#I want to stuff them in a sock and beat them against the wall (affectionately) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haruhey · 3 years

Text

Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

buy me a coffee ¿?

Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired @phoenixblack89

comment to be on my taglist!

#haruwrites #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #daryl x you #twd smut #daryl smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon oneshot

2K notes · View notes

vangoghmusings · 4 years

Text

watch me

✖ previously: best behavior

✖ pairing: daichi sawamura x fem!reader

✖ rating: mature, read at your own risk

✖ synopsis: college frat boy daichi’s world is turned upside down when he learns his classmate is actually a very popular cam-girl.

a/n: this part is written out, i felt it would be best for the story line to have it written rather than in smau format. thanks for all the support and patience!

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you let out a shaky sigh. You looked good, great actually. The costume fit perfectly. But that didn’t stop the anxiety from bubbling up inside you. It was just a party, what was the big deal? Well the big deal was Daichi was there waiting and making a fool of yourself was not a part of the night’s agenda.

An unexpected knock was heard at the door. You hurried to open the door, only to be greeted by Kenma, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He was wearing a toga with a gold rope cinching at his hips. Peaking from his high tops were his favorite pair of neko-printed socks, so he wasn’t completely out of character.

“C’mon, I don’t want to be seen in this while in the dorms.”

You squealed and hugged your best friend.

“You’re really coming?”

“No, I just put on this bed sheet on for fun.”

You laughed and grabbed your things, stuffing them into a small backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. After locking the door behind you, you linked elbows with Kenma as he sighed.

“At least one of us look good. I look like a deflated Michelin Man.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Y/N answered with a giggle, trying your best not to sound like you were agreeing.

You reached Kenma’s car, hopping in. You poked the Pokémon ball shaped air freshener and smiled. His car smelled like an orange dreamlike mixed with the scent of the leather seating.

“Kuroo called me asking if I was coming and he sounded pretty out of it already.”

You raised a brow and looked at the time on your phone screen.

“It's not even 11 yet...”

Kenma chuckled as he began to drive towards the frat house.

“You know how Kuroo is. If he’s not doing a keg stand battle against Bokuto by the end of the night, it wasn’t a party.”

The drive to the house was short, to your dismay. Seeing the house with students trickling in and out of it, laughing and drinking caused anxiety to surge through your body fiercely.

“Hey,” Kenma spoke softly as he parked on the street. “It's going to be fine. You’ll have me with you.”

A soft smile crept on your face at his surprisingly kind words. It wasn’t like Kenma to be so affectionate, but when he was, it was always with sweet words. You took another deep breath, nodded, and got out of the car, then walking alongside Kenma to the doors of the mansion-like home.

A “bouncer” stood at the door, peering down at the two from under a bucket hat.

“Aight, its $3 entry, ladies free if they show their-”

“Knock it off Atsumu, they’re on the list.”

Shoving the bouncer to the side, Kuroo greeted you, a red solo cup in hand and olive branch crown resting on his black hair, snug on his bangs.

“Y/N! Kenma!”

He enveloped you both in a hug, a wide smile on his face. His cheeks were red from the alcohol he had already consumed, causing the tips of his ears to appear almost pink.

“Hey Kuroo!” You beamed at him.

Your eyes darted around the crowded house. Colorful lights hung from the ceiling, fake ivy covered the walls, and the floor felt like it was vibrating from the music coming from the basement. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the nostalgic feeling. It had been a while since you had gone to a party. Cherry Baby occupied much of your time out of class and there was always a small fear that you would be found out. The fear caused your face to sour, but you quickly shook your head to rid your face of the expression.

You followed behind Kenma and Kuroo, ducking and slipping behind many sweaty and drunk college students.

“Well well well, who do we have here?”

A smirking Terushima stood before you.

“Teru!” You laughed and grinned. Another familiar face, even if he was a bit annoying. He simply shook his head before putting an olive branch crown on your head. He gave you a soft smile as you adjusted it shyly.

“It looks good on you. Now, I’m sure you’re not interested in talking to me, hm?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as Terushima snickered. He always knew how to push your buttons.

“He’s over there,” He pointed to Daichi, who was talking to a silver haired boy with small fake ivy leaves in his hair. Daichi looked almost too good in that make-shift toga. The fabric was draped over his shoulder loosely, and he had a piece of rope tied tightly around his waist. He had a similar crown on his head, the branches sitting in his soft brown hair. You eyed his muscles, which were decorated in faux gold tattoos that resembled branches.

“Go say hello,” Terushima’s said, his low voice bringing you out of your daze.

“What? He’s clearly talking to someone-”

“Thats just Sugawara, c’mon.”

Terushima grabbed your arm, dragging you over to where Daichi and Sugawara stood.

“Daich! Look who’s here!”

Daichi turned to see you, an instant smile hitting his face.

“Y/N! You made it!”

You smiled up at Daichi, a sudden sense of shyness overwhelming you.

“H-Hey!”

Daichi didn’t seem to notice your nerves.

“You just got here? Cool, let me get you a drink.”

“Oh, I don’t really-”

“Chill,” Terushima cut you off as Daichi stepped into the kitchen to pour you a drink. “Let him play host for the night.”

You chuckled at his comment as Daichi walked back over, handing you a red solo cup filled with a dark punch and chunks of fruit.

“Trust me, it's good, I didn’t let Kuroo or Bokuto near it while Oikawa and I made it.”

You nodded and took a sip; the heavy taste of vodka being numbed by the strong punch. Your face scrunched up as you swallowed.

“Whew,” you giggled, as Daichi watched you with a slight blush. Probably the alcohol.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said before taking a swig out of his own cup. It seemed to be a large sip since he swallowed hard. “You look really good by the way.”

You blinked at the unexpected compliment as heat rushed to your cheeks. You wanted to blame the alcohol for how Daichi was talking, but you had to be honest with yourself. Daichi was not the kind to drink excessively. So, he meant it.

“Thank you,” you answered with a smile. Daichi gave off the energy of an excited little boy who was seeing a puppy for the first time. He was bobbing his leg with every word he spoke and biting his lip while listening intently to yours. It was like he was to afraid to reach out and touch your or even get close.

“So, how do you think the test went-?”

“Do you wanna dance?” Daichi cut you off. It would’ve seemed rude if it wasn’t for how eager his eyes seemed. There was no malice or ill intent behind them either.

“Oh? Sure,” You smiled and turned to Terushima who was talking to a few girls.

“Teru?”

“Hm?” He hummed and looked over at you.

“Can you watch my drink? And my stuff?”

He sighed and looked over at Daichi who was practically pleading from behind you.

“Yeah yeah, just give it here.”

You quickly shoved your phone and drink in his hands and tossed him the backpack.

“Thanks, Teru!” You sang, while turning back to Daichi.

Daichi gave you a soft grin and extended his hand.

“The dancing is in the basement and its pretty crowded...I don’t want to lose you.”

You nodded slowly at his words. Out of context they seemed much more romantic than they truly were. You took his hand as he guided you toward the steep rickety staircase that led to the basement. He was right, it was incredibly crowded. You held his hand tight as you squeezed through the crowd. Students grinding and dancing, singing loudly and waving their hands in the air. It felt straight out of a movie. Daichi eventually led you to a less crowded area of the dance floor. The music was so loud, you could barely hear what he was saying, so you attempted to read his lips. You squinted under the blue and green strobing lights and watched his lips.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded and gave him a grin, followed by two thumbs up. He laughed and mirrored your action before beginning to jump lightly on his feet, which seemed to be his attempt at dancing. You giggled as he jumped and moved his arms to the music.

“You need rhythm Daichi!”

“Huh?”

“Rhythm!”

It was clear shouting over the music wasn’t working, so you gently extended your hands to Daichi. He looked at them curiously before taking them in his, and you nodded with approval. You set his hands on your waist and turned around, so your back was against his chest. HIs large hands drifted against your skin as you turned, almost as if he was afraid to fully put the weight of his hands on you. You felt the vibrations of the music through the soles of your shoes and smiled as a new song came on. You slowly began to sway your hips to the beat, Daichi following suit. He didn’t seem to be catching your drift, so with a sudden surge of alcohol filled courage, you pressed your butt against his crotch and continued your swaying motion, essentially grinding against him. You looked back at him to see his reaction, to see if he was okay with this. But under the blue lighting, you couldn’t see the bright red that had covered Daichi’s face, but you could see his lips as they mouthed out the word fuck.

Upstairs, Terushima was still plagued with holding your drink. He sighed, as the conversation from the previous girls had gotten boring, so he was standing beside Kuroo and Bokuto who were playing cup pong. Without thinking, Terushima absentmindedly took a sip from your cup.

“Shit,” he mumbled realizing his mistake. He walked off and into the kitchen to pour you a new glass. He poured the rest of the juice down the drain, setting your phone and bag on the counter. As he tossed the cup in the already full garbage, a familiar ping! was heard from your phone. Terushima, gripped by curiosity, grabbed your phone to look at the notification.

@STEPONMECHERRY: day 120849283 of getting @thecherrybby to notice me

Terushima’s eyes narrowed at the screen. Why would you know about Cherry Baby and why was this notification coming up as a tag? He leaned against the counter, the kitchen empty now that the basement had become the center of the party. Attempting to unlock your phone, he put in your birthday.

Wrong password.

He tried Kenma, Kuroo, and even his name.

Wrong, wrong, and wrong.

1234?

Wrong.

He sighed. He wasn’t as close with you to know your phone password. He furrowed his brows trying his last attempt.

0000?

Unlocked.

Terushima rolled his eyes, mumbling a ‘dumbass’ as he opened the Twitter app. There seemed to be no notifications when he went to the profile, which just appeared to be your private. He opened to view your other profiles, and lo and behold, there it was. Cherry Baby’s profile.

He blinked, making sure he wasn’t blacked out and actually staring at Cherry Baby’s profile.

Y/N was Cherry Baby, you were Cherry Baby. Terushima was presented with the truth. Rather than run right back to Bokuto and Kuroo to tell them his discovery, he set your phone down, poured your new drink, and walked back over to the pong table.

“Hey! Why were you gone for so long?” Kuroo asked while Bokuto tossed the ping pong ball into a cup. He grinned as he watch a far too drunk Oikawa grab the cup.

“Drink up buddy boy!”

Oikawa grumbled as Iwazumi patted his back while chugging down the beer.

“I was just getting Y/N a new drink,” Terushima said while turning to Kuroo. Kuroo nodded and smiled, waiting for Iwazumi to toss his ping pong ball. Terushima’s attention shifted as he saw you walk up the stairs, holding Daichi’s hand. Terushima’s eyes narrowed seeing what appeared to be a hickey on your collarbone. Not to mention the fact that Daichi’s olive branch crown seemed to be falling apart.

You looked up at Daichi, finally able to see his red face. He was beaming, his fingers laced with yours. Nothing had really happened.

Except for the fact that he kissed you. Kissed you and pushed you up against the cold cement wall of the basement and gave you a hickey.

Truly nothing.

But if it was nothing, why did it feel like your stomach was doing back flips?

“Teru! Thanks for watching my stuff!” You smiled at him, grabbing your drink, phone and backpack.

“No problem,” He mumbled, eyeing you up and down. It was hard to fathom that you were the one he looked forward to every Thursday. That you were the one he has such lewd thoughts about. That he had seen your body splayed out for a camera, convulsing and moaning. He couldn’t fathom that that was you. But there you were, sitting beside Daichi in the dark living room, chatting about who you thought would win the cup pong.

But there was a different game on Terushima’s mind. Cat and mouse. And clearly, this mouse had been caught.

taglist [CLOSED]: @jr-j-j @thebatwrangler @johariameil @mixfi @lilacskyura @katsushimaa @moonlightinsanity @anime-waifuuu @iiminibattlehero @@hay-leeeah @bby-chloe1999 @verymuchbabey @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that @unknownweeabo @cookednoodlez @helloshoutohere @star-mum @izuku-sakura @thegalxe @kiddiegore @xizimagines @lunabby010 @unknown-jpg @marigoldthoughts @himurayuumi6 @ihatemyselfbutthatsok @pensysto @boosyboo9206 @dekumiya @aristatrois @nekoma-hoe @paranoid-borderline-insane @issueswithhaikyuu @alltimeluw @cashmakozume @eroujo @taxkuu @whyamihere-bro @shoutosteakettle @alchemykitten @bigdickdaichi @hofortendou @skyguy-peach @8zmingi @kingkagss @tetsuswhore @ceo-of-daichi @emiawa @cloudykarasuno @ushiwakaismybae @btssintrash @konohasoftgf @axolotleyeliner @fangeekkk @denkisdurag

#watch me smau #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x reader #daichi smau #daichi #daichi sawamura #sawamura daichi #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #daichi haikyuu #hq smau #hq fanfic

395 notes · View notes

starryeyes-darkestnights · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Part 4 of We Dance Together Now

An O’Knutzy au where Leo and Logan are still playing for the Lions, but Finn is a musician/grad student they met by chance on a roadie to Montreal.

Here are the first few parts!

Part 1 - Jingle Bell Rock

Part 2 - This City

Part 3 - Shut Up and Drive

I also stuck this up on AO3, my username there is the same :)

I struggled a LOT with this chapter. I’m still not sure it’s done what I wanted it to do, but I hope it works. And I hope you like it :)

I’m suuuuuper excited for the next one, I’ve had it half-written since I started this fic!

These beautiful characters and their world belong to the incredible @lumosinlove

The songs referenced are My Shot, from Hamilton, and Wicked Game, which has several remixes that could work here, but I was listening to the Yola Recoba version, personally.

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

Leo

“Thanks for helping today, Tremz.” Leo leaned against the entry wall and watched Logan slip on his shoes.

“No problem,” Logan looked up at him, his eyes sparkling mischievously, “You needed someone big and strong to carry your boxes up the stairs. Who am I to leave a damsel in distress?” He stood and flexed his biceps.

Leo rolled his eyes and shoved Logan toward the door. He could hear Finn laughing behind him. “Get out.”

Logan looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Your wish is my command, princess.” Leo moved to shove him again, but Logan snatched up his bag and ducked out the door before he could reach him. “You love me!” he yelled as he jogged down the hall. Leo just shook his head at the older boy’s antics and turned the lock behind him before flopping down on the couch with a tired groan.

The three of them had just finished setting up his new room. In Finn’s apartment. Where he lived now. With Finn. He was still wrapping his head around it. It was crazy to think he didn’t have to pack up his stuff and move somewhere else again next week; that he had blankets that hadn’t been slept on by a hundred people before him. Finn was a godsend of a human being.

He was also a walking tornado of a human being, and Leo’s current state of exhaustion was a result of today being a shining example of both of those traits.

Since he’d been living in hotels all year Leo didn’t own any furniture of his own, which meant he had spent his Friday morning going from store to store buying what he needed. Finn had volunteered to drive, and Logan had tagged along too. The two of them had also very kindly volunteered to spend their afternoon helping him build everything. It was very, very nice of them, and Leo had been incredibly grateful for their company, and for their help… at least until they actually started putting things together. It had been funny at first, watching Logan and Finn jump headlong in to building things without taking the time to read the instructions. But the resultant failures had meant that Leo had to unbuild everything they touched, actually read the instructions, and then give them explicit directions on how to put it back together properly. Instead of the few hours Leo had expected to spend on it, the whole thing had taken them until the late evening, and now Leo was exhausted and ready to relax.

He heard Finn wander into the living room after him, and his smiling face appeared over the back of the couch above him. “What’s up, Marigold?”

Leo closed his eyes, trying not to roll them as he let out an exasperated chuckle. “Finn. That is STILL a terrible nickname.”

“It is not.”

“Yes it is. ‘What’s up marigold’ makes no sense. ‘What’s up buttercup’ works because it rhymes.” He opened his eyes back up to emphasize his point. “Marigold does not rhyme. At all.”

Finn just shrugged, pushing himself back up to walk around the couch. “You should have thought of that before you accepted it in the first place.”

“I didn’t accept it! I just gave up trying to argue with you two and- ugh. Never mind.”

“That’s what I thought.” Finn grinned. “Plus, I googled marigolds after that night because I didn’t actually know what they were, and the name suits you.”

“What?” Leo looked at him, curious. “Why?”

Finn’s expression faltered for a second as he lifted Leo’s feet to sit on the other end of the couch. He put them back down in his lap, making Leo’s heart skip a beat. When he spoke again, his voice was a little softer. “Your hair shines like them, in the sun. Golden.”

Leo had to work to keep his face neutral. That was… sweet. And unexpected. Finn was always doing things he didn’t expect.

Before he could think of a response, Finn’s cocky grin was back in place. “Also, calling you marigold makes you grumpy, which, like, never happens, so I’m never giving it up.”

Leo didn’t even try to hide it this time as he rolled his eyes affectionately, lifting his legs and giving Finn a gentle kick with his socked feet. “Whatever,” he laughed. “I’m going to shower. Have you seen that duffel bag Logan brought in? It has all my comfortable clothes.”

Finn just pointed wordlessly to entryway where he and Logan had dumped a few of Leo’s bags, abandoning unpacking them in favour of wreaking utter havoc trying to build his bedroom furniture.

Leo wandered over and grabbed the Lions duffel off the floor, pausing as he lifted it. He didn’t’ remember it being this empty… he unzipped it, suspicious, and sure enough, he found Logan’s training gear inside.

He groaned. “Damn it.”

Finn looked over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Logan took my bag. This is his stuff.”

“Oh. Shit.” He looked from the bag up to Leo, and then popped up from the couch. “No worries, I have a solution!” he called, jogging toward his bedroom.

Leo, curious yet again, gently put Logan’s bag back down and started to follow. As he reached the corner, Finn popped back out of his room with a pile of clothes in his hands, almost crashing into him as he gave a little squeak.

“Ahh! Oh my god, why are you right there!? You scared the shit out of me. Learn to make noise when you walk.”

Leo chuckled at that, a memory of Logan saying that exact phrase to him the first night they watched Finn play running through his mind. “You and Logan are scarily similar sometimes, you know that?”

“What?” A confused look crossed Finn’s face.

Leo just smiled, and Finn shook his head.

“You know what, never mind. I don’t think I want to know. Here.” He passed Leo a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “You can sleep in these tonight and we’ll get your stuff from Logan tomorrow. They’re both pretty big on me so I’m hoping they’ll fit you properly.”

Leo, taken aback by the gesture, accepted the pile with a surprised but grateful smile. “Oh. Thank you, Finn. You didn’t have to do that.”

Finn shrugged, his wide brown eyes twinkling. “I know where you live. I’ll get them back.”

---

But as Leo pulled the shirt on after his shower, he decided that Finn was not, in fact, getting it back. It was soft. And it smelled like Finn. He breathed in deeply. It was silly, he knew, to cling to this little bit of him- to pretend it was Finn, instead of his clothes, that he was allowed to have. But he was doing it anyway. He could let himself have this little thing. He turned to look in the mirror and let out a surprised snort. “Of course.” He chuckled to himself.

He padded out to the living room, where Fin was still lying on the couch, a book in his hand.

“I thought you were joking about loving the Eagles.” He teased, his mouth quirking up on one side.

Finn sat up and looked over at him, a strange look crossing his face as he took in Leo’s appearance. It was gone before Leo could read into it, replaced with a dramatic showing of mock outrage.

“One does not joke about the Eagles, Leo!” He gestured down at the band logo stretched across Leo’s chest. “That logo is a badge of honour. Wear it with pride.”

Leo just shook his head, amused. “Aye, aye, captain.” He saluted Finn. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Finn waved goodnight and Leo slipped back into his room, turning off the lights and smiling up at the city lights flickering across the ceiling. His ceiling, now. He chewed on his lip for a second, thinking, before getting back out of bed and walking softly to the living room.

Finn looked up at him when he entered, and whatever Leo had been about to say immediately caught in his throat. The warm lamplight was sending soft shadows across Finn’s features, making his freckles glow against the pale of his skin. He was curled into the corner of the couch, book in his hands and a blanket wrapped around him, and Leo wanted nothing more in that moment than to be there too, cuddled up beside this beautiful boy. His heart pulled in his chest.

He realized he was staring when Finn spoke up and broke the spell. “What’s up, Leo?” his smile was soft, gentle. “Do you need something? Can I get you anything?”

Leo straightened up at that, shaking his head. “No, no. I’m good. Thank you. And I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, and I won’t keep you, but I just wanted to say thank you. For having me here. You didn’t have to offer up your space, and I appreciate it. It really means a lot.”

Finn closed his book and leaned forward; his expression sincere as he locked eyes with Leo. “I’m just glad you’re happy. You deserve to have a home. I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else.”

And when Leo went back to his room that night, he fell asleep quickly, breathing in the scent of Finn and, for the first time since he came to this city, finally feeling at home.

---

Finn

The next few months passed by quickly for Finn, everything blurring together in an exhausting but happy mess of work and play. He had thought it would be more of a learning curve, sharing his space with Leo after living alone for the past 4 years- and some days it was a bit weird, remembering that there was another person around and he couldn’t just play guitar at 2am, or work through melodies in the shower when Leo was sleeping- but he wouldn’t change it back for anything.

He’d always known he was insanely lucky to live in the apartment he did (his parents had bought it as an investment property when he first moved to Gryffindor- perks of their jobs in real estate). Very few college students had the privilege of even a single spare room, let alone two, and not worrying about needing roommates to pay rent had saved him from needing to share the space with strangers. But it had been lonely.

Now, when he was finished his long day on campus studying, or working on his music, he actually looked forward to going home- even if it was only to meet up with Leo and leave again. After that first celebration he had gone to with Leo and Logan, it had become routine for them to invite him to join them for any dinners or parties that weren’t team-exclusive. He went to every one that he could and had ended up making some pretty good friends in that crowd. In particular, him and Kasey’s girlfriend Natalie had struck up a fun friendship. She was also a musician, and the two of them had gotten together several times over the past few months just to play.

The boys had also asked him to let them know his gig schedule, and they had been there for every single show they weren’t working during. Finn liked having them there, knowing he would have their company as soon as he got off stage. They always had a drink waiting for him, and they usually found somewhere to go dance for the rest of the evening. Logan was always making fun of how Leo used to hate going out, but they danced together often now, and it was one of Finn’s favourite things.

Any nights they didn’t spend working, or with the team, or at one of Finns gigs, they usually spent together just the three of them, squeezed into a booth at Sid’s or lounging around the living room at Finn and Leo’s, playing video games and watching movies. Him and Leo had made the excellent discovery that Pixar movies almost always made Logan cry, though Logan denied it exceptionally violently every time they called him out. It was worth a pillow to the face to be able to tease him though.

Logan stayed over most of those evenings, in the spare room Finn had started thinking of as his. They’d built another bed for him and everything after Finn had woken up the first night he stayed over and seen how cramped he was on the couch. It wasn’t built for hockey players to sleep on and he didn’t like the idea of Logan being uncomfortable. He wanted everyone to feel at home in his place.

Some days it was just Finn and Leo at home, while Logan spent time with the Dumais family. Finn liked those days too. It was nice, hanging out with Leo one on one. The two of them often used the time to do chores, and he had been pleased to find out that they were much more enjoyable with Leo’s company. Grocery shopping with Leo was one of his favourites, riding the cart like a scooter up and down the aisles while Leo picked out everything they needed for dinner, and grabbing all the snacks that he knew Logan liked, so they could always be there when he came by. And he particularly enjoyed coming home and putting things away while Leo cooked, both of them singing along to the radio as the apartment filled with the smells of Leo’s southern recipes.

On quiet nights, he liked wandering into Leo’s room for company, the two of them laying next to each other on Leo’s giant bed and talking about books. One of the first nights he had done that, he had noticed his own t-shirt, the one he had lent Leo his first night, and that had curiously gone missing shortly after, hanging up on Leo’s closet door. Leo had been flustered, apologizing for snagging it from Finn’s clean laundry, and explaining that it was ‘just really comfortable’. Finn had tried very hard to hide the mini heart attack he was sure he was having at the idea of Leo choosing to wear his clothes, and he must have done an alright job of it because Leo continued to steal it often enough that it had just become another routine thing between them. Finn pretended to make fun of Leo for it, but he really liked it. He had taken to folding it and dropping it into Leo’s laundry basket when he wasn’t looking.

The addition of Leo’s warm presence, and of Logan’s fiery, mischievous energy, had made his big, cold apartment feel like home. There was always something happening, and it was never boring- sometimes to an extreme degree when Logan was around. Finn still had scars on his hand from Leo’s 19th birthday in February, when he had let Logan convince him that baking a cake wouldn’t be as difficult as it sounded (‘people do it all the time Finn, how hard can it possibly be?’). He had been wrong, as they discovered when he flipped what should have been a cooked cake upside down over the counter, and it turned out to be just a pan full of very hot batter that went all over Finn’s hands. It had stuck to him like very, very hot glue and the two of them had gone into full panic mode. Luckily, Leo had chosen that moment to come home from lunch with Remus, and he got everything under control. He had been exasperated, and quite concerned, but Finn liked to think he had appreciated their effort. Plus, Logan had felt guilty about it for weeks afterward, which Finn had initially felt bad about but then had started to take advantage of by (very dramatically) requesting him to do more and more ridiculous favours. Logan had stopped feeling guilty somewhere in between the request to build him an entire pillow fort (so he could heal in utmost comfort), and the request to do an interpretive dance to Ice, Ice, Baby (so he could feel like his burned hands were encased in ice).

When they were out of town for games, Finn missed having them around. Everything felt too… empty. But they were constantly in touch via their group chat, Leo sending videos of the cities they explored after games, and Logan sending pictures of Leo looking affectionately annoyed at Logan for dragging him out of the hotel to go and do said exploring. Those videos often included appearances from other Lions, usually making terrible 3 Musketeers jokes about them. On one memorable occasion, James had popped in to compare them to SpongeBob, Patrick, and Squidward. That one had positively delighted Finn, not least because Logan’s reaction to realizing he was the Squidward in that analogy had been gold. James had had to run.

Finn didn’t blame them for joking about it. He knew it was a bit strange, the way that they had become so inseparable, so fast. But he didn’t mind. When he looked at them in those videos—the wild in Logan’s eyes, the calm in Leo’s— he was reminded of how they pulled out the best of both those sides of his own personality. He never felt more like himself than he did with them. *

---

Logan

One evening at the end of April, Logan sat sandwiched between Leo and Finn on their living room couch, a steering wheel in his hands. He was deeply focused on steering his car around a particularly dastardly curve when Finn jumped up, knocking Logan’s elbow and sending his character careening off a cliff as he screeched at the TV. “Cheating!! Leo! You’re cheating! Logan! He’s cheating!”

Logan, disgruntled now as he watched himself drop down to last place, just glared up at him. “You knocked me off a cliff. Don’t look at me for sympathy right now.”

Leo just continued playing calmly. “It’s not cheating Finn. I threw a banana at you. If you don’t want to get hit with bananas, don’t drive so close to me.”

“This is insane. Nobody is supposed to be this good at Mario Kart. It’s MARIO KART!” Finn flopped dramatically back down into his spot, groaning. “How have you won every single race?”

“I’m a man of many talents, Finn.”

“This is bullshit.”

Logan snorted, dropping his controller as he crossed the finish line in last place for the 4th time that night. “Says the guy who wins every single round of Halo.”

“Well, if you would stop and think before just picking the biggest bombs and sending your army running headfirst into every battle, maybe you too could win a strategy game.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You are weirdly good at Halo, Finn.” Leo tossed out. “It’s kind of creepy watching the wheels turn in your head while you play.”

Logan watched, amused, as Finn gasped and glared at Leo in mock offense. “Well then. When the aliens finally invade here and you guys need a team leader to get you through the hordes and into a safe haven, you can find your own general. I’ll be over there helping people who DON’T call me creepy.”

It was Logan’s turn to be offended. “Hey! I didn’t call you creepy.”

Finn considered him for a moment. “Hmm. That’s true.”

He wrapped an arm around Logan’s neck and stuck his tongue out at Leo. “I’ll be over here keeping LOGAN alive, while you get your brains eaten.”

Logan tried to fight back the blush he could feel creeping up his cheeks as Finn’s arm pulled him in. Finn, Logan had discovered, was a very affectionate person, and while his comfort in sharing his personal space had grown on Logan and Leo as well—they were constantly in contact as they shoved together onto the couch—it still made Logan’s pulse pick up every time he felt them close to him.

Leo snorted out a laugh at Finn’s threat as he put down his controller. “I’ll take my chances.” he replied as he stood and stretched, looking out the window at the setting sun. “It’s getting late. Anybody hungry?”

Logan’s stomach actually grumbled out loud at the mention of food.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Leo laughed as he headed out of the living room.

Logan, somewhat reluctantly, pulled himself out of Finn’s hold and followed Leo into the kitchen, plunking himself down on one of the island barstools as Leo started pulling things out of the fridge. Finn disappeared into his room and came back to sit next to Logan a few seconds later, a book in his hand.

“You want to read?” He looked at Logan questioningly.

Logan just nodded at him as he spun around on his stool, slowly relaxing into his seat as the sound of Finn’s voice took over the kitchen, mingling with the sounds of Leo quietly chopping vegetables at the counter next to them.

A few weeks ago, when Leo and Finn were trying to pull him into an argument about book to movie adaptations, Logan had accidentally let it slip that he had never read The Hobbit. The two of them had been borderline offended, which Logan found hilarious, but it had then led to them asking him about other books, and Logan had been forced to admit that not only had he never read The Hobbit, but he had never read any book for fun.

It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, because he always worried it would make him look stupid, but he hated reading. Having to keep his focus on the page, keeping his hands still as they held the book… he just couldn’t handle it. When Leo and Finn had picked up on the fact that it was a sensitive topic, they had dropped it without asking him any more questions, which he had been grateful for. But the two of them still wanted to show him that stories could be fun outside of movie form, and when it became clear that there was no way in hell Logan was picking up a book himself, Finn had come up with a compromise: he would read a book to him. Logan hadn’t been convinced, but he appreciated the thought and figured he could just tune him out if he got bored, so he agreed.

So Finn had read the first chapter of The Hobbit to him and Leo while Leo cooked that night, and, to his surprise, Logan had found himself completely absorbed. It was kind of like listening to a podcast, but with Finn’s intoxicating voice playing all the parts.

It had become a routine after that—Finn reading to them as Leo cooked, and Leo reading to Finn and Logan as they cleaned up after. They always waited for him to read the next part, and it was one of his favourite parts of being at their apartment now. The combination of the sound of Finn’s voice and the smell of Leo’s cooking, made him feel safe.

That evening, Logan was the first to finish eating, and he leaned his chair back away from the table with a satisfied sigh, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s hair from where he was sitting next to him. “Fuck, Knutty, that was amazing. As always.”

Leo smiled back at him, blonde curls now falling over his eyes in a way that was absolutely not adorable. “Thanks, Tremz. I’m glad you guys liked it.”

Finn made a noise at that. “Liked it? Leo, I have genuinely never eaten better in my entire life than I have since you moved in here.”

Well. That provided Logan an excellent segue into his mission for the evening. He let his chair fall back down and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “If that is true, Finn, then I think that you should do something to pay him back.”

Finn looked up from his plate with a mouth full of pasta, brown eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looked between Logan and an amused looking Leo, who had immediately caught on to what Logan was doing. “Oh?”

“Yes. We have a game next Friday, and you’re invited to come. I think that should suffice as payment.”

“Oohh.” Finn plastered on a very fake smile. “That sounds very… interesting. Let me check my schedule and see what I have going on.”

Logan rolled his eyes at Finn’s feigned interest. He had turned down their offers to come to games repeatedly since they had met.

“We have your schedule, idiote. We know you don’t have a show OR an exam. And—” Logan decided to move to his next tactic: guilt, “—you have to come this time. It’s a deciding game for the play-offs. If we lose, you won’t be able to watch us play again until next season.”

“I see.” Finn didn’t look convinced.

“Finn!” Logan tossed his balled-up napkin at him, making him laugh. “You are possibly the only person in this city who would turn down offers to come watch NHL games for free. From the box! MULTIPLE TIMES!”

“I cannot possibly be the only person in this entire city who doesn’t follow hockey.”

When neither Leo nor Logan bothered to respond to that, just continuing to look at him, Finn’s grin fell. He looked uncertain now, and his face turned serious as he looked each of them in the eye. “But… you guys know I support you, right? I follow all your scores and your… game… time, point, things, or whatever online. I even bought a hoodie!”

That was true and it had almost killed Logan the first time he had seen Finn in Lion’s colours. It still made his heart beat faster every time he thought of it. Which wasn’t helping him at the present moment.

Finn sighed. “I just think it’s a waste of a ticket for me to go when I have no idea what is happening. I don’t want to embarrass you guys”

Leo interjected then, pointing his fork at Finn. “First of all, you are never embarrassing. Well, usually not – “

“Fair.” Finn admitted.

Leo shot him a look. “—and not about this, for sure. And second, it’s not a waste of a ticket. We all get to invite our family and friends and stuff this game, and neither Logan’s family nor mine are able to make it. And all of our other friends are either on the team or related to them. So, if you don’t use the ticket, nobody will. Plus,” he set his fork down, his voice gentle, “we want you to come.”

Finn’s face softened, and Logan decided now was time to pull out his Hail Mary. “Also,” he waited until Finn looked over to him, “Natalie’s going to be there. And she already asked us if you were going to come this time.”

He bit back a triumphant smirk as Finn perked up at that. He knew they had him now. Finn and Natalie had hit it off really well the moment they met. So well in fact, that he had almost been jealous. But he wasn’t jealous. Because he had nothing to be jealous of. Finn was just a friend. A friend who was currently living rent-free in his mind wearing that goddamn Lions hoodie, but a friend nonetheless.

Finn pushed his empty plate to the middle of the table. “Well.” His eyes sparkled as he folded his arms and looked between them. “You should have led with that.”

---

Finn

One week later, Finn stood against the glass in the team box, cursing himself for agreeing to come to this game. He had never been more stressed in his life, every muscle in his body tense as he watched the puck bounce from player to player in front of Leo’s net. He had a brand-new respect for Leo’s unflappable demeanour. There was no way he could handle being the last stop between the other team and a goal- he was almost having a nervous breakdown just watching. But Leo was in his element: calm, controlled, moving fluidly around his net and mirroring the puck effortlessly. Finn had never seen someone so focused, so intent. When the other team finally took their shot and Leo snatched it out of the air, Finn let out a relieved breath. His heart was going a million miles a minute, just like it had been for the last hour that the game had been tied 1-1. “Oh my god,” he murmured, dropping his face into his hands. “This is so stressful. How do you guys watch this all the time?”

Natalie laughed next to him. “It can be pretty crazy.”

“You look perfectly relaxed.” Finn replied grumpily. It was true. She was much calmer than he was.

“I’m not as calm on the inside. But I have faith in these guys. I know they can win this.” She paused for a second. “It also helps that Kase is benched for this game with his leg. I’m a wreck when he’s in net during important games. Thank God for Leo Knut.”

“Thank God for Leo Knut?” Finn muttered reproachfully in response. His attention was pulled back to the ice as the puck was dropped again, still in their end. “Thank God for Leo Knut my ass, Leo Knut is the reason I might be seeing God soon. I’m going to have a fucking heart attACK! AH!” He shrieked the end of his sentence as one of the Ravenclaw players crashed into Leo, knocking him backwards into a goal post in a way that looked dangerous. His stomach dropped as Leo went down. He shot a panicked look at Natalie. “What the fuck! That can’t be allowed! Is that allowed?!?” He didn’t wait for an answer before looking up at the giant screens above the ice, currently zoomed in on Leo’s determinedly blank face as he slowly pulled his knees back underneath him. He was definitely going to give him a heart attack.

“No.” Natalie looked unhappy. “No, it’s not allowed. But he’s ok, Finn.”

He’s ok. Finn let out a shaky breath. He looked back down to the ice and was watching Leo stand up and reach for a water bottle when, all of a sudden, the crowd started to yell. Confused, he looked back up at the screens. Instead of Leo, there was now a close-up view of Logan, currently with one fist wrapped around the jersey of the player who had slammed into Leo, the other throwing punches.

Finn’s jaw dropped, his heart jumping up to meet it. Logan’s face was fierce. Angry. That energy that always seemed to be coiled around him, simmering just below the surface, was out in full force. His restraints were gone, and holy shit it was beautiful. Seeing those impossibly green eyes flashing dark with passion… it was lighting something on fire inside of Finn.

The other player was half a foot taller than Logan, but Lo had him down on the ice in seconds, spitting angry words in his face as the referees pulled him away. Finn watched Logan skate to the penalty box, swallowing hard as he took in the way his chest was heaving under his jersey. Holy. Fuck.

He felt heat creeping up his neck, and knew his face was going to turn bright red and give him away if he didn’t distract himself immediately. So he forced his attention back down to where the rest of the team was checking on Leo.

Leo. Logan had unleashed in defense of Leo.

Finn felt the now-familiar twist in his chest that sometimes accompanied seeing the two of them together. The feeling that there was something more between them than they were willing to admit.

Thankfully, Natalie mistook the look on his face for concern, and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s fine Finn, Logan fights all the time. He’s not hurt, he’ll be back on the ice in time to play the last three minutes. And Leo’s already ready to keep playing”

Finn just groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I am never watching another hockey game again.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but five minutes later Finn watched Logan jump out of the penalty box and take off across the ice, dancing between the other players as he stole the puck and shot toward the net with a searing purpose. And when the goal alarm went off and the entire arena jumped to their feet to celebrate- when Logan was tackled by his teammates, and Leo was skating celebratory circles around his net, and Finn could see the smiles radiating off both of them from where he stood- Finn realized that if he ever wanted to be able to keep his friendships with these boys, it had to be true. Because if he ever watched them play another hockey game again, he would fall in love.

---

“O’Hara, think fast!”

Finn barely had time to register the beer being thrown his way before Leo reached out and snatched it out of the air in front of his chest. “Bliz, how many times do we have to tell you to not throw solid objects at people. Not everybody has your reflexes.”

But Kasey wasn’t listening, already turned around to head back into the living room of Sirius’ house, where they had all convened to celebrate their win. Finn had been grateful for the location- he didn’t think he could handle watching Leo and Logan getting hit on at a club all night tonight. He was still on edge.

Leo rolled his eyes at Kasey’s retreating back and handed the drink to Finn. “I’d wait a second to open that. Sorry, he does this all the time. We’ve had more than one black eye on the team from a drunken Kasey drink bomb.”

Finn chuckled. “No worries. Thanks for the save.”

Leo brightened adorably. “It’s my job!”

“And you are absolutely INCREDIBLE at it my friend!” A pair of arms wrapped around Leo’s neck from behind and a slightly buzzed and very excited James appeared over his shoulder. “MVP of the game, my man! You killed it! We’re going to the play-offs, baby!”

He whooped as he ruffled Leo’s golden hair, still slightly damp from his post-game shower. Leo’s cheeks flushed a deep red as he accepted James’ fist bump. “I just played. Thank you though.”

“And he’s humble too! How are you still single dude? Someone should have scooped you up ages ago.”

Leo’s cheeks somehow turned even deeper red as he shot a quick look up at Finn, and Finn heard Lily’s amused voice as she slid in from behind them, wrapping an arm around James’ waist and pulling him off of Leo. “Leave the poor guy alone James. He just wants to celebrate in peace.”

Leo smiled gratefully at Lily, looking relieved when Kasey and Natalie returned to the kitchen, Talker in tow. Leo jumped into their conversation as the group of them settled in around the room, talking and laughing above the music playing from the built-in speakers. Finn held back for a moment, taking the opportunity to scan the living room from where him and Leo were leaning against the kitchen island. He caught a glimpse of familiar dark curls under a snapback, and Logan’s eyes met his from across the room. Logan grinned, excusing himself from a conversation with Remus and heading towards them.

“Hey,” Logan’s breath was warm on Finn’s cheek as he leaned in to be heard over the voices in the room. “How did you like the game?”

Finn fought to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. He was still reeling from his decidedly unwelcome epiphany earlier that evening, and it was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get a handle on himself soon. He cleared his throat, looking straight ahead instead of turning to meet Logan’s gaze. “It was the most stressful few hours of my entire life. I’m never doing it again.” He winced at the way his voice cracked. Traitorous voice box. “And for the record, you are NOT a ‘perfectly reasonable player’.”

Logan tilted his head back and laughed openly at that. Finn let himself look then. Despite everything, it was nice to see him so relaxed and happy.

“Well, I’m glad you at least came to this one. Even if you judge me.”

He leaned back next to Finn, shoulders brushing, and Finn watched as he scanned the room. A moment later, a glint appeared in shorter boy’s eye, his smile turning mischievous. Finn turned to follow his gaze, looking for what had prompted the change. He caught sight of James, still in his game jersey, and Lily, laughingly trying her best to get him to take it off.

He heard Logan call out to them. “Hey Pots! Did you hear your jerseys are only the third most popular on the Lion’s shop now?”

James froze, turning to them with his eyes wide. “What?”

He rounded on Logan. “Who told you that? Who beat me?” His expression turned to outrage. “Who could possibly have beaten me?!”

Finn held back a laugh at James reaction, letting out a loud cough instead. One that sounded very suspiciously like the word ‘bullshit’. He heard Leo do the exact same beside him and turned to catch his eye with a grin and a high-five. The two of them had made a game over the past few months of seeing who could catch Logan the fastest when he started his game of poking the bear- something that was hilarious to them and endlessly irritating to Logan.

Right on cue, Logan let out an exasperated noise. “Guys! You are no fun! Stop doing that!”

James’ head twisted back and forth between Logan and Finn as he pieced it together. “Wait… what??” He gasped at Logan, looking betrayed. “Tremz! Did you make that up? How could you! You almost gave me a heart attack on this glorious evening!”

Logan shot a mock glare at Leo and Finn, but his face cracked into a grin when he turned back to James. “You should have seen your face.”

James looked like he was about to respond, but at just that moment, a familiar beat started to play over the speakers. Someone in the living room cheered and turned up the volume, and James whooped, throwing his hands in the air. Finn smirked as he followed suit, pushing away from the counter to join him in the middle of the room.

---

Logan

Logan frowned when Finn stepped away from him- he liked feeling his warmth against his side. He watched as Finn moved after James, turning to look back at Logan and grinning as he sang along to the lyrics of the song now playing loudly through the house. Logan loved Finn’s singing voice. He smiled back and was about to go join him when something weird caught his attention, making him do a double take.

It wasn’t unusual for Finn to jump into the middle of a room to give a performance of a song. He did it all the time. At home, at the club, at parties. It was quintessential Finn behaviour.

But now, the entire rest of the room was joining him. Every single one of his friends had abandoned their conversations to chant along with the opening lyrics of this song Logan had never heard before. Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion as he spun around to look behind him. The living room was the same, everyone starting to move away from the walls and stand from the couches. Only Leo had stayed where he was, a few feet away from Logan.

“What the hell?” He muttered.

He turned back around to question Finn, only to find him no longer looking his way. Instead, he was now face to face with Talker in the middle of the room, the two of them rapping dramatically to one another. Logan lifted an eyebrow, letting out a short, surprised laugh as he watched the two of them.

“I’ma get a scholarship to King’s College,

I probably shouldn’t brag,

But dag, I amaze and astonish”

The rest of the room was still singing along. It was beyond weird. “What. The fuck. Is happening?” Logan asked nobody in particular.

The rhythm of the song slowed a bit, and Finn turned back toward Leo and Logan, sliding smoothly over in front of them. His brown eyes sparkled as his gaze locked with Logan’s, singing directly to him.

“I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal

Tryin’ to reach my goal, my power of speech, unimpeachable”

Logan leaned closer to Leo, his only ally in this insanity, but Finn had pointed dramatically to the younger boy and Leo laughed, stepping away from the counter and picking up the lyrics from the next line, pointing at himself as he sang:

“Only nineteen but my mind is older

These New York City streets get colder, I shoulder

Every burden, every disadvantage I have learned to manage…”

Logan shot a surprised glare at Leo. Traitor. And now Finn was singing along again, and both of them were pointing at him, waiting for him to pick up the next line but Logan truly, truly had no idea what this was.

Finn looked at him with mock outrage when he realized Logan wasn’t faking his ignorance, straightening his back as he lifted his hands in a very ‘what the heck?’ sort of gesture.

Logan started to roll his eyes, but then all of a sudden, the beat changed again, and Finn’s hands were by his head and he was walking backward, winding his hips in a way that Logan had never seen him move before. A way that should be illegal.

His eyes were still locked on Logan’s, but where they had been filled with humour a moment ago, now they were burning with something intense that was sending Logan into a complete tailspin.

“I am the AL-EX-AN-D-ER, we are, meant to be.”

His emotions were already running high after their win, and now Finn was standing in front of him, moving like that, looking at him like that. He heard himself let out a shaky breath and snapped his jaw shut, swallowing hard and jerking his eyes away from Finn, desperate for something else to focus on. His gaze landed on Leo, right next to him, which was not better.

Leo. He could see his toned chest through the fitted t-shirt he was wearing, and he wanted to reach out and touch. Fuck.

He could feel all the walls he had built up over the past four months crumbling down around him, and he started to panic. He was supposed to be getting over his feelings for Leo. Not growing them. Not adding Finn into the mix.

His breathing sped up. How was he this gone, for both of them? Was that even possible??

Pull it together Tremblay. He tried to talk himself down. Leo was his teammate. They were both his friends- friends like he had never had before. Those walls were there for a good fucking reason. He didn’t want to risk them.

He took a deep breath in through his nose, straightening his spine and pushing his shoulders back. He could do this. He looked back up and watched as Finn crooked a finger at him, calling him in to dance with them. The same way they always did when they were out together. His face was open and happy again. He just looked like normal Finn now. This was familiar. He could do this. The song kept playing.

“Hey yo I’m just like my country

I’m young, scrappy and hungry

And I’m not throwing away my, shot!”

He took one step closer, and… nope. It would appear he could not, in fact, do this. He couldn’t handle familiar right now. He was buzzed, and high on adrenaline from the game, and this song was in his bones and if he was going to get himself out of this spiral, he needed to be away from the boys that were causing it.

He shook his head at Finn and forced a tight smile, watching him shrug his acceptance and turn to James instead. Logan turned to head over to where Sirius was stood in the corner of the living room, the only other person who looked as bewildered as he was by the scene. He had barely taken a step before a long arm wrapped around his shoulders from behind, pulling in him close to the strong chest he was trying to run away from. He closed his eyes, feeling his body tense as Leo’s low voice sounded in his ear, his skin warm against Logan’s own. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Leo sang, off-key as usual, in some sort of horrible French accent.

“I dream of life without a monarchy

The unrest in France will lead to ‘onarchy?

Onarchy? How you say, how you, oh, anarchy?

When I fight I make the other side panicky with my, shot!”

It was hilarious, but feeling Leo this close to him right now, in this moment, was overload. It took everything he had to pull out of Leo’s grasp, grabbing his wrist and spinning underneath him. He stood on his tiptoes to let Leo spin too, and then gently shoved him back toward Finn. He knew Leo would assume he was following, so he turned back to the living room and slid into place next to Sirius.

He stood there, watching Nado and Kuny—how the hell did even Kuny know this song??—singing drunkenly on top of the couch, and tried to will his heart into submission.

After a few moments, Sirius’ voice sounded next to him. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Logan shook his head, glancing over. “Non. But apparently we should be looking into it.”

Sirius just nodded, looking at him. Logan liked this about Sirius. He was quiet, and he didn’t mind if people were quiet around him. He always seemed to know when Logan needed a minute. He guessed that’s what made him a good captain. Logan felt calmer just being beside him. The two of them stood together in silence for a few minutes, until the whole house broke out into a chorus of ‘whoa’’s, and Sirius glanced over at him again. “You ok?”

“I’ll be better once this fucking song ends. How long is this thing?”

Sirius laughed at that, agreeing, and Logan felt his confidence coming back. He felt safer there, in the corner, watching Finn and Leo from afar. The distance had at least allowed his heart to stop pinging around his chest like a goddamn pinball machine. He was feeling, if not completely back in control, at least much more so than before.

“I’m good, Cap.” He meant it.

Sirius’ eyes were on his. “Ok. You know I’m here though, if you need me.”

“I know.” He shot Sirius a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sirius. Really.”

Sirius nodded, turning away as the song finally ended. Someone switched over to a dance playlist, and the living room turned into a de facto dance floor. Logan and Sirius stayed where they were for another song, until everyone else seemed to be either dancing, or involved in a game of what looked like Spoons at the dining room table. Logan drained the last of his rum and coke and turned to Sirius as he pushed off the wall toward the now empty kitchen. “I’m going to get another drink. You want anything?”

“No thanks. I’m good.” Sirius responded quietly, his expression soft. Logan followed his gaze over to where Loops was dancing with Lily and smiled. He clapped Sirius on the shoulder. “Ok, Cap. Have fun.”

---

A few shots and nearly an hour later, Logan was feeling as close to normal as he figured he would be able to pull off that night, teaching the Hoedown Throwdown choreography to a very enthusiastic Leo and Finn as someone’s country playlist blasted through the house. The team’s excitement for their freshly earned play-off spot had rubbed off on him again over the past hour, and he was enjoying himself, even if he was still a bit on edge.

It only took a few songs for them to ace the dance, and after they killed it to some song about chicken and tractors that Finn had sang every single word to, there was a break in the music while Nat and Talker argued over who got to choose next. They took the opportunity to their breath.

“Well, since we’re waiting anyway, I’m going to go grab another drink.” Finn swiped a hand through his sweat-tousled hair and looked between Logan and Leo. “Do you want anything?”

Leo shook his head, eyes bright against his dance-flushed cheeks. “No thanks. I think I’m done drinking for the night. We have a team meeting early tomorrow I don’t want to be hungover for.”

Logan still had half a drink in his hand, so Finn took off to the kitchen and left the two of them to discuss who they could drag into their next dance, which Finn had decided for reasons Logan didn’t understand, to try and learn as a square instead of a triangle.

A new song finally started to play as they scanned the room, and as the beat came across the speakers, Logan recognized it with a frustrated groan.

Wicked Games. One of the few songs that he used to have multiple versions of on his playlist. A song that he had had to take off said playlist, because it got him in his head about Finn and Leo.

Of course someone would put this song on right when he had gotten his shit back together. Of fucking course.

He took a long drink from his glass and looked up at Leo, who was still looking around the room for participants. He watched as the colour-changing living room lighting lit up the taller boy’s face: blue, then green, then orange.

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you”

Leo glanced over at him, and then did a double take, turning to fully face him. He scanned Logan’s face, eyebrows furrowing as concern flashed through his warm blue eyes. Logan sighed through his nose. Fucking Knutty. He always knew.

“And I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you”

When Logan didn’t make a move to explain anything, Leo just nodded and took a step back.

“You know what?” he started. “Let’s just do it as three. Finn’ll get over it. I don’t want to dance with anyone else right now.”

Logan knew Leo was only saying it for his sake. But he couldn’t be bothered to try and pretend he was down for an audience right now, so he just nodded and stepped into what would be his place in the triangle when Finn came back. Leo turned to assess the space around them, and Logan let himself watch again. He never got sick of looking at Leo. Kind, thoughtful, annoyingly perceptive, beautiful Leo. The lyrics of the song repeated, over and over.

“No I, don’t wanna fall in love, with you.”

“I think we’re going to need more room. Or someone’s going to get hurt.” Leo mused as he looked at the floor around them, trying to work out the logistics of the coordinated drunk jumping that was going to happen. One of his curls fell over his eyes. Logan resisted the urge to reach up and move it away.

“What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you”

Logan’s chest twisted and he pulled his gaze away. Fuck this song. He was going to kill Talkie for this. He could feel himself taking a nose-dive back to where he had been earlier that evening. Why couldn’t he shake these feelings tonight? He could always shake them. He was a master at shaking off feelings. This was ridiculous.

He decided to look for something they could push out of the way for more space, to give himself something to focus on. That was a task he could do.

But before he could move, a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, the weight of a full-grown hockey player landing on his back and making him stumble forward. Pots’ voice was teasing in his ear. “Wicked Game is right, hey Tremzy??”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he froze in place, half bent over trying to regain his balance. Had Pots noticed? Was he being obvious?

“W-what?” he choked out.

James pulled him up and spun around him until they were face to face, his grin lopsided and his eyes a little glazed from the drinks he had clearly been celebrating with. “Wicked Game! Because you played a wicked game! Get it!? You got us the game winner, Tremz.” He looked wobbly on his feet, smiling dreamily. “You got us to the playoffs.”

Relief flooded Logan’s system. He hadn’t noticed. Nobody noticed. It was fine.

It didn’t feel fine.

“Oh. Ya, I guess.” He forced a little laugh.

“Come, my baby Canadian.” James bowed toward him, extending a hand. “I owe you this dance for getting me one step closer to my baby bathing in the cup.”

“Shut up, Pots.” Logan turned as an annoyed voice sounded behind them. Sirius, the inventor of superstition himself, walked by and smacked James gently upside the head. “Knock on wood. Now.”

“Ow,” James grumbled, rubbing his head and knocking on the doorframe he watched Sirius walk through, “how does he do that? It’s like he has a seventh sense for bad luck.”

Logan prayed James would follow Sirius away. But instead he just grinned and shoved Logan toward the center of the dance floor.

Logan did not want to be there anymore. James had freaked him out, and the stupid song was still playing. For the second time that night he wished he knew where the fucking skip button was located in this ridiculously oversized house.

Logan grabbed James’ arm and pulled him to a stop, leaning into him to prevent him going further. He turned on his best fake smile. “Hey Pots. I know I got the goal, but do you know who you really owe this dance to?”

James looked at him suspiciously. “Who?”

“Leo. We wouldn’t have won without his unreal performance tonight. You should get him first.”

James gasped. “You are right, Tremblay. Ok. I will get him first. But I will be back for you! Don’t move!”

Logan watched James wobble backward across the living room, shooting finger guns back at Logan until he crashed into a very amused-looking Leo.

When Logan figured the two of them were engaged enough to not notice him leaving, he slipped off in search of a quiet place to hang out for a while. He found a dark hallway off the end of the dining room and slid down to sit on the hardwood floor. His hands were shaking again as he pulled out his phone and opened the group chat he had with his sisters.

He missed his sisters. He hadn’t told them about his feelings for either of the boys—for any boy, really—but he knew that if he messaged them, they would talk him down without prying. And that was what he wanted right now. He shot off a simple, ‘you guys awake?’ message, and waited for the reply.

---

Leo

Leo was wandering around the main floor of Sirius’ house, looking for Logan. He was worried about him. Logan had been on edge all night, keeping his distance and forcing smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. Leo could tell he was trying to hide something, and after catching the way he had looked at Finn in the kitchen earlier, it wasn’t hard to guess what that something was.

He had been watching Logan and Finn dance around each other, figuratively and literally, for months now. It was hard, watching these boys—these boys that made him ache with how each of them had burrowed their way into his soul—watch each other. It made him feel like he was drowning.

He had told himself when he came to Gryffindor that he was here for hockey, that he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone. Get attached to anyone. But here he was, the world’s biggest idiot, falling head over heels for not one, but two of the literal worst possible people to fall for. His home roommate and his travel roommate. Both, to the best of his knowledge, very closeted. Both very interested in someone else. Both very interested in each other. It was a bit of a disaster.

But disaster or not, Leo wasn’t going to let Logan feel like he was alone tonight. He knew firsthand how much support from the people who love you mattered, even if you weren’t ready to talk about it yet.

He poked his head into the kitchen and found Finn, looking deep in conversation with Natalie, but Logan wasn’t with him. He was a bit concerned about Finn, too. He also seemed a bit off this evening, and he never had come back from his last drink break. But Finn was safe with Natalie for now, so Logan was his priority for the moment.

He checked a few more rooms before he caught a glimpse of Logan’s ever-present snapback out of the corner of his eye. He was sitting on the floor in the dark end of an empty hallway, the glow from his phone screen lighting up his face.

Leo moved cautiously toward him, and when he didn’t look up, slid to the floor to sit next to him.

“Hey.” He offered softly.

Logan looked up at him with a small, fleeting smile, his usually bright green eyes looking tired. “Hey.”

Leo scanned his face, trying to decide whether Logan wanted to talk. “What are you up to?”

“Just texting my sisters.”

Leo nodded, understanding, and looked away, giving Logan the chance to go back to his phone if he wanted to. Logan looked back down at the screen and typed out a final message before clicking the screen off and shoving it back in his pocket.

They sat quietly next to each other for a few minutes, just listening to the music. After a while, Logan broke the silence.

“It’s crazy that we’re heading to the playoffs.” He said quietly.

That made Leo smile a bit. He looked back over at Logan. “You played incredible tonight.” He said sincerely. “All season, really. I think we earned it.”

Logan’s lips quirked up a bit at the compliment. “Thanks, Nutty. We really did.”

They fell back into their comfortable silence, sitting shoulder to shoulder and watching what they could see of the dining room down the hall. In the lights of the party, Pots and Sirius were teasing Remus about something they couldn’t hear. Remus blushed a deep red and Sirius laughed as he pulled him in for a kiss.

“We’re really lucky.” Leo said, hoping that Logan knew he wasn’t just talking about the game anymore. When Logan didn’t respond, he looked over to see him pulling at the seams of his jeans, looking like he might be on the verge of tears. The sight pulled at Leo’s chest. He wanted to take Logan’s face in his hands and wipe away that look forever.

But he knew that wasn’t what Logan wanted. So instead he stood, holding out a hand to the shorter boy. He would be here for him in whatever way Logan needed. “You wanna get another drink? Or are you ready to head out?”

Logan looked up at him with reddened eyes, and Leo’s heart felt like it was breaking with every beat. And when Logan put his hand in his and the sparks flooded over his whole body, Leo closed his eyes and willed them away.

---

#sweater weather lumosinlove #o'knutzy #lumosinlove #Coast To Coast

79 notes · View notes

technicallymilkshakes · 3 years

Text

A Change of Season

Genre(s): Fluff, Fantasy Pairing: Yixing x Reader Word Count: 4.1k

This is my gift for @chicken-fifi for the @exolssecretsanta event! I hope you enjoy this take on dad!Xing. Happy Holidays!

When Mae stampedes back into the house, a whole host of critters follow her in. A young fox kit bolts between your legs, a hawk chasing after it. You shoo away a curious chipmunk, intent on investigating the roasted chestnuts you've set out to cool. Bingo, the white hare that has followed your daughter since she celebrated her first birthday, runs in next with a little leap of joy. And rounding out the procession is Yixing, who walks into the room with a sheepish expression.

Melting ice and snow puddle along the floor like little cookie crumbs trails that lead to what is apparently a whole forest's worth of animals in your house, your daughter included. You and your husband exchange a familiar look, one of equal parts fondness and exasperation.

You beat him to placing a finger on your nose.

“Not it!” you crow victoriously.

Yixing laughs and hangs up his scarf, resigned to animal round-up duty.

You smile and hand the chipmunk, who has returned for a second attempt at pilfering, a chestnut. You watch with amusement as he promptly stuffs it in his mouth. This is the enchanted life you've become used to ever since your daughter was born.

After a dinner of rich stew and homemade bread, Mae totes her father off to play, leaving you to clean the dishes. She had not been happy with him after he had herded the last woodland creature out the door, so you're glad that she seems to either have forgiven him or forgotten.

Your mind drifts as you begin washing up. The window over the sink affords you a view of the backyard and the forest that abuts it. It had snowed long and hard the past two days, but tonight the sky is clear. The evergreens appear like frosty giants in the evening with their wintry snow coats aglow.

Winter is your favorite time of year. Your family bundles up inside together against the cold, a cozy intimacy that no other season can seem to replicate. Dinners are warm affairs, full of good food, laughter, and Mae's cheerful chatter. It feels, for a time at least, that you exist outside of the rest of the world. The only sounds are of birds, the crack of branches and the snow falling from them, then crunching beneath your feet. You never want it to end.

Such thoughts and reminiscing help pass the time, and soon enough you are drying the last dish and setting it back in the cupboard. The quiet strikes you then and pulls you into the living room in its wake.

Already Mae has fallen asleep, the gentle glow of Christmas lights dancing blue, orange, white upon her eyelashes. Yixing cradles your daughter in his arms, bending his head low to sweep his lips against her cheek. The fire he had kindled hours ago crackles dimly in the background. Bingo, ever watchful, has curled up beneath the Christmas tree to keep an eye on his sleeping charge.

A deep-seated happiness burns within you. You promise yourself to commit this moment to memory.

You come up behind your husband and touch his shoulder. When he looks up, tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes.

“Yixing?”

“She's getting so big,” he whispers. “I remember when she was just a baby. Her whole hand could only wrap around one finger. And now she already knows how to talk.”

You wrap yourself around him and feel the reciprocating bittersweet ache of your child growing up. “Oh, Yixing,” you whisper back. “We're parents for the rest of our lives,” you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder. “She'll always be our baby.”

Eventually, Yixing puts Mae to bed. She stirs from her sleep, brow scrunching. Bingo hops onto the bed and slips into her arms. You sweep her fringe away and lay a kiss as gentle as snowfall on her forehead. Only then does she relax and slip back into sleep.

Arms slips around your waist and spin you. Yixing holds you loosely in the circle of his arms. He catches your gaze, eyes sleepy and affectionate. Mae's nightlight projects snow drifting down the walls around you.

“Love you,” he says.

No matter how many times you hear it, you always have to fight down the sudden spike in your pulse, the warming of your cheeks.

“You're just jealous I haven't given you your kiss yet.”

He's smiling, the shadow of his dimple a deep dark. “How'd you know?”

You smile knowingly. “Love you, too,” you whisper back before finally giving him the kiss he's been waiting for.

You dream that night. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that you remember.

One spring day, when the first buds appeared on the trees, Mae was taken. You had been sleeping, and then you weren't. A great clattering came from down the stairs. Mae's crib was gone. You scrabbled out of bed, crying out “Mae!” Yixing jerked awake behind you, but you couldn't linger. There was no time to explain.

You sprinted downstairs to see two white-tailed deer dragging the crib out of the house. Vines had sprouted from the crib's wooden legs and attached themselves to the halters of the 12-point bucks. The backdoor was open and they were making a dash for the woods.

“No!” you shouted, leaping after them. You managed to grab onto one of the rails. Bingo peered at you over the edge. They were going so fast, they were dragging you through the remaining snow, which that night measured a scant inch. Snow and slush slid into your shirt. I can't hold on, you realized with creeping horror. And just as you thought it, you jolted as the deer dragged you over the jagged end of a rock. Your fingers slipped and you came a halt, curling around the bruise blooming on your ribs.

A breeze whisked by you and you glanced up through tears to see Yixing racing into the forest after your baby.

Minutes, hours went by, and then a blinding flash, brighter than lightning, blazed through the woods. The howl of soul in despair rang out after like thunder.

You were already crying by the time Yixing came back, carrying something. He looked up at you, devastated.

In his hands hovered the most perfect snowflake you had ever seen.

Mae sits at the table drawing with Yixing. Crayons scatter across the table in a mess of color. Some have rolled off the edge. Yixing holds one captive, rolling it back and forth on the ground with a socked foot.

“What are you drawing?” you ask Mae.

“This is you!” she says, pointing to a vaguely human-like shape. There is a concerning red blotch by the head. A smaller blob she declares to be herself, and Bingo a small circle that you had thought was a foot at first.

“And where am I?” asks Yixing.

Mae points to her father's drawing.

“I'm a sheep?” he asked, confused.

“No! A bunny,” she says back.

You stifle a laugh as Yixing looks even more confused.

Mae traces the sheep's horns. “These are its ears.” Yixing nods thoughtfully, then scrawls over the paper to make the sheep more bunny-like

He's such a good father, you think. He is patient, and kind. He listens to her and responds sincerely. You are profoundly in love with them, with your family and its small place in the world.

The two drawings hang from the refrigerator later that evening. You can hear Yixing playing with Mae in the living room, bouncing her up and down on his lap as she giggles and shrieks “Horsey!” Mae has labeled each figure in indecipherable symbols, but underneath one, in handwriting too elegant to be a child's hand, reads Daddy. It is undeniable a bunny.

You had long been suspicious of Bingo. He was no ordinary hare. But you had never been more suspicious of him than when your daughter came home this year.

It was the first snow of the year, and you and Yixing had been standing outside for hours already in the cold so that you didn't miss it. And there! To your left, a bright light had flashed in the forest. You were the first to find Mae and you fell on your knees before her.

“Oh, baby,” you said, cradling her cheeks in your hands, checking her over for any injuries. She was dressed in a similar foreign garment as last time, this one made of a pale pink shimmering gossamer.

“Where have you been?” you cried. She was old enough now, if she could just tell you where she went, then maybe....

And that was the first time you noticed it. The way your daughter fell silent and stared at the white hare.

She looked you full in the eyes a moment later and said, “Bingbing says I can't tell you yet.”

Yixing came at that moment and swept her into his arms.

“Don't leave us again,” he said, voice muffled against her. “Promise me that you won't go.”

“Daddy!” Mae complained, squirming in his hold. She looked at you plaintively over his shoulder and pouted. “I'm hungry.”

The first time it happened, you thought you'd lost your daughter forever. You had grieved with the force of a death. And then you woke up on the first day of snowfall to see a white hare on your chest.

“Mae...” came Yixing's hoarse voice besides you. You turned and saw your daughter in her crib beside the bed. Two seasons had come and gone, and she had clearly kept growing the months you'd been apart. But she watched you with those same keen eyes like she knew exactly who you.

“Did you...bring her back?” you asked, turning back to the white hare. Bingo merely twitched his nose a few times. He seemed to be staring right at you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You rested a tentative hand on the hare, who close its eyes in acceptance. After another moment, it jumped away.

Yixing watched you with wide eyes, Mae already cradled in his arms. You wrapped your arms around the both of them. “I love you so much,” you whispered in a voice choked with tears. “I am so lucky to have you both.”

It snows again the next day. You're not sure who's more excited about it, you or your daughter. Yixing struggles to get Mae kitted out for the weather, and you practically trip over yourself to shove your boots and hat on at the same time.

You had spent your free time this fall building a sled. You had cobbled all the pieces together yourself: the polished wood, the metal runners, the string that worked the rudder like reins on a horse. The winters have only grown longer since Mae was born, and you want to enjoy it while you can.

You start to wax up the candles with a broken candle when Mae huffs and puffs her way over to you, stretching up to try and reach your hand.

“No, mommy! I want to do it.”

You laugh and hand her the piece of candle. You wrap your fingers around hers, two-times clumsy with her gloves on, and help her slide the wax on the metal, lifting your daughter up when she can no longer reach.

“Perfect!” you declare when you finish with the second runner. “Thank you for your help, my little elfling.” You pinch her nose lightly and she giggles and runs to her dad.

All of you, Bingo included, pile out into the snow. You and Mae get the honors of the inaugural sled ride. Yixing bursts into a run first, yelling “race you down the hill!”

“Get him, mommy!” Mae yells, trying to scoot the sled forward. You kick off, and soon the two of you are zooming. You catch up with Yixing easily and then you are past, far past, trees blurring by.

The sled finally comes to a rest and Mae is still laughing. She has already hopped off the sled and is tugging on you, wanting to do it all over again. You roll off the sled, feeling about as dexterous as a marshmallow. Then you stand and survey how very long you have to climb back up.

“Come on, Mommy,” Mae says, slipping her hand into yours. The two of you walk forward in silence for a minute before you ask, “Where's your daddy, Mae?”

She runs forward, Bingo dashing after her, and you call after them not to go too far by themselves. Your warning is half-hearted, though. The woods welcome Mae like a friend. Even now, cardinals flock to the branches around her, bright splashes of red against the snow like trail marks pointing straight to her. There is an undeniable magic to your child. You have a feeling that nothing could hurt her, and the only thing that could take her is a force that you have no way of stopping.

The sled glides easily back up the hill—you do your best to keep it in the tracks you left on the way down. You eye the branches of the trees along the climb. Not one of the deciduous trees you spy has a single hint of a bud upon its branches. You heave a sigh in relief.

You're the one who stumbles across Yixing first. He has fallen backwards into the snow, his phone lying on his chest, staring up at the sky. You can't resist—you pick his phone up and take a few pictures of him, rosy cheeked, haloed in snow.

You pocket his phone and stretch a hand out for him. Mae comes barreling towards the two of you, yelling “Daddy!”

Yixing takes your hand with a smile.

“I guess you guys won.”

Later that night, Yixing shows you a video on his phone. He was filming the entire sled race. You watch second hand as you tuck Mae between your legs and wrap an arm around her. Suddenly, the camera is jerking forward, Yixing's muffled challenge to a race humming through the speaker. You hear his huffed laughter, the crunch of snow and the way his jacket sleeves rub against his sides as he runs. All of a sudden, you and Mae streak by, Mae squealing, and then the world topples. From white to black to white again, you hear Yixing trip, the sound of his breath knocked out of him in a single oof. Miraculously, he manages to keep a grip on his phone.

He lays there, camera facing the sky. All you hear is him breathing. A couple of snowflakes drift by and just miss landing on the lens. You feel oddly self-conscious when you show up onscreen. Is that what you looked like? A wide grin split your face, your hair windblown. You look down at Yixing with what is unmistakably love.

The video ends when you grab the phone to take pictures of Yixing (which you have already bullied him into sending you).

“I love watching you with Mae,” he confesses as the two of you lay in bed. Your bodies have curved inward, seeking the presence of the other. His fingers wrap around yours.

“Your smile, how tender you are...” Yixing turns and presses his face against your neck. “I love you both so much,” he says.

Mae becomes increasingly more cuddly as winter wears on. It's difficult to put her to bed. She'll cry long into the night, begging to sleep with you and Yixing. More and more, one of the two of you would cave in. She would crawl into your bed and rest in the warm hollow between your two bodies. Soon, neither of you bothered with carrying her to her bed.

How could either of you resist when you already had so little time with her? You want to hold her close just as much as she wants to be held. Everyday, you find her napping with Yixing, laid out along his chest and stomach. Your phone album is full of pictures of the two of them together.

Yixing said she took after you. But you see all the ways in which Mae takes after her father. The shape of her eyes. Her brilliant dimples. Her wavy hair. You had taken far too many pictures of them waking from a nap together, sporting matching cases of wild bedhead. It is the most adorable sight you have ever seen.

It happens earlier this year than it ever has before. On Christmas Day, Mae disappears. You race outside, going tree to tree, looking for the sight of even a hint of a bud. But there is nothing.

Hours pass in the woods, but they feel barren. You hunt for even a hint that Mae has been there, but find not even footprints. The forest is quiet and empty. For the first time, you feel the loneliness of winter.

You trudge into the house, numb from cold and disbelief. Yixing looks equally as hollow. “Bingo's still here,” he says hoarsely. And the two of you collapse towards each other with the gravity of your anguish. Why is this happening, you wonder.

Later that night, you wander in Mae's room. Lying atop her pillow is a single brilliant snowflake and a white hare.

Spring marches in with a a triumph. The flowers are riotously beautiful—bashful pinks, velvety reds, radiant yellows, and inky purples. All the life that winter has lacked bursts forth with a vengeance. And still, Mae is gone.

Bingo spends most of his time outdoors now. The sight of him upsets Yixing, which in turn upsets you. But outside of your husband's sights, you take some comfort in the hare's presence. He joins you on walks through the forest, thin tethers to a time before. You while away most of your days there now.

Where you have turned to the forest, Yixing haunts the threshold to Mae's room. He doesn't go in. He simply stares, watching the snowflake that never melts. You suspect that he's waiting for the moment it disappears so he'll know exactly when Mae has returned.

Neither of you have been sleeping much, nor well. The house is quiet, as if it's waiting with the two of you. It feels like the first time she disappeared all over again. A part of you, one you can never confess having to Yixing, thinks that she will never come back. Not this time.

One morning, you awake and find Yixing gone. You frown and throw the bedsheets off. Yixing never gets up before me. You slip downstairs and find yourself standing in front of Mae's room. The snowflake is gone.

“Yixing?” you call out, with real concern now.

It is quiet still. A pot of coffee rests on the counter. A half-empty mug sits abandoned on the dining room table, the chair still pulled out.

The backdoor is open.

“No,” you gasp, and stagger outside.

Yixing is nowhere in sight, but you know he must be in the forest. What is he doing. You hesitate at the edge of the woods. You've spent hours amounting to days in this forest, and yet it suddenly appears to you a maze. He could be anywhere.

And then you hear it. A chorus of whistles. And like magic, a path marked by the red of cardinals appears before you. You hurtle along it, crashing through bracken and bramble, until you see the sight of a very familiar back.

Yixing whirls around. In his hands is the snowflake.

“Look here,” he says, pointing to the snowflake. “The gates are open.” You gaze at the snowflake. It is like ice, or glass—clear enough to see through to Yixing's palm on the other side. All six points of the snowflake are perfectly formed like castle spires or a knight's sword, and at its hub is a beautiful ice castle with open gates.

You look up at Yixing. “The gates weren't open before,” he says. “There's a path,” he continues, body already half-turning, “the hare....There!”

He takes off, and you see the flash of a hare disappearing in the distance.

The two of you race after Bingo. The world flashes by in colors and noise, simultaneously real and insubstantial. You feel the burn of your lungs, the jolt that goes up your legs with each stride. All you have to do is follow Yixing. He is a few feet in front of you until.

He isn't.

You try to stop, but your momentum carries you forward. You break through the edge of the trees and slide right over the edge of a blind ravine. You try reaching for the scraggliest tree you have ever seen jutting from the cliff face, but it uproots and you, and it, plummet

down

onto warmth. Thick white blankets your lap. Yixing sits ahead of you, looking just as shell-shocked as you feel.

“It's about time,” rumbles forth a voice from beneath. You realize all of a sudden that you are sitting astride the most gigantic white hare you have ever seen.

The hare comes to a halt, lowering itself. With a gentle shake, both you and Yixing are deposited on the ground.

You gape at your surroundings. It is starless night, yet everything is awash in a glow of blue. Frost blankets the world as far as your eye can see. Without the warmth of the hare, the cold bites deep into you, undeterred by the thin pajamas you had rushed out in.

A sudden wind blows, and you shield your eyes against it. A man, or something like it, lands before you. Wings arch away from his back and a small fount of feathers sprout from his red hair, whereas his eyebrows and beard are a trim black.

“Welcome, Starbearer. Welcome, Woodweaver.” His voice is musical.

You and Yixing stare perplexed at the winged man. He approaches Yixing first.

“Thank you for returning the First Star. We humbly accept this gift.”

For the snowflake in Yixing's palms had turned into a blazing light. Warmth radiates from it, reaching you even from where you stand. The man bows his head, cupping his hands beneath Yixing's and then pushes them both up. You watch as the star ascends from its cradle in Yixing's palms until it streaks into the night sky. It settles into place, and soon, begins to color night into day.

The man approaches you next.

“Thank you for returning the First Tree. We humbly accept this gift.”

This time, the man places his hands over yours and pushes down. The scraggly tree, which you had been holding onto all this time, immediately roots itself into the ground and begins to flower and leaf. Soft showers of iridescent petals drift around you.

Morning dawns over the land and sweeps the ice away. Grass has sprouted beneath your feet, and little flowers like fireworks burst into bloom. You gasp. In the distance, you catch sight of a familiar castle, with spires that spear the sky. It glimmers golden in the sunshine.

“I apologize. We have been looking for you for a long time, however your daughter was an unforeseen element that confounded our agents.” He gestures with a wing to two white-tailed deer and a white hare. “All this time, we expected it to be one person when we needed two.” He shakes his head, feathers ruffling.

“But I digress. You have brought with you the first new season. Starvale thanks you.”

The winged man observes you both for a moment, then gives a brisk nod, the plume at his front rising.

“Daddy!”

Like a reflex, Yixing drops and gathers Mae into his arms. You find yourself in the mix a moment later. You shake with sobs, pressed cheek to cheek with your daughter. Yixing pours kisses all over both of you, much to Mae's chagrin. She is wearing the same kind of garment as before, this one with real twigs and berries stitched into it. Some berries get crushed, staining the fabric around it in halos of red.

“Will you stay?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and watery, her little hands clutching fistfuls of Yixing's sweater.

“You have my heart,” Yixing answers, helplessly in love. “For the two loves of my life, I would capture every star in the sky if I had to.”

And so, the family stayed on in Starvale.

The Starbearer walked the lands to bring morning and night. The Woodweaver felled trees and scattered seeds to make the forests grow. And their Herald of Joy showed the world what great love is capable of.

** A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m grateful for this event, which has brought forth such wonderful content and connected creators across the fandom. This was my first crack at a kid fic, which was a great challenge. Thanks to chicken-fifi for being such a good sport, and sorry that I couldn’t send you more asks! Still, I hope you enjoyed. I look forward to more of your own writing!

Happy Holidays!

24 notes · View notes

galfridus1 · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday Arthur!

It’s 17 August here and it’s Arthur’s birthday!! Many happy returns!

Here’s a fic, inspired by prompt from @thestarrynightgazer and with thanks to @maybeishouldwait for comments. This is part one of three/four depending on whether you count reblogs.

***

“It’s his birthday? Today?”

Zeldris looked at Gelda with absolute incredulity, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he griped as he shot out of bed, quickly rummaging in the wardrobe for something to wear. “Now I’ve got less than eight hours to find him a present.”

Gelda looked up at him, her face calm and serene as she propped herself up with a number of pillows. “I would have thought you’d remember,” she chastised, a slight smile curving the left side of her mouth. “How long have we been living together now? Time enough for you to know when Arthur’s birthday is. And besides it’s on the calendar…”

“Yes, yes alright!” Zeldris grumbled as he pulled on some clothes. “What’s happening anyway?”

Gelda looked at him, her violet eyes gleaming and Zeldris felt the breath catch in his throat. It was the one feature they shared, their eyes so like one another’s, their beauty causing him pause even after all these years. “You have no need to worry,” she chuckled, “I’ve sorted everything out. The party will be here. Arthur knows nothing about it but everyone else does, and I booked catering. The cake is a masterpiece.”

“How are you always so organised?” Zeldris muttered as he checked his reflection in the full-length mirror, running a hand through his hair to make sure the spikes were arranged in their proper place.

“It’s easy really,” Gelda replied, “You just have to pay attention and get stuff done. Which is what you should do now. I have suggestions for gifts if you’d like?”

Zeldris paused, his lips pressed together as he battled temptation. “No. I do this every year. I’m going to get him something myself this time.”

Gelda laughed, the tinkling sound reverberating through the air. “Well, good luck. Text me if you draw a blank.”

***

Four hours later Zeldris sincerely regretted telling his girlfriend that he did not need her help. He had scoured what felt like the whole of Oxford Street, trying and failing to find something Arthur might feasibly want as a gift. But it was all to no avail. The problem was Arthur had everything any twenty-five year old could possibly want, and if he got him alcohol again Gelda would no doubt raise her eyebrows, the expression saying ‘I told you so’ more clearly than any words could convey.

Still, a bottle of some random liquor was better than nothing. Turning abruptly, adroitly dodging the crowds swarming past in the opposite direction, Zeldris made his way back to the department store he had listlessly explored earlier that morning. The day was hot, the relentless August sun beating down on the shoppers who dragged their feet limply down the tarmaced street but Zeldris trudged on, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the odd smell of grease from the stalls dotting the sides of the road caused him to gag slightly. He just wanted the whole sorry experience to be over. Thank goodness Gelda’s birthday was not until April next year.

He was nearing the pretentious facade of Selfridges when a conversation caught his attention, the words somehow penetrating his consciousness above the hubbub of chatter. His eyes strayed to a small girl walking alongside her mother, clutching at a lead for dear life as an enthusiastic puppy pulled her forcefully along. The animal looked delighted, oblivious to the weather, and Zeldris was surprised to feel a twinge of longing piercing his chest. It looked so much fun, and of course Arthur had always wanted a dog.

Zeldris stood stock still, causing several passersby to bump into him forcefully. And why not? True, a dog was not ideal - they shed hair like nobody’s business and made their surroundings smell like mouldy old socks when wet - but the three of them were older now, and well off. They could easily afford to look after a pet, and it could always live outside in the garden. And as a gift it was at least original; Gelda could hardly complain that he had wimped out this time.

***

About half an hour later, Zeldris was standing in the reception of Battersea Dogs and Cats home, the only place he could think of in central London where one might find a canine at short notice. The walls were covered in pictures and leaflets showcasing the charity’s many success stories, sorry-looking mongrels, skeletal and with mangy fur, transformed into sleek, happy and well-beloved pets. He was just congratulating himself on his brilliant idea when the voice of the receptionist pulled him back to reality.

“You need to book an appointment for an interview about adopting a dog,” she gently explained as she tapped on her computer keyboard. “We have slots next week, but nothing available until then, I’m afraid.”

Zeldris felt his heart sink slightly. “Is there nothing sooner?” he asked cautiously. “I was really hoping to get one today.”

“Well that’s out for a start,” the woman said sharply, her eyes drilling into him as she turned away from her screen. “We are very careful here. We don’t let just anyone adopt a dog. There’s an initial interview, a home visit to check suitability, and then an observation when a suitable pet has been found. The whole process takes about a month.”

“A month?” Zeldris asked incredulously. “But… I mean…”

“If you’re after a specific dog, don’t worry, there’s always plenty, and sometimes the cute ones aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” the lady continued, her expression softening slightly. “We have dozens of Staffies and they’re great companions. People look down on them, but they’re wonderful. I have three myself.”

“It’s not that,” Zeldris said quickly, feeling an unwelcome heat flooding his cheeks. “It’s… well this is embarrassing. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday today and he’s always wanted a dog. I really wanted to surprise him.”

“Awww!” The noise that issued from the woman’s mouth was somewhere between a sigh and a swoon. “That’s so, so… romantic,” she gushed, and Zeldris felt the blush he was trying to manage spiral out of control. “But it doesn’t change things,” she added more gently, a sad smile on her face. “There’s no way you can adopt a dog as a surprise. Our team will need to talk to your boyfriend too.”

Zeldris was on the point of making a hasty exit when he caught a calculating look in the receptionist’s eyes. “But…” she began, her lips pursed in thought.

“Go on,” he encouraged, with some effort forcing his face to return to its normal countenance. “You have something in mind?”

“As it happens, yes,” the woman continued, the words accompanied by a vigorous nod. “You see, the team raided a kitten farm a few days ago. The poor things were being kept in such awful conditions and… well the upshot is we have far more cats than we know how to deal with. And a slot for an interview just opened up. If we have a cat that’s a match for your family then you can take it home with you today.”

“A cat?” Zeldris mulled over the idea and the more he thought about it the more pleased he became. They were by far superior animals in every way. They cleaned themselves, did not require walks, and had the added benefit that they would keep any pests at bay. Zeldris pictured himself sitting on the sofa, a dainty feline jumping up to him and laying its head in his lap. And Arthur did like cats. Maybe not as much as dogs but he did like them. Only last month he had been encouraging a stray to visit the garden, that is until the sorry-looking animal had given him fleas.

“Thank you, why not,” he finally said, returning the receptionist’s eager smile as the lady started tapping away at her computer once more.

***

No long after, Zeldris found himself being led up the stairs towards a room that smelled strongly of biscuits and bleach. The walls were lined on all sides with cages, perspex doors with holes in giving a glimpse into the almost identical habitats within. Each cat had bowls of food and water, a litter tray and a box to hide in, as well as a few toys scattered about on the white laminate surfaces. The occupants however could not have been more varied: the cats came in every colour imaginable; some ran up towards their doors, rubbing their heads against the plastic in greeting while others shied away, turning their backs.

The interview had been an informal affair consisting of a few questions about the household amenities and some quiz-like queries about the cost of vet care and insurance. Zeldris was glad he had read the blurb on the organisation’s website as he’d waited for his meeting with one of the Home’s volunteers to begin; the answers he’d needed were still fresh in his mind.

“Now let’s see…” the volunteer murmured as he leafed through the notes of interview, the papers rustling slightly in his fingers. “Three adults, all of you working long hours, and no children. I think we have just the cat for you.

“I have to warn you he’s lazy, which is good because he will basically do nothing to the house while you’re at work. But don’t expect him to be a good mouser,” the young man added as he led Zeldris to a cage in the corner of the room. Inside sat one of the fattest creatures Zeldris had ever seen; the white and ginger cat was at least as wide as it was long, if not wider, and sat at its empty food bowl with a mournful expression. It looked like a circle more than anything, or perhaps a stuffed cushion, though the colouring reminded him strongly of Arthur.

“His name is Cath, don’t ask me why,” the volunteer said as he gave the cat an affectionate look. “And as you can see he likes his food. We’ve put him on a diet since he’s arrived and he’s not been too happy about it. But I think some proper fuss will help him settle.”

Zeldris, regarding Cath with something approaching disgust, was on the point of asking if any other unwanted felines were possibly available when the volunteer opened the cage. Before Zeldris knew what was happening the cat had launched itself into his arms and started purring loudly, the vibrations reverberating through him as Cath fell asleep.

“He’s… not done that with anyone before,” the volunteer said incredulously. “He must really like you!”

“Probably just hungry,” Zeldris muttered under his breath but deep down he was secretly pleased. It was nice to be holding the cat, who was even heavier than he looked, in the knowledge that the feline was at least a bit choosy.

The young man retrieved a wad of papers stuck in a plastic folder next to the cage, his eyes flicking from side to side as they traced the words on the pages. “Cath has a clean bill of health, and he’s been fully vaccinated. He’s ready to go,” he said cheerfully as he gave Zeldris a wide smile. “He’s a well adjusted cat too. Nothing untoward in his past; his previous owners just couldn’t afford to feed him I think.”

Prising Cath out of his arms proved more difficult than expected but eventually, between them, two volunteers managed to wrestle the animal into a travel box. So it was that, loaded down with food, a litter tray and, of course, the enormous cat in a cage, Zeldris set off in a taxi heading for home. He imagined how pleased Arthur and Gelda would be even as the weight of the cat pressed into his lap.

It was only as he approached the terraced house the three of them shared that he noticed his phone, the lock screen flashing to show he had several missed calls and a veritable flurry of unread messages, most of them containing the words ‘where are you’ in capital letters. It was much later than he had thought, and the party would likely be starting soon, that is if it was not already underway.

In a rush, Zeldris paid the taxi driver and made his way as quickly as possible to the door of the house, hampered in his efforts by the amount of cargo he carried. He was met on the threshold by a furious Gelda. “Where have you been?” she hissed, her eyes smouldering into his own before she caught sight of the amount of stuff he was carrying, “And what is all this?”

“I got him a cat,” Zeldris said lamely, his voice sounding unsure even in his own ears. Gelda stared him with undisguised astonishment, before her face morphed into an enormous grin. In a second she was kneeling before the travel cage, cooing like an imbecile at the still-purring feline.

“That’s an amazing idea! You are completely forgiven,” Gelda said in rapture as she opened the cage, the huge cat launching into her arms in an instant. “Let’s go give it to him now. We’ve already done the reveal. He was surprised,” she added with a little reproach in her voice as she settled the cat more securely in her arms. “Where did you get it from?”

Zeldris felt slightly aggrieved as Gelda led the way towards the dining room, the cat still purring contentedly in her arms as she sashayed down the hall. “I got him from Battersea,” he grumbled as he followed behind, having deposited the various bags at the door. “And for your information it was a bit of a mission. I think I should be the one to give him to Arthur…”

“Surprise!” Gelda shouted as she flung open the door, revealing a large group of people all holding glasses. The mahogany dining table was groaning with food, an absolutely enormous cake standing proudly in the centre. It was shaped like a castle, iced walls and turrets rising up proud to form three tiers of confection topped with red and green flags. “It’s Castle Camelot,” Gelda whispered into his ear as Zeldris stared at it in amazement. “You know, because he’s Arthur Pendragon. Cost me a small fortune to commission but I think it’s worth it.”

The guests were just beginning to make suitable noises in response to the cat’s appearance when, without warning, it launched itself from Gelda’s arms. Zeldris watched in horror as Cath leapt onto the table and, without hesitation, nose-dived straight into the castle cake, knocking it into pieces in an instant.

The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The tall turrets fell to the table, crumbling on impact, covering the pristine white tablecloth in icing and jam. The guests looked on with horror-stricken faces, mouths open in shock and eyes wide as saucers. The previously cheerful room was now silent as the grave save for the mewls of the cat, who was devouring the cake as if he had not eaten in weeks, small globules scattering from his whiskers into the mass of golden crumbs. Zeldris felt Gelda stiffen noticeably at his side, the soft sound of her breathing betraying her perturbation; it took a lot to upset her but once she was she cried easily. He dared not turn to look into her face, sure that she would be on the point of tears.

Amidst all the commotion, his eyes caught Arthur’s and he felt terrible on seeing his boyfriend’s face was a picture of desolation. Then, suddenly, Arthur began to laugh. First, his lip twisted, a faint chuckle bubbling up before the sound built and grew into an almighty guffaw. Arthur threw his head back, tears of mirth beading the corners of his eyes as he stared at the mess which had once been the most elaborate cake ever to be constructed. Arthur was of course quick to smile, but it had been a while since he had looked quite this happy.

With some relief, Zeldris felt the change in atmosphere trickle through the room as their friends caught the mood, smiles and laughter returning as they passed bottles of wine and spirits round to replenish their drinks. Glasses clinked and jokes passed as the guests quickly retrieved their phones to capture the sight of the ruined cake. It would no doubt be the star of social media before the hour was out, along with the feline who had caused the destruction.

With some trepidation, Zeldris slipped an arm around Gelda, unsurprised to feel her tremble in his grasp. He was relieved to find that she leant into his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her as he held her close, both arms encircling her waist as Gelda pressed her face into his shoulder. “They did say he was on a diet but I never thought…”

“That. Was. Hilarious!” Arthur said heartily, moving round the table to join them. He had managed to scoop up the cream-covered cat before it moved on to the rest of the food, depositing dairy smears and crumbs all over his jacket in the process. With a slightly apologetic look, Arthur kissed Gelda tenderly, stroking her hair with his free hand and Zeldris felt her relax against him. It was nice, comforting, the effect only slightly marred as Arthur added with unbridled enthusiasm, “I love him! What’s his name?”

“Cath,” Zeldris confirmed as the now-stuffed animal rubbed its face into Arthur’s chest, continuing to purr as if it was some sort of drilling machine. “His name is Cath. And starting now he is not allowed in the dining room.”

#nnt #zelthurweekend #zeldris #gelda #arthur #cath #zelthur #zelthurda #fanfiction #happy birthday arthur!#domestic au

37 notes · View notes