deacon kay oneshots

grass stains [ ❧, ❦ ]

Night descends on the densely-wooded valley in what feels like record time, bringing with it a bone-chilling breeze that rolls swiftly through the eerie hillside and manages to reach you and Deacon, even where you're huddled up together at the foot of a tall redwood.

The fact that you're both still soaked from the river doesn't help matters, and neither do all the bruises and cuts you sustained from the initial crash on the bridge - but if there was one silver lining, it'd be that your impromptu swim has all but definitely thrown your assailants off your tail long enough to warrant this brief rest.

Deacon's about the only thing managing to keep you sane in the luridly chaotic events of the last few hours, his solid presence and guidance keeping you grounded like no-one else would; so when he sees you beginning to shake from the evasive cold and wordlessly pulls you over his lap and into his arms, it takes you all of a second to relax into the absolute safety of his touch.

One broad hand rubs rhythmically up and down your trembling back and the other over the arm of yours that doesn't curl hesitantly around his abdomen, skimming gently over the grass stains and scratches streaking your bare, gooseflesh-covered forearm so as to not hurt you any further but to still get some warmth into you.

"Better?"

His voice is gravelly with strain and cautiously low, and combined with the way he rests his chin delicately atop your head as he cradles your face forces heat to your cheeks - leaving you to shrug half-bashfully against his chest with your heart skipping behind your ribs like you're anywhere else in the world. "Not too bad."