugging you toward the door, “and it’s your turn to take your clothes off now.”

END.

[clearsuitcasecookienerd]

See You in the Stars (part 1)

hey y’all... so I did a thing... I wrote out one of my brain’s fic babies and here we are. a huge thanks to @lumosinlove for bringing these wonderful characters to life. and a huge thank you to everyone that encouraged me and helped me write this. y’all are truly the best <3 and yes, this is a multipart fic so be on the look out for more :)

Kasey loved to just stare at the moon and stars. He always had, for as long as he could remember. It was grounding. As grounding as having a mini existential crisis about how small and insignificant you really are can be. Staring at the moon and thinking about how a small hunk of rock that is gravitationally connected to the giant hunk of rock you’re living on can influence things like the ocean, it’s wild. It makes all your problems feel just a little bit more insignificant. The way space just expands and expands for literal light years and is full of stars and burning balls of gas and massive hunks of rock and the way there has to be life out there somewhere, because we really can’t be all that special. Space made his problems feel just insignificant enough where he could manage them. And space was always just outside the window. Except for where its day time, but the phenomenon that is clouds and the sun, that is another topic in and of itself. 

As a kid, Kasey would get in trouble for staying up past his bed to look through his telescope up at the stars and moon. He didn’t understand why he was getting in trouble, he was still lying in his bed after all. When just lying in bed wasn’t helping him fall asleep, Kasey had begun to look out the window. Through his window he could see the stars and sometimes the moon. Over time he began to bring home books on the stars and the moon in addition to his hockey books from the library. At night, when everything got too quiet except for his thoughts, Kasey would stare at the stars and the moon and think about how maybe the thoughts running through his head that wouldn’t shut up maybe weren’t that important. Because they sure didn’t affect the moon, or the stars or any of the other thousands of galaxies in the sky. So if a burning ball of gas could have giant rocks circle around it hundreds of light years away then maybe he could pass the upcoming math test, or get his reaction time faster. And maybe it didn’t matter if he let in the goal that lost his team their last game against their rival. Because if it didn’t change the universe was it really that big of an issue?

So a couple months in to playing for the Rangers when Kasey found out Alex O’Hara had a similar fascination with space, grabbing take out and driving to a spot where they could lie on the ground and just stare into the sky after a long practice, or something equally as draining, became second nature. When Kasey had a rough game in goal or Alex was frustrated, all it took was one small jerk of the head to the side to let the other know that time with the sky was needed. 

It was when they were lying in their spot, staring at the stars, when Kasey knew he had to tell Alex. They had called him this afternoon, “Hey Winter, we’ve got some news for you.” Calls during trade season weren’t rare, but Kasey had hoped that maybe he would escape this season without one. But sure enough, here he was, lying in the grass, staring at the sky and trying to figure out how he was supposed to tell the teammate that had quickly become his best friend, that this was probably one of the last times they’d be able to do this. 

After he had hung up the phone, Kasey had slid down the wall he had been leaning against for support. He was leaving. He was packing his bags and headed for Gryffindor. Sure the Lions were a decent team, they had that rookie Black that was really promising, but they didn’t have everything. They didn’t have the family he had created with the Rangers and they didn’t have Alex. Alex who he had quickly grown close with and who knew there was someone under the goalie face that everyone said he was so good at. Alex, he’d have to let him know. Maybe under the stars, where everything just feels so insignificant. Where maybe moving away from everything he knew will feel just a little bit less meaningful.

A simple “stare at the stars tonight?” text and a couple hours later, Kasey still didn’t know how to explain the call he had received.

Alex had been talking about something for a while. Kasey hadn’t meant to stop listening but honestly all he could think about was Gryffindor and what the move would mean. Would he and Alex stay friends, stay in contact? Growing up, most kids didn’t understand what it was like to be so devoted to something the way Kasey was to hockey. But Alex, Alex understood and he understood the pressure to do well and perform.

Alex remembered those nights with Kasey under the stars. When Kasey Winter, the Rangers goalie, would take off his mask and become Kasey, someone Alex had fallen in love with. Lying under the stars and staring at the twinkling lights and the glowing moon, Alex met the man under the mask. But the first time he had stared at the sky with Kasey, Alex had lied. Well not completely. 

Alex’s car had overheated on the way to practice that night and as he had pulled off the road and called the mechanic, Alex realized he would have to catch a ride home with one of the guys that night. After practice, he had gotten lucky and the team decided to grab dinner together at the local sub shop. When Kasey offered up a spot in his car for carpooling to dinner, Alex tried his best to nonchalantly take him up on it. 

Alex loved the sub shop, he truly did, and so when he had realized he’d eaten too much it was already too late. Standing up, with what felt like a stomach the size of Texas, he had never been more glad he had chosen to wear sweats home from practice. As the hockey players began to move the tables they had shoved together back to their original locations, Alex had taken a deep breath and asked the question that would solve the problem he had been trying to figure out all night.

“Hey Winter,” Kasey turned around and gave him a half smile.

“What’s up, Hazard”

Scratching the back of his neck, Alex had completely stumbled over his words “So my car broke down on the way to practice and I called the mechanic and he towed it back to his place but he said he didn’t have a rental on him-” when he had looked up, Alex saw a subdued yet amused expression on Kasey’s face.

“Do you need a ride O’Hara?” Kasey had asked, trying to help the man out of his misery.

“Honestly that would be great if you don't mind,” Alex had said, “my apartments on your way home.”

Kasey had cracked a half smile and turned, swinging his keys on his finger and throwing a, let's go then, over his shoulder.

It wasn’t that Kasey was a bad driver, he was actually half decent. He stopped at stop signs for a full 3 seconds and he had stopped to let a squirrel cross the road. But after countless subs, Alex’s stomach wasn’t feeling too hot. As the shoulder of the road widened, Alex had seen his chance.

“Hey Winter, can you pull over for a second up there? I think I need a breather.”

As soon as Kasey had stopped the car, Alex hopped out, gulping down mouthfuls of the fresh air and staring at the still horizon while bent over with his hands on his knees. He hadn’t even noticed Kasey get out of the car and lean up against the passenger side until his nausea had subsided and he stood up. Kasey had been staring up at the sky. Glancing up, Alex noticed the stars were out and the moon was bright. Alex had simply said he thought the sky was pretty cool and it made him feel like a small little guy on a floating rock in the middle of an expansive stretch of space. And while he wasn’t completely lying, and he did feel pretty small, it wasn’t until he saw Kasey’s eyes light up out of the corner of his eye that he truly found the sky to be pretty cool. That night a bond had formed between the two hockey players. What Alex had thought was just a random comment he made after hoping he wasn’t going to lose his supper, was something that Kasey had been thinking about for years. It was something that grounded Kasey. And to have someone else think that… well Kasey felt slightly less alone on the big rock that exists in a wide expanse of space surrounded by balls of burning gas and other chunks of rock. And maybe feeling a little less alone could be a good thing.

It had started slowly, when the team would get together for dinner Alex would make a point of asking Kasey for a ride. And if they drove by a nice area, if Alex asked Kasey to pull over, Kasey wouldn’t question it. It took a couple nudges but once Alex heard Kasey talk about how staring at the stars caused everything in his life to seem just a bit smaller, Alex knew he was going to have to schedule star staring into his calendar more often. 

Telling Alex had been hard. How do you say, I got traded and I leave for Gryffindor in 2 days. Well maybe just like that but that seemed too big. Staring off into the stars hundreds of millions of miles away it seemed easier.

“-and so then he shakes his head and tries to tell me-”

“That star over there is Sirius. It’s the brightest star in the sky.” Kasey interrupted Alex seemingly out of nowhere.

“Oh that's cool, isn’t it a part of that dog constellation?” Alex had known what was happening. 

Kasey did this when he had something important to say that he wanted to seem a bit less meaningful when you are staring at the stars and realizing how insignificant your existence was. Or at least that's how he put it the one time Alex asked. Kasey would bring up a random star fact Alex knew he had memorized as a kid and Alex would play stupid and ask about it until Kasey was ready to talk about what was really on his mind.

“Sirius Black… that rookie, he’s going to be my new captain” Kasey had trailed off.

Alex had stared at the stars in shock, letting this settle in, “Oh?” he questioned.

“I got traded to Gryffindor.” Kasey had said in what Alex had coined his goalie voice. A stoney voice to match the stoney goalie face. “I leave in two days.”

“Well then,” Alex replied, “I’m glad we got to do this tonight.”

After they had stared into the vast night sky that Alex had begun to appreciate as much as Kasey did, Alex had finally broken the silence. 

“You know, they have stars and a moon in Gryffindor too.” He had said matter of factly.

Kasey scoffed and raised his eyebrows as he had glanced over to look at his best friend, “No really? I wasn’t aware of that.”

Alex sighed and had looked over, “I just meant that even if you’re there… maybe we can still do this when you’re not busy. We can just lay down and stare at the stars and remember how meaningless we are together.”

That had made Kasey smile. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that while Alex hadn’t originally shared his fascination with the sky, they did share an interest in spending time together and clearing their heads.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Kasey chuckled following the first smile Alex had seen of the night.

“I don’t know Winter, why don’t you use that smart head of yours and think us up a plan,” Alex replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“What if…” Alex had responded, with his voice progressively getting softer, “whenever you look at the stars, you remember that you and I, two tiny specks of nothingness, are looking at the same sky and if we can see those flaming balls of gas so many miles away then we must not actually be that far apart.”

“Yeah, that’s nice.” Kasey responded just as quietly. “I’m going to miss you Posie.”

Alex had smiled lightly, “I’m going to miss you too, but you’ll be up there.” He said as he had gestured up to the sky. “I’ll see you in the stars Bear, always.”

And as they lay there in the silence that followed, maybe, just maybe, Alex had meant what he said a little bit more than how he would to any other friend. But also maybe Kasey needed to hear it, to hear that he wasn’t as alone as he thought, after years of feeling insignificant on a floating rock. On a rock where nothing you did really mattered in the scheme of things, where nothing really mattered because you were so small. Where it didn’t matter that Alex was slowly falling deeper and deeper in love with his best friend. Or where it didn’t matter that Kasey was leaving the one person that made him feel grounded in a world that constantly made him question his relevance His relevance on a giant rock that spun around a ball of flaming gas that existed in an endless galaxy of other balls of burning gas and giant rocks where there were likely other people whose lives weren’t relevant in retrospect either.

[therealvalkyrie]

What Could’ve Been Without the War

Pairing/setting: Jean Kirschtein x Female!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls, set after the War; canon divergent w/ modern tech

Summary: You and Jean embark on your weekly trip to the grocery store.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: equal parts angst and fluff, idiots to idiots, mutual pining, unsatisfying ending (i’m so sorry)

AN: Surprise Jean! I hope you are all having a wonderful Friday evening and that I don’t ruin it too much with angst. This piece started out as a super fluffy drabble involving grocery store shenanigans and kinda....uh....got away from me. Ahem. It was also originally intended as a 157 follower cool prime number thank you! I think we’re up to 180-something now, but we can still count it. Big thanks yet again to the love of my life @ghostlightprincess for her edits and encouragements:) Please come let me know what you think in my DMs/askbox/comments!!  ~valkyrie

Jean opens on the third knock on his apartment door, already shrugging on a jacket. He greets you with a short “hi” and receives the kiss you plant on his cheek out of habit.

“You ready?” You’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, car keys jingling off of the magenta key ring looped around your finger. It’s cute, and he finds himself matching your enthusiasm with a grin of his own.

“Almost,” he replies, reaching back to his coat rack to grab a scarf. “Honestly, I still don’t understand why you’re always so excited for the grocery store.”

He looks back to catch you rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re not. A grocery store is a magical place, with all of the cheesecake and ice cream you could ever wish for!”

He chuckles and joins you in the hallway, leaning down to lock his door behind him. “Need I remind you that you’re lactose intolerant?”

“That’s what Lactaid is for, stupid. Come on!” He lets you pull him down the hall, your small gloved hand in his big one. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Croft!” you greet his elderly neighbor as you pass her open door, sticking your head in with a wide smile. “You need anything from the store? Jean and I are just on our way.”

Jean stands beside you awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with his shrewd neighbor. You haven’t let go of his hand and he can feel a blush working its way up his neck. 

“No, that’s alright, honey, I just went this morning.”

“Okay! Well, let us know if you think of anything!”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” Jean chips in as you wave. 

“You kids have fun.”

The next second, you’re pulling him away again and he misses the way Mrs. Croft chuckles knowingly and looks back to her knitting. 

—

“What’s next on the list?” Your voice drifts down the aisle back to him, and Jean pauses in pushing the cart to shuffle the papers in his hands. 

“Umm… AP flour, vanilla extract,” shuffle, shuffle, “brown sugar, olive oil, yeast.”

You hum in acknowledgment and he watches as you flit from shelf to shelf, gathering items in your arms. He pushes the cart up to join you.

You dump everything in haphazardly, and he sighs, leaning down to straighten it all out into categories.

“What’s next?” You’re already halfway down the rest of the aisle again, gazing up longingly at the Oreos on the top shelf.

God, she’s cute.

He joins you, reaches up to pluck a pack of Double Stuf off of the shelf, and wordlessly places it in your section of the cart, suppressing a smile of his own as you grin up at him.

“You sure know how to treat a girl right, Jean-bo.” You reach up to ruffle his mullet. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, ducking away and flushing red like a smitten schoolboy. “Next is the frozen aisle.”

—

“Was it the lasagna that she liked last time? Or the shepherd’s pie?”

“The lasagna.” He accepts three frozen dinners as you pass them over from where you’re leaning past the glass freezer door.

“Hey,” he looks up sharply at your soft call to see you staring down the aisle like you’ve seen a ghost, hand still holding the glass door open. He follows your gaze and sees him just as you say, “It’s Erwin.”

It’s not, but Jean’s heart twists all the same at the resemblance the stranger carries. Same neatly parted blonde hair, broad shoulders. But he’s shorter, still has both arms. And he’s alive. 

“It’s not, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“It is, look he—” you insist until the man turns and instead of the Commander’s piercing blue gaze you’re met with brown eyes that flick between you and Jean in confusion. “Oh.” Your face falls and you allow the door to close, turning into Jean’s side.

“You alright?” He tilts his head to catch your expression. It’s pure pain, mouth twitching into a frown and eyes unfocused. Your hand comes up to grip the bottom of his jacket, and after a second he can see you physically force your face back to neutral. 

“Fine,” you nod. He knows you’re faking, that it’s a survival tactic, so he lets it go for now, only steps back to let you in between his body and the cart. 

“Up you go,” he prompts you to step up, feet on the bottom shelf and hands clutching the bar. He starts to push as you ride, walking first then running down the aisle until you finally throw your head back and laugh genuinely. 

He misses the exasperated look an employee gives him as the pair of you whizz past, too preoccupied with your smile.

—

“What do you need three dozen eggs for, anyway?” you ask incredulously, nevertheless opening each carton to inspect before handing them over. 

“They’re a good source of protein,” he defends. “Plus, you always end up running out and coming to me to complain. Ran me dry last time.”

Another playful eye roll. “It’s only ‘cause I messed up my brownies! And I needed them to entice the landlord to finally fix my heater.”

“Your heater’s been broken?”

“Well, it’s not anymore. Espresso brownies work wonders, I’ll have you know.”

You’re trying to brush it off as you normally do when he worries, but the thought of you shivering and blue-lipped keeps him pushing. “How long did you not have heat for? It’s February!”

“Not the point, Jean-bo!” You poke at his cheek and twirl away towards the cheese. 

“It definitely is the point. Come to me next time and I’ll fix it.”

“And lose my deposit?” You scoff, reaching for mozzarella. “Fat chance.”

“Freeze, then.”

You grin back at him. “Why d’you think I came over so much last weekend?”

“Is that all I am to you? A hot water bottle in your time of need?” He feigns hurt, but some pride swells in his chest that he kept you warm, after all. 

“And a cute one, at that. Think fast!”

His hand flashes up to catch the mozzarella you toss deftly. 

“You wound me.”

“Eh, builds character. What’s next?”

Shuffle, shuffle. “Wine and flowers.”

—

Jean watches as you bounce in the driver’s seat, hands almost dainty on the wheel, leaning forward to stare resolutely out the windshield at the darkening road. You’re singing along to some song he doesn’t know that’s playing from the stereo.

It’s so familiar, this Saturday evening ritual with you, and it wraps Jean up like the softest blanket. He knows why you’re always so excited about grocery shopping, and it’s not the cheesecake — it’s the way this routine has centered itself in both your lives. He feels it too, the semblance of normalcy, of domesticity, that you’ve cobbled together with him in between hard weeks and harder nights.

You navigate the bends and odd intersections of his old suburban neighborhood with ease, having driven to his house maybe thousands of times since you were teens. The elementary school passes, then the vet clinic, until finally, your old black sedan pulls into his mom’s driveway alongside her silver minivan.

You shift to neutral and yank on the parking brake habitually, then turn off the car and settle back into your seat.

You’re both quiet for a moment: you staring out the window lost in thought, Jean checking the time on his phone.

“Jean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever regret enlisting so young?” This catches his attention, turning sharply to look at your contemplative profile.

“Never. It was the right thing to do.” He’s resolute in this conviction, always. The War had seemed to be at its worst when you’d joined up, driven by the promise of Wall Maria’s reclamation and impassioned by your comrades’ fury. It had been the only choice, in his view.

“I do, sometimes,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast to where your fingers twist in your lap. “Maybe then my head wouldn’t be so messed up,” you laugh dryly and tap your temple, then shoot him a sideways glance. “And maybe—” you cut yourself off.

“Maybe what?”

“Never mind.” You’re out of the car so fast Jean almost questions if you moved at all. It reminds him of your natural grace on the ODM gear, how you’d whoop and holler as you hurtled past him among the trees during training. He wonders for a moment when your agility turned from a source of joy to an escape mechanism, then stops himself. He knows exactly when that happened.

—

The grocery store tulips thankfully survived their ordeal in the trunk of your car, bright against Ma Kirschtein’s tile kitchen backsplash as you arrange them in her favorite vase. After a minute of fussing, you take a step back, give a nod of satisfaction, and scoop up the trimmed stems off the counter. The rest of the groceries are already put away, organized so she can reach them without trouble.

It’s as you’re stepping on the trash can pedal to open its lid that the voices from the living room catch your ear. You pause, smiling as mother and son converse.

“Have you been eating enough, Jean-bo? You look so skinny….”

“Ma, I—”

“What am I saying, of course you haven’t. You’d waste away to nothing if you were left to your own devices. I’m so glad that darling girl is there to look after you.”

“Ma, she’s not my keeper—”

“When are you two getting married, again? I could’ve sworn I wrote it down in my book, but I looked the other day and couldn’t find the date anywhere.” She sounds serious. Confused, even, not a hint of teasing in her tone. Must be an off day. A symptom of her early-onset dementia.

“Ma, we’re not even together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been together since high school.” She’s so convinced, so sure, and you squeeze your eyes tight against the reality that you and Jean have only ever been friends. In the adolescent insecurity of high school, in the intensity of military training, in the fucking heat of battle, all you’ve ever shared is friendship.

“Ma, I don’t think… I don’t even think she—” He pauses and your ears strain in the silence to catch his last quiet phrase. “She doesn’t think of me that way.”

You just know, you can tell, he only says it like that to ease her confusion. It’s the opposite, really, he doesn’t think of you that way. Before you can hear more sideways rejection, you toss the flower stems and make a beeline for the bathroom.

—

“What was that movie you were telling me to watch, again?” You ask around a mouthful of spaghetti with sauce fresh from the jar, covering your mouth with one hand.

The pair of you are eating shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of your apartment two floors above Jean’s. It’s got the decidedly better view out your picture window, complete with the perfect Eastern perspective of the river that cuts through Trost and its famous bridges. It’s this, the third leg of your traditional Saturday evenings together, that makes you feel the most warm.

Jean has the manners to chew and swallow before replying. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? Connie, Sasha, and I went to see it when they visited last month—”

Your snicker cuts him off and he raises his eyebrows as you roll your eyes and take a sip of wine. “The feet movie? Sasha said it was pretentious.”

“Really? I thought she was too preoccupied with the fact that the theater sold chili fries to pay attention.” He teases back, twirling more pasta onto his fork.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you warn with a jab of your own fork in his direction.

“Snitch.”

“Hey!”

He ducks to avoid your swat to the back of his head, grinning at your pout. “No, but seriously, apart from the feet it’s a good movie.”

“Hmm. I’ll consider putting it on the roster for next week.”

You take a moment to relish the comfortable silence, looking out at the city lights as you chew thoughtfully. His thigh is heavy and warm against yours under the thick knitted blanket his mom gave you last Yule. Your belly is warm and full, your shoulders relaxed in the company of your closest friend, your lungs breathing easily.

Jean says your name quietly and you turn to see him staring pensively down at the plate in his lap. “About what you asked earlier… in the car?”

You nod, eyes wide and mouth serious.

“Sometimes… I do regret it.” He grits the words out through his teeth, like it’s difficult to force the truth into the world. “Not because I regret what we did in the War. But because sometimes I wonder,” his eyes cut to yours for a split second, “I wonder what could’ve been. Without the War.”

You don’t say anything, don’t say you understand, because you know he knows. Instead, you loop your arm into his and lean your head against his shoulder. It takes a moment, a release of breath and the fall of his chest, but eventually he closes his eyes, turns his face into your hair, and allows himself to sink into the what could’ve been. Just for now.

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

--erwin smith x reader; fluff, domestic, not canon compliant farmer erwin, there’s a mentioning of injuries but not enough to be considered graphic! (erwin lives!)

a.n: this is my attempt at swinging back into the ways of writing after a long, long, long hiatus! i wrote this in thirty minutes as just an exercise, but felt it was cohesive enough to post. its vague, abstract, and definitely not a magnum opus, but its something. this is more of an erwin story than an x reader one, but i hope you all enjoy regardless!

this was titled after a song on the pride and prejudice ost of the same name. highly recommend you give it a listen

anything for my sweet boy erwin ♡

(w.c: 1686)

At the initial prospect of it, retirement was somewhat akin to shooting oneself in the foot for a man like Erwin. It was condescending, debilitating, almost an insult were he any lesser than a reasonable man.

The word was floated around numerous times after the loss of his arm, spoken with a gentleness and, dare he say, a trepidation they believed must be adopted when speaking to the freshly injured man. For fear of upsetting him or for fear of making the situation real, he’s not quite sure. It was mentioned, nonetheless. In passing, directly, through implication; Everyone seemed to think that Erwin was less of a man and more of a liability because of his lost arm, and that retiring from the Scout Regiment would be the best option for everyone. 

That was something he took offense to. 

His physical abilities may be considerably limited now, yes, but he still holds inherent value to the cause he’s dedicated his life to. Still has goals, still has dreams, still has ideas that must be discussed and implemented if the fate of humanity is to even think about surviving beyond the next few days. 

Erwin still had some fight in him, and he still had things to offer. Things that retirement would take away from him.

The word settled like a thick tar on his tongue and left a bitter aftertaste, one he couldn’t bear to swallow down. So he didn’t. He spit the word back out, removing it from his mouth and sternly asking others to rid themselves of it too. They followed his order, albeit begrudgingly, but the conversation ended then and there. Not permanently, unfortunately. No amount of power, Erwin imagines, could ever snuff out the growing fear his missing appendage has instilled in his soldiers. That even the most untouchable, unshakeable of leaders could be tainted by this cruel world. 

He knows it's on everyone's mind, no matter how many times he can try to assuage the fears, for if the exchanged uneasy glances between his eccentric Section Commander and trusted Captain were anything to go by, then the fear his cadets must feel must be traumatizing. The looks they pass to one another when they think he isn’t looking.

Erwin lost an arm, not his intuition. It seems he’s the only one who knows that. 

But they let it go. They all do, for now at least. They reluctantly put a pin at his assertion that he would continue his work, regardless of injury, and quickly filed this topic as one they would return to at a later date. Appease him now to make him more receptive to the future. They let him continue to work himself dry, let him continue with physical missions like he wasn’t missing a trusted appendage, and entertained his reckless and drastic thoughts to a certain extent.

When he lands himself back in the infirmary, this time with a serious rupture to the side of his stomach from flying debris, and a number of broken bones that will surely cause permanent hindrance to his mobility, the topic is brought back up again. Only this time, it’s non-negotiable. His near death was the final straw in forcing Erwin Smith into retirement. 

                                                              ∵

He hates it.

Hates how quiet his home is, hates how unexciting his routine is, hates not being able to know.

But he finds that making coffee is still manageable with one arm. The sun still shines as brightly inside the walls as it does outside. The birds still chirp excitedly in the morning and the wind still blows gently in the afternoon. 

He hates retirement, but it’s manageable. 

It gets better after a while, the presence of a neighbor making his nights substantially more interesting with the dinner she brings over. 

                                                             ∵

The house is quiet once again, only the distant chirps of the birds filling the empty space. It's familiar, but he finds it unsettling this time around. A feeling of anticipation creeping into his stomach, waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

It doesn’t happen. 

With a slight furrow in his brow and after a long analyzing gaze outside the window above the kitchen sink, Erwin makes his way towards the front door, granting him access to the front porch of the house. Settled away from the city, the land his house is built on stretches for miles; Fields of green spread out before him and littered with tall, blooming and swaying trees. The chickens squawk and run around before him and the horses huff their snorts of boredom. There’s activity in the Smith residence, but it’s not the kind he’s looking for. 

There’s something missing. 

Bringing his left arm up to his mouth, he curls his fingers below his tongue, blowing out a loud and sharp whistle that has all movement still for a brief moment on his farm. All attention piqued on him, the animals and the trees alike waited for Erwin’s response. 

They wait, and they wait, and they wait. But still, nothing.

The crease between Erwin’s brows dips further. A brief flash of worry settles in his shoulders. He pulls his fingers into his mouth again, blowing a whistle that lasts for a few seconds longer this time. His eyes stay trained on the hill before him, hoping to see something. Anything.

He waits a minute before the restlessness takes over and he takes his steps down the stairs of the porch, his boots crunching against the crisp grass still wet from the morning dew. He approaches the top of the hill, the one that lays level with the foundation of his house, before surveying the land further below. He looks left and right, then left again and then right again, eyes peeled for that familiar flash of grey.

Where in the world could that damn dog have gone?

The dog is usually fast enough to return before he even needs to whistle a second time, never straying too far from the property for her to not hear Erwin’s call. But this time is different. She’s gone and isn’t returning to him and that can only mean one thing.

Trouble.

He begins his trek down the hill, the morning still early enough to not have him sweating on this irregular stroll of his, but he can feel the temperature slowly rising through the air. The wind serves as his only semblance of comfort as it continues its mission of cooling the exposed skin of his forearm and neck. 

He must be walking for at least five minutes before he sees it. The scraggly grey hair of a dog's bottom, her top half hidden behind a large oak tree but her tail wagging ferociously. A small smile graces Erwin’s face subconsciously, the slowly building apprehension dissipating in an instant at seeing the vivacious mutt. 

Or at least at seeing her bottom half. 

He approaches the tree slowly, the noises of enjoyment and panting from the dog becoming louder as he draws nearer. But there’s another sound too that fills the air. A sound much sweeter and delicate, one that he’s heard a thousand times over the years,  and yet, Erwin swears it's one he can never get tired of. 

It’s a breath of fresh air, an instant drug in his veins, and the reason behind the swelling of his heart. His smile grows wider than he could have possibly imagined.

He gets close enough and the dog finally notices him, bounding over to him in an instant with a greeting bark and a perk in her step. He pats her head, a silent gratefulness at having found her finally and understanding why she refused to meet his calls. Why she continued to stay at the spot behind the oak tree a five minute walk away from her home.

He finally gets near the tree, peering around its large trunk to the spot the dog previously occupied and can’t help but laugh in surprise. 

Sitting in the space between the bulging roots are his two girls, one aged six and the other three, huddled close together as they coo and giggle over an object resting between the two’s feet. Their backs are turned towards their father, too preoccupied with whatever was settled between them to even notice the beloved dog’s disappearance from her original spot and its replacement with their father. 

His years of training to fight titans kicks in, his steps as quiet as can be as he gets closer to the girls to get a look at what they were currently fawning over. 

A baby bird. Brown in color and more than comfortable between the two children.

“What are you two doing?”

His voice sends a jolt of shock through them, the two girls jumping in the air at the sudden disruption and whipping their faces around to look at the intruder. The fear quickly melts off of their round faces when they realize who it is. 

“Daddy!” The two girls yell unanimously, unbridled joy filtering their features and Erwin briefly sees the beautiful face of their mother in them. The youngest in particular. 

The eldest managed to take most of his features, much to his wife’s pleasure, retaining his aquiline nose, the vibrant blue of his eyes, and his own oval face shape, but her hair is a delightful mix between his and his wife’s. And while she looks the most like him, she acts the most like her mother; Joyous and giggly and a passionate ball of rays. 

Now, his youngest, while looking almost entirely like a carbon copy of her mother, was in fact a replica of his own personality. Quiet, curious, diplomatic. A balance to her impulsive sister, a shining grey crater of peace in the sky.

His sun and moon. His reasons for orbit. The loves of his life. 

                                                             ∵

And as he walks his two girls back across the field to their home, their mother’s figure on the horizon and an excited chatter between them as they recount the tales of their morning in helping the baby bird, a single thought enters Erwin’s mind. 

Retirement isn’t so bad. 

[captainsolare]

Solsooool!! Congrats on 300!!you deserve it and much much more!! ❤️💜 For your event, you know I have to ask for sero, you write him so well! Sero + journal maybe?? And thank you in advance!! ❤️💜❤️

A/N: Hello hello lovely!! I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you like it! 

A/N: I’ve come to the conclusion I can’t write short things, I have too much to say. Also woah this is the last post from the 300 event, thanks so much for your support y'all <3

Sero + Journal

The lunchroom was loud, Sero sat with his normal group, thoughts miles away. “Why do we have to do this stupid assignment anyways?” Denki lamented, sighing heavily as he slumped forward onto the table. “Hey, don’t knock my rice off the table, electricity for brains.” Bakugo threatened, grabbing his bowl as the table tipped unevenly. Sero zoned back into the conversation when suddenly a question was directed towards him.

“What was the question?” He asked, blinking. Kirishima smiled, “No worries man. Mina just asked what you wrote for the journal assignment.”

Sero hummed thoughtfully. The assignment prompt was ‘What would your ideal future look like?’ He knew he should probably say a generic answer, like ‘seeing a world where heroes wouldn’t be necessary or wanting to be a top hero, but for some reason, all of his thoughts led him down a path towards you. He didn’t know you very well, you were in a different hero course class, but you seemed kind and smart, and with a face like that? Goodness, he was hooked.

His daydreaming was interrupted by Mina’s finger poking his cheek; blinking to settle back to reality he was met with his friends’ smiling faces. “Uh oh I know that look,” Denki said teasingly. Mina nodded, smirking, “Uh-huh, our little tape boy is in love.”

Love? The word felt strange in his brain and set his cheeks on fire. “What?! No way.” he protested, hands raised defensively. Mina smiled and exchanged a knowing glance with Denki, “I bet we already know who it is!” “We do?” Denki asked, face scrunching in confusion.

“Look! There’s Y/N now!” Mina exclaimed. Sero couldn’t help it, he perked up like an excited puppy eyes scanning the crowd for you. His face settled into a pout when you were nowhere to be found, and his friends began to laugh. “Dude you should have seen your face!” Denki teased, socking his arm lightly. Sero’s cheeks were warm from embarrassment. Kirishima raised up a halting hand, “Hey now, let’s not tease the guy too much. I think it’s manly to be in love.” Bakugo grunted his disinterest, and the group returned to other topics of conversation.

Soon the bell rang, signaling the long walk back to class. Sero was quiet as he walked, trailing a few steps behind his friends; running through a mental checklist of what he’d need for the next class he panicked as he realized he left his journal back in the locker room this morning. He quickly pivoted, yelling to Denki that he’d be right back and to cover for him.

Little did he know you were in the same predicament, you rushed to the locker room, retrieving the all-important journal from your own locker. As you exited into the hallway, not really paying attention to your surroundings, you bumped into something warm. Your notebooks and whoever’s you’d bumped into landed on a heap on the floor. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry (YLN/)(Sero)!” You and Sero said at the same time.

You both scrambled to the floor to grab the notebooks, managing to knock heads in the process. “Geez, I’m really batting a thousand today, huh?” Sero joked, handing you the notebook he presumed to be yours.

Before you could answer the bell rang and you met each other’s panicked eyes. “Sorry, gotta go!” You exclaimed, rushing off to your class. Sero lingered a few moments longer, hand burning from where you’d accidentally brushed his.

He rushed back to the classroom, notebook in hand. “Sorry I’m late, Present Mic.” Mic nodded, not pausing from his lecture. Once Sero sat down, Mic set his piece of chalk down. “Alright! Now that everyone is here, we’re going to swap journals with the person next to us and edit their journal entries for the most recent assignment.” Sero’s heart sank, but he turned to Midoriya and begrudgingly handed his journal over. At least he probably won’t make fun of me.

Midoriya’s cheeks were warm from embarrassment, “I wish I had known we were going to peer-edit these. Mine’s a little embarrassing.” Sero chuckled, feeling a bit better about the situation, “It can’t be any more embarrassing than mine.” Midoriya smiled and they each turned the pages open to find the most recent journal entries.

Sero was digging out a red pencil from his bag when he heard Midoriya’s shaky voice coming from next to him. “Uh Sero?” He turned, head cocked in confusion, “Yeah? Is something wrong?” Midoriya bit his lip, wondering how exactly to tell him this, “Well, uh, it looks like this notebook isn’t yours.” Hanta blinked, how was that possible? He had definitely picked up his own notebook in the hallway, right?

He was certain his face was as red as Kirishima’s hair as he took the notebook from Midoriya with trembling hands. As he peered at the handwriting that was most definitely not his, the facts cemented in his brain. In the hallway, he must have given you, the person he wrote an embarrassing journal entry about for an English assignment, the journal he wrote it in. Sero sank in his chair, resting his head in his hands. It was certain, his life, and reputation as being a sort of cool guy were over.

As the day crept on, he dreaded going to the training grounds this afternoon; you’d surely be there and he wasn’t sure he could look you in the face, not after you’d read that journal entry he wrote. In the locker room, he pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering what exactly he had done for fate to curse him like this. “What’s wrong man? You’ve been acting weird all day?” Denki asked, shirt half on. Sero sighed, shoulders heavy with defeat. “I accidentally ran into Y/N after I went to grab my notebook earlier and in the mix of rushing to class and getting up off the floor, we ended up swapping notebooks.”

Denki blinked, “Wait, your English notebook? Why would that be a big deal?” Sero shook his head, his best friend could be so perceptive, but so dumb sometimes. His cheeks warmed as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Well, I-- uh… I sort of included Y/N in my journal entry.” Denki couldn’t help the sound that erupted from his throat. “You what?!” His laughter echoed on the tile walls and Sero felt his cheeks grow hotter. “I know it was stupid okay? You don’t have to make fun of me.” Denki’s laughter immediately stopped, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Honestly, I think it’ll be okay. The worst that could happen is you never speak again right?” Sero fixed him with a dark look. Denki put his hands up defensively, “Sorry, I’m not the best at making people feel better.”

The minutes ticked by during training, your class would be here soon to take over the gym and he could feel his stress levels rise from the very thought of it. Your voice echoed from the doorway, saying his name, and he would have run for Denki and Kirishima not held him in place.

Your cheeks were on fire as you made your way over to the dark-haired boy. “Hey, Sero, can we... talk?”

He swallowed thickly, “Uh, yeah sure. Let me grab my bag.” He darted over to the corner to grab his things and walked outside with you. “So, what’s up?” He asked, kicking himself for the question as soon as it left his mouth. You knelt down to rummage through your bag and pulled out a familiar-looking notebook. He did the same, and you traded notebooks without a word. He began to leave but your voice stopped him.

“Sero?” He stopped in his tracks, heart pounding in his ears. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, “About your journal entry… I’m flattered but--” Ah, there it was, the dreaded but. “There’s no need to finish,” He stopped you, a sad smile on his face, “I know you don’t feel the same way.” You gave him a look and he blinked, confused.

“I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that I’m flattered but I don’t know what I want for the future yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want for next Saturday.”

“Oh really?”Now he was even more confused, what was that supposed to mean? “What do you want Saturday?” You smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “For you to pick me up from the dorm at 7 PM sharp and take me out for dinner.” His eyes widened as the realization set in, and he settled into a comfortable smile. “Perfect, I can’t wait!”

His friends came tumbling out of the gym onto the ground in front of you as you tugged the door open to rejoin your class. You and Sero burst out laughing, a mixture of embarrassment and humor. As his friends teased him about this new development, Sero could have sworn he heard Bakugo say, “All according to plan.”

[travlersjoy444]

Saw ur reblog so uh 4, 16, 25, 35 and 39, ITS ALOT I KNOW BUT IM JUST REALLY CURIOUS, and i wanna learn from you cause you're one of my faves😭😭😭

-🦋

I'm happy to answer! (And thank you, you're literally so sweet my dude! :))

4.) Q: What's a word that makes me go feral?

A: Hissed. I love how it can imply a very serious scene while also reminding me of a cat- like 'Hunter hissed' could mean he's in pain, but it could also mean he makes cat sounds when angered. It's just very amusing to me. My other top word is dreary, simply because of my love for rain, clouds, and the cozy gloom of writing on a dreary afternoon...(I know, I'm being overly poetic-)

16.) Q: What's the weirdest thing I've used as a bookmark?

A: Probably steampunk goggles. Or maybe that one steampunk Monster High doll. In case you couldn't tell, I like steampunk stuff.

25.) Q: What is a weird hyper-specific detail I know about one of my characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

A: Darling, I have a whole list! But to spare your time, I'll just share a few.

My OC, Finn Basilton, wears lipgloss instead of chapstick. He says it's more fun to wear, but would never ever tell anyone. It's like a really dumb secret.

Romina Aster -another OC- really wants a motorcycle. She'll get one someday, but long after the story is over.

(Y/N) in 'Masks and Bets' is much more focused on magic than combat. I also like to think their dad is a bard, but that's just because my dad would probably be a bard. (He has a huge collection of instruments and a personality like Gomez Addams. He'd love to be a bard.)

35.) Q: What's my favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

A: Whenever people say "don't use the word 'said'" I just...feel mental pain. 'Said' is an invisible word, much like 'he, she, they, etc...'. When you use another word, you have to mean it, because it isn't invisible. It stand out and means something, which is great in certain contexts, buuut.....

'"Hi, how are you?" She mumbled happily' vs '"Hi, how are you?" She said'

I can't stand re-reading my old works where I'd misuse words like 'groaned' or 'muttered'- just use 'said'. It's okay to use 'said'.

39.) A: What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

Q: Honestly, just the fact that I get ideas. Like, I'll have writers block, but then I'll see an awesome line of dialogue in a twine game and will just...itch to write! I have ADHD so motivation can be a huge problem, but I have too many ideas to contain in my head- like, you know when you find a really cool fact and just...tell it to everyone? (No? Just me?) Because if you do, then that's how writing is for me.

However. Sometimes I just can't get over a hurdle, or I'll hate how a story is going. For instance, my OtGW fic. I still love the fic, but I've learned to be okay with putting it on the shelf for a bit. I work on rewriting it slowly but surely, and maybe by next Halloween, 'Fleeting Austice' will finally be finished satisfactorily. In other words, I just give myself some grace and be okay with being a bit slow. At least I'm writing, even if it's just one sentence a day! I read some quote by Neil Gaiman- I don't recall the exact words, but it was something like 'Inspiration won't make you a writer, dedication will.' So when I'm miserable and uninspired, I just...add another word.

And *big secret*- 'An Oath to Keep' was one of the stories I struggled with. I was completely devoid of inspiration and absolutely sick of it- And I wasn't even past a thousand words. But I painstakingly added more, bit by bit- not even all on my laptop even! I wrote the face reveal scene on my notes app at a family diner because I was bored, and was later pleased to find out that it fixed a few plotholes and added a cool plotpoint- that was how I got the everlasting oath idea in the first place! I'm still not totally pleased with how it turned out, but that leads into my last bit of advice-

You're pretty much always going to be your own harshest critic. I'm 85% sure we all do that. But glaring problems through an author's eyes....usually aren't actually problems. Keep that in mind.

TL,DR: Just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep writing writing writing....

*******

Thanks for asking! Sorry for how long the last answer was, I hope you find some advice that might help you!

[scenarioslovers]

Our Sin >> Jungkook, You (Part 4)

PLEASE READ ME FIRST : PART 1| PART 2 |PART 3 

Once upon a time, three friends loved each other very much, people thought they could pass as siblings. They promised to always stay loyal and never hurt each other no matter what. They promised to stay friends and never let anything ruin what they had for each other. Jungkook, Minju, and Y/N.

Two girls and one boy.

They swore that they wouldn’t fight over love because being together the three of them was the perfect calculation to have existed. Y/N fought her demons and hide her feelings for the boy who brightened up her life and gave her hope to keep going and face life. She couldn’t betray her friend’s trust and let such unwanted feelings to ruin everything.

That was until the last year of high school. When Jungkook and Minju came while holding hands.

Y/N tried so hard to deny all the signs. They could never betray her like this. They all swore on their friendship. However, Minju was blushing and wouldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. Jungkook was braver but he was shy to admit the truth. That they were already in love, leaving her alone, and totally ignoring her feelings.

Their hands will not break free.

Jungkook stuttering trying to form words. It was Minju who broke the silence and awkward moment. “Y/N, sorry. we can’t keep that from you for so long... we are dating.”

Y/N smiled faintly, trying so hard to hide the pain and tears from her eyes. Her efforts to keep the promised gone to air but she had to work harder for the friendship to never go away.

She couldn’t lose two of her friends, just because she is foolishly in love with someone who was in love with someone else.

“I knew it.” A forced chuckle skipped her mouth. “I already knew you would do that eventually. Congratulations, my friends.”

“Aren’t you mad?” Jungkook asked. A hint of surprise rose in his voice.

“I am happy for you.” Y/N nodded at her friends. “Our friendship is stronger than this. I know it is.”

At that time, the three friends didn’t know that their trip of sins would start.

They didn’t know that breaking that promise back then when they were just young and wild would bring them all the unfortunate events and bad feelings. Lies and breaking promised were a cycle that the three friends didn’t stop doing.

_____________

Two weeks after Y/N left.

 Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

Minju wouldn’t answer his calls and Y/N left for a new start even though he wondered if you would be able to get it. He couldn’t stop thinking about you ever since you Left. He wished he could turn back time and make different decisions.

Like how he shouldn’t have hide after hearing about your pregnancy. He shouldn’t have asked for time to think about it. He knew that he loved you and he was so ready to have a life with you. However, Minju always appeared in his mind like a haunting ghost. Blaming him for stopping loving her when she was ready to fully love him. He thought he loved Minju too.

God, he loved Minju but when he saw your tears his heart ached as if thousands of knives decided to stab him in the heart at the same time with no mercy.

His heart ached for you and only you.

He was just too stupid to realize how important you were in his life before. He thought Minju was the answer.  

When he first asked Minju out, Y/N popped in his mind smiling brightly at his silly jokes. He pushed that memory away, back in the days he thought he felt sorry for you, for breaking that silly promise they made for each other. He didn’t want to hurt his childhood friend because he fell in love with her best friend.

Your reaction at that time surprised him, yet put him at ease. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought about it too much. That’s what friends are for.

Nevertheless, he was wrong.

You indeed were hurt considering that now he knew how you felt about him. He hated himself more than anything.

Looking at the ceiling of his room, his eyes fell on the stars you had helped him in decorating his room with before. A small smile formed on his lips as tears blurring his vision. He couldn’t believe he let himself be a coward and lose you in the thin air like this.

A vibration coming from his phone made him threw his body in a sitting position. He caught himself hoping it was from you. However, disappointment yet fear washed over him when he saw the name in capital letters and a heart beside it. MINJU.

--Let’s talk! I don’t like to leave things unfinished.

He knew what she meant from her text. She was breaking up with him. However, the Minju he knows wouldn’t let be unless she heard it from him.

-Meet you in 20 minutes. Our regular place.

Jungkook texted back

--Tsk, I wish you didn’t reply so fast. See you there.

First thing, first, Jungkook was determined to confess all of his sins, but he wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness. As the person who should hear it could no longer receive it.

__________________

Everyone deserves a chance to start a new life that was meant to change from them. And that was your decision when you left your best friend; who now hate to hear your name and the one whom you truly love.

They say if you have a guy friend you should never ever fall in love with them. Now, you knew why. Simply you didn’t just lose your long time crush, you lost your secret keeper and the one who tried his best to be a good friend.

A part of you didn’t want to take the whole blame, however you decided to be the bad one when you decided to get rid of the baby.

You wanted to erase everything. It pained you so much to look in the mirror and think of the possibility that you could have been a mother.

You wrote the bad things you did for the past year in a white thin paper. Wanting to let them go and you wrote each one of them, thinking of the mess you cause because of it.

You looked at the list one more time:

1-  Slept with my best friend’s ex who is my close friend

2-  lied to Minju

3-  lied to jungkook

4- got pregnant

5- Took advantage of Jungkook in the loneliest moment in his life.

6- truly loved Jungkook knowing he didn’t love me and cared for Minju

7- I killed the baby

Whipping away the tears that started running down your cheeks, you crumbled the paper with your fist and threw it into the sea.

Today, after this moment, you will live only for yourself. You didn’t deserve to be a girlfriend to anyone or even a mom ever again.

You looked at the paper as it sank slowly into the deep blue water and disappeared. As you no longer could see it, you took a deep breath and promised yourself never to cry again or think about your sins ever. You were going to start a life that was only for yourself.

___________________

Three years later

“Teacher! Can you help me?”

One of your students approached you with a notebook as you were looking through the windows to the sea view beside the school. The cute little girl was more than four years old. You couldn’t help but think that your baby would have been as old as she was or a little younger. The girl was wearing a yellow dress that was filled with flowers everywhere. It made her look like an angel with her hair tied up into two ponies on each side. She was smiling at you excitedly as she pushed her notebook toward you. She was only four years old yet she cared so much about her art and classwork.

“Let me see, Hana.” You kneeled beside her as you opened her notebook. Her handwriting was huge and messy. You found them cute. Sometimes you secretly took pictures of your students' handwriting as a memory for you to keep. However, what Hana showed you, wasn’t an art or classwork. You looked at her handwriting in awe as you smiled so widely from ear to ear. She wrote you a letter.

I love you, teacher Y/N. You are the best teacher and I want to be like you when I grow up. You are cool and pretty. You are the best.

“Are you crying, Teacher?” Hana looked concerned as tears started to form in her eyes too.

You whipped the tears with the back of your hands so quickly as you shook your head, and laughed so that Hana stop making that sad face. “I am happy. Very happy, thank you, Hana.”

“You can take the paper. It is yours.” Hana said as she ripped the paper with the letter out of her notebook before running back to her class.

Working with kids, changed you a lot. After you decided to start all over again a new life, you moved to Jeju island and applied to be a kindergarten teacher. Fortunately, you got the job and you have been living a calm life ever since.

You folded the letter and put it in your bag. You had a box filled with love letters from your students. They were all so cute and loved to show love everywhere they go. These small letters like a cheer up treat to your lonely nights. Whenever thoughts and bad memories haunt your dreams, you would wake up to read all of them without getting tired.

When all the kids went home, you decided to go to the market instead of going home right away. You needed to shop for groceries as your fridge started to be empty.

Since Jeju island is so small, people knew each other. And living for three years in this small island made it easier for people to know you. Every shop vendor greeted you happily as the offered to show you their new products and goods. Everyone was kind to you and made you feel welcomed.

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” The fruit shop grandpa greeted you as you approached his shop.

“Grandpa, do you have apples?” You asked as you looked around for it. “I can’t see them.”

“They are inside, I changed their place as they keeping falling around everywhere.” He laughed as he explained how old he was for him to run after a rolling apple.

“You are still young, grandpa.” You complimented him and he cheered in confidence.

“You, young children, know what to say.” He handed you your apples and you paid him before turning around.

At that moment, the world started to tie up around you. Your lungs forgot how to breathe as you caught sight of the thing you wanted to avoid for as long as you were alive. Why are they here? Questions filled your mind and only one answered popped in your head.

RUN.

You turned so fast the other way around. It was so fast that you didn’t notice someone was behind you. You bumped into the fruit shop grandson, who had a crush on you. However, his strong arms held you in place, protecting you for accidents. “Y/N!” He exclaimed happily. He was so loud that blood went cold into your veins. When he noticed the horror in your eyes he looked at you worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

“I have to go. Talk to you later, Dojoon-shi” and started to walk as fast as you could. Dojoon called after you as you fastened your pace and started to run.

Why are they here out of all the places? What are they doing? They seemed like they are still together. Your chest tightened and your vision blurred as your legs wouldn’t stop.

Jungkook and Minju were in Jeju island. Minju was holding into Jungkook’s arm as he was looking at a necklace from the accessory lady.

The burning in your chest wouldn’t stop. When you reached home, you kicked your shoes away and walked straight to your room. Hands in hair, you pulled into it as you couldn’t stop thinking. Finally, after three years you learned how to move on. Did they come here looking for you? Is it coincident? How did they make up?

A part of you was happy that they could manage to stay together. Another part of you was broken over the fact that you had become the one who couldn’t be forgiven.

“Good for them.” You murmured to yourself. “At least now you can live without feeling guilty. You didn’t ruin their relationship at least.”

__________

“Jungkook, look at this beautiful necklace,” Minju said as she grabbed Jungkook’s arm as she stopped by a lady who was selling jewelry. The necklace charm took a heart shape with a moon and a star inside of it. Jungkook looked at it and couldn’t help but think of Y/N. A moon and a star. Two things that matched well with Y/N’s personality. She was the moon and the star that guided him during his darkest days. He felt her absence when she was gone. Technically she was around him as long as he could ever remember.

“It would look good on, Y/N,” Minju said, reading Jungkook’s expression.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise. Was he thinking out loud?

“It would look good on you too.”

“Eh, stop lying. It also reminded me of her the moment I saw it.” Minju sighed as she looked away from Jungkook. “Did you use to have the same expression while thinking of me?”

Jungkook groaned and Minju laughed. “Minju!”

“You didn’t have to protest like this. I am hurt.”

“Do you think we will find her?” Jungkook’s eyes were full of worry and anxiety.

“Emma said she saw her multiple times while she was on vacation here,” Minju said, shaking her head. “That only means one thing. She moved in her and lied to you.”

“Would she be happy to see me?”

“I—”

“Y/N!!!”

Before Minju could answer, a man shouted a name too familiar and unique to ignore. Minju and Jungkook snapped their head towards the voice. Only to find a man standing in the middle of the street, looking annoyed and sad and no one was in front of him.

Jungkook looked at Minju whose eyes grew in excitement. At least this could be the confirmation they need to know that their search wasn't a waste of time.

Jungkook walked over to the man, he looked around the same age as him. A small burn feeling rose in his chest. “Excuse me, do you know Y/N?”

“Teacher Y/N?” He looked behind him then back at Jungkook. “Yes, and who are you?”

“Her best friend,” Minju answered instead as she reached out for a handshake. “We are looking for Y/N. Can you help us?”

_____________

You couldn’t sleep last night, those dark circles were more visible than ever. Your skin was pale and dehydrated. You reached for a bottle of water as you gulped it down in one sip. You no longer wanted to go out of your house. Jeju Island was so small that there was a huge chance to run into them again. However, you still had a job and a life to live. Until when were you going to keep running away?

With a determined mind, you walked into your bedroom to get ready for a new day. It didn’t matter if you run into them. If that happened you would greet them with a smile, congrats them for being together again, and go on with your life that you choose to live. Or maybe...

Keep avoiding them.

The school you worked in was a few minutes away from your house. You liked to walk there every day as a form of daily exercise. People greeted you as you walked the streets. Elders, children, and young people, everyone was smiling at you, throwing random questions in your direction.

“How is your day, Teacher Y/N?”

“Have a nice day, Y/N”

“You will visit our shop today right?”

After a few seconds, the school gate started to appear. Two figures were standing by the gate. As you walked closer, the figures started to come clearer, colors became more vibrant, and the facial feature was stronger. You stopped in your place as you looked at your old friends. Jungkook was leaning on the wall, he seemed to be in deep thoughts while Minju stood in front of him, talking nonstop. They were standing in front of your school, probably waiting for you. Or why would they be here out of all places?

“Teacher. Y/N, why are you hiding behind a tree?” You looked down at the voice, to find Hana. Her small hands holding the strips of her back bag tightly as she looked at you with curious eyes.

“SHUSH!” You put an index to your mouth as you gestured for her to leave.

“Aren’t you going inside, Teacher Y/N?” She was unnecessarily too loud.

Glancing at Jungkook and Minju’s direction, your breath caught in your chest. They were looking at your direction. You took a deep breath before sighing slowly.

“Hana, darling, go inside or you will miss school.” You said to Hana as Jungkook and Minju walked towards you. “Please, Hana. I will follow you shortly.”

Hana huffed before walking to the school gate. Minju waved to her but Hana ignored her and kept walking to her destination.

“Are all your student brats?” Minju exclaimed as she stopped in front of you, beside her was jungkook who wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Why are you here?” You asked and it sounded like you were annoyed.

“Someone kept crying every night missing you. It started to annoy me.” Minju sighed as she glanced at Jungkook at thew corner of her eyes. "Plus, that should be our question. What about the UK?"

“Look! I do not know why you are here guys. But I am trying to move on with my life here. Can you please just---?” You sounded harsher than you meant as you gestured for them to leave.

As you started to walk away, a hand reached for your wrist stopping you. You glanced up, to find Jungkook in front of you. Electric waves ran through your arms, reviving all your sensations. That what Jungkook’s touch could always do to you.

“Can we talk?” It was Jungkook’s first words to you. “Please.” The pleading voice and eyes filled with something glittering made you sigh deeply.

“After work. Okay? Wait for me by the cafe around the corner of this street.” You said as you pulled away from his grip. The sensation of his warm hand, still there. Reminding you that this is more real than you thought. “Can you leave now?”

“Let’s go,” Minju said as she locked Jungkook’s arms with hers. You watched as they walked away, bit your lower lip. Why did they come all the way here just to show me how good your relationship became?

This was your chance for a real goodbye. A chance to forgive the sins you all did.  A real closure to a friendship that was left hanging on bad terms.

to be continued...

___________________________

IT’S BEEN A WHILE! Hope you liked this part. 

[padfootagain]

A Sunday Kind Of Love

Here comes a new request for my 4.7k followers!! Thank you for your request, anon! The following prompts were requested for Harry Styles!

19. "Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?"

81. "Well… that… was a good kiss…"

I wrote them in italics in the fic. This is absolute fluff. Nothing but pure cuteness, so much cuteness that even I feel like it's almost too much. But can there really be too much cuteness? I think not.

I hope you like it!

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word count: 2322

It's Sunday morning.

There is rain pouring outside, but it's Fall already in England, so there is nothing surprising with the pouty weather, really. The rain makes clapping sounds as it hits the roof of your house and the windowpane of your bedroom. Through a corner of the curtain that isn't placed quite right to cover the glass, you can see the droplets rolling down the cold surface, tracing unrealistic patterns against the window. There's a little bit of condensation around the frame, blurring the dark clouds outside and the top of the orange leaves from the tree in your garden. There isn't much light in the room, because of the dark clouds, but also because it's still early, and beyond all the water darkening the sky, the sun is only shy for now.

Along with the sound of rain, you can hear the wind blowing from time to time, getting caught in the branches of your tree.

It's warm under your duvet, but you are well aware that it must be cold outside. Your nose feels a little cool, unprotected by the blanket you have tugged under your chin. Your whole world, it would seem, smells of rain, your sheets perfumed with the orange blossom of your detergent, and Harry's scent.

His Tom Ford cologne tickles your senses, familiar and warm and reassuring. It envelops you in a tight embrace, almost like a cocoon. It's your favourite scent in the world, really, because it means that he's here, by your side, instead of halfway across the globe.

And he's here alright, lying next to you in bed. For once, you're the first one awake despite Harry being an early-riser. Having a difficult time sleeping has at least one good side, you reckon. You can watch him sleep then.

His eyes are barely moving under his eyelids, but they slightly tremble still. His features are completely relaxed, and the calm he wears then makes him angelic. His eyelashes trace two dark lines above his cheekbones. He hasn't shaved in a few days and a stubble colours his cheeks, chin and space between his soft lips and cute nose. His parted lips move a little in his sleep, as if he was about to mutter something, making the tip of his nose bend to follow the movement. He's lying on his tummy, his face turned towards you and a hand hidden under his pillow. His hair is a wild and yet glorious mess of brown curls that both his night of sleep and your hands have tangled. You can barely hear his soft, regular breath escape through his nose above the sound of the rain, but it's a reassuring sound nonetheless.

You reach to rest your fingers upon his bare arm, his skin velvety under your fingertips. His body is warm and inviting, and you barely think as you snuggle closer to him, looking for his nearness like a planet is pulled towards its star.

You absentmindedly trace patterns over his arm, but stop when he shifts under your touch, the muscle of his shoulder flexing and then extending as he pushes his hand further under his pillow.

You don't want to wake him up just yet. You want to keep staring at him, enjoy the fragile moment and use it to carve the sight of him in your mind: a luminous memory to remember by.

So, you stop moving altogether, barely breathing, hoping not to disturb his sleep for a little longer, and merely stare at him, watching him lost in peaceful slumber.

Tomorrow, there will be a thousand tasks awaiting you at work. Tomorrow, there will be an early rise to get ready and hurry through crowded buses and trains to get to work. Tomorrow, there will be the stress of failure and the rush of too many things to do. Tomorrow, there will be a sandwich swallowed in a hurry to avoid losing time for work. Tomorrow there will be aching shoulders and headaches by the middle of the afternoon. Tomorrow, there will be a journey home, spent trying to fight back your exhaustion to keep your eyes open in public transports. And tomorrow night, there will be an early fall on the bed because you are too tired to do anything and gentle hands guiding you towards your pillow, and finally the scent of the Tom Ford cologne drowning you in a feeling of peace.

But this morning, there is nothing but this bed. Your stressful job is far away for now, and it almost feels as if you could forget that it exists altogether.

If only you could stay like this forever…

But eventually, after a long while – is it a few minutes or an hour, you truly can't say – Harry starts moving around a little more, and you recognize the first signs that he's about to wake up in his quiet shuffling.

And what better way to be accompanied out of slumber than with kisses?

You move your hand across his arm to rest on his naked back instead, your hand resting flat between his shoulder blades while you lean closer to kiss the cheek that is exposed to you. You drop gentle kisses there, his stubble tickling you a little, moving your lips across his cheekbone, his jaw, and finally the tip of his nose, which makes him smile.

You pull away, waiting for him to wake up, but he doesn't open his beautiful eyes like you expect him to. Instead, he frowns, and groans at you, his lips turning into a small pout.

"Don't stop," he complains, his voice rough and raspy with sleep, the sound sending electricity through your spine, despite the pillow shushing his words.

You laugh at him a little, but can't help but comply nonetheless, leaning to brush feathery kisses across his eyelid. He heaves a content sigh this time, his smile returning to his plush lips as your touch moves to his temple and forehead. You kiss the remnants of his frown away, and by the time your lips rest upon the tip of his ear, he has a grin on his face.

"Enough?" you ask in a teasing voice, having kissed every inch of his face you could reach.

"Hmm… there's one spot you've missed," he answers, opening one eye to look at you.

"Really? Which one?"

He shoots you a ridiculously bright smirk, turning his head a little more to face you, before he points to his lips.

You laugh again, but have to admit that he is right, his lips being previously out of reach for the most part, pressed against the pillow instead of facing you.

His eyes are finally open, mostly, at least, for sleep is still heavy on him. He hasn't chased the last fragments of it away yet, but it doesn't stop him from looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to yield, which you easily do. There's no way you can resist from kissing him, especially now, when it's a cold Sunday morning with rain pouring outside and you're cuddled in bed against his warm frame.

So, you kiss him, slow and deep and loving – adoring, one might even say. It's a little sleepy, but it's intimate in the most perfect of ways and it makes both of you feel warmth spread through your hearts until it feels like the organs are radiating love. It's peaceful, and complete, and it feels and tastes like home. It's all you'll ever need, really, and Harry feels just the same.

The kiss lingers, lasting until both of you are desperate for air. You're not sure when has Harry shifted enough to pull his hand away from under his pillow to wrap around you instead, but it feels good to be held by him. Safe. Sheltered. A place where you're sure you'll never get hurt, whatever may happen in the rest of your life.

When you eventually pull away, both of you out of breath, it takes him a few seconds to lazily open his eyes again. He has a dreamy look on his face.

"Well… that… was a good kiss…" he tells you, a stupid grin breaking his lips.

"Hmm… yes, it was," you nodded, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

"It was a very nice way to wake up," he praises, and it's his turn to scatter tender pecks across your cheeks, making you grin too.

"I bet it was…"

"You know what would make it even better?"

"More cuddles?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but considers your proposition first.

"Yes, actually that too," he admits. "But I was thinking about breakfast instead."

"You want me to make you breakfast?"

"I'll help too!" he defends himself.

"Will you? Cause that's what you said last weekend already, mister! And you ended up falling back asleep and not helping me at all."

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"I know… I'm just teasing. I'll get the coffee going."

He grinned, kissing your lips again.

"Thank you. I love you, you're the best. The best!"

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer and buries his face in your neck, kissing all along your skin there, nipping a couple of times to make you smile even brighter.

"Well, if you want breakfast, then you have to let me get out of bed and make it!"

He falls back further in his pillow, letting you move more freely again.

"Alright, I'll be down in a minute."

"Don't abandon me this time!" you warn him, poking at his side for good measure, making him squirm away from you and let out an adorable giggle.

"I won't! I won't! I promise!"

You kiss him one last time, before sitting up, looking for something to wear. After the activities of the previous night, you didn't bother putting on some clothes. But now, you need to go to kitchen, and you reach for the closest shirt you can find. It's the shirt Harry was wearing the night before, his Enjoy health, eat your honey t-shirt that was left disregarded on the floor as you found kissing much more important than tidying your clothes.

You put it on, turning to take a look at Harry's reaction. But your boyfriend has closed his eyes again, and you guess you'll have to wait till he gets to the kitchen.

You walked down the stairs to the kitchen, the rain still going strong outside. It's warm in your house though, and as you prepare some coffee, you admire the rain falling on the pavement. It has made puddles in the driveway already, and it seems to you that the sky is darkening.

You decide to put on some music while you gather the ingredients needed to make some waffles. You turn on the radio, and some random tune you don't recognize fill the room, covering the tapping noise of the rain.

" Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?" Harry asks, a smug smile on his lips while he appears wearing nothing except a pair of black underwear.

He loves it. You know he does. He loves when you wear his clothes, and the way he wraps his arms around your middle from behind as he joins you in the kitchen is the final proof.

"I might have borrowed it," you answer with a grin.

"Hmm… borrowing is fine, but don't steal this one. I like it too much."

"Don't lie, you love seeing it on me."

He drops a sweet kiss on your hair.

"I do. Looks good on you."

"Better than on you?"

"Now, don't push it…"

You both laugh, while he moves to the side to grab a couple of apples and a knife, and he starts cutting some fruits for you both.

It's quiet between the two of you while you cook and listen to the music and to the steady rain. It's comfortable, the way you and Harry can stand next to each other in silence, intimate.

The tune changes to Etta James's voice. Warm and deep, her voice echoes through the kitchen and you start humming along the melody.

Without warning, Harry's hand comes to rest upon yours as you were mixing your ingredients for your waffles. You look up at him questioningly, but he merely smiles at you, pulling you close to him without letting go of your hand. His fingers are a little sticky with the juice from the apples he's been cutting, and yours are covered with sugar and flours, but none of you seem to care, and it still feel just as nice to be holding hands. His arm wraps around your waist, and before you can truly understand what's going on, the two of you are swaying across the kitchen. When you finally realize that you're dancing with Harry, you beam up at him.

"Perfect song for today," he whispers in your ear. "Don't you think so, darling?"

You hum in response. Your heart skips a beat every time he calls you with such pet names, no matter that he has done it thousands of times before.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

He hums along to the song, and you can feel the vibration of his chest against yours. His voice is a real lullaby that could lull you back to sleep. You're safe in his arms, and he's safe in yours. Your hand is lost in his messy curls, leaving white powder in its wake, and he can swear that he's never felt more like he has finally come home.

When the voice on the radio changes, and the beat picks up to another melody, you both silently agree to ignore it. Instead, you keep on slowly swaying to the same rhythm, unwilling to let go for now.

And if the world is cold outside, there was never a place safer and warmer than your shared embrace on this lazy Sunday morning.

 **********************************************

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