#this took so long to render but god was it worth it!!!
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“Things really changed for me when we went to Kamordah and I saw you with your family[.] I got a glimpse into how your world was when you were growing up and I...I fell in love with you in Kamordah.”
#cr spoilers#critical role spoilers#critical role#beauyasha#the romance! The understanding! The ninjas! This date had everything!#you don't wanna know how long these took to render#But it was worth it😭#God I just love them so much#beau x yasha#otterlyart gifs
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How would King Dice react if his SO decided to help patch him up after his fight with the Cup Brothers?
A/N: I ended up going a little overboard with this prompt. (￣▽￣*)ゞ
I began this batch with the mindset that King Dice would be a little hesitant to let his s/o help him, and it quickly went downhill from here.. Sorry it took me so long to get this request, I hope it was worth the wait! And be sure to let me know if you’d ever like me to redo these if you aren’t satisfied!!
King Dice getting patched up Hcs:
King Dice isn’t one to ask for help. Perhaps it’s an after effect of working for the embodiment of Pride itself. Perhaps it’s due to the nature of his work. Or maybe he’s just a stubborn ass. Whatever the case may be: perfectionism and mulish self reliance is an unpleasant cocktail.
After his fight with the Cup Brothers, Dice was bruised, battered, and furious. He was angry at the little brats that did this to him; angry at his arrogant boss for not planning ahead; angry at himself for letting this happen.
His body ached and cried in protest the entire journey to his office. Worst of all, his hands had taken the worst of the abuse, rendering them boneless as they laid listlessly on his desk. Each time he tried to move his fingers, pain snapped at his arms like a bear-trap. Now, Dice couldn’t use work to distract himself.
The die had resigned himself to stewing in silence for the rest of that evening. At least, that was what he originally planned on doing until he received a knock at the door.
Not in the mood for pleasantries, Dice was ready to shout out at the dumb sap trying to bug him right now. Then the door opened up, and he felt the protest die on his lips at the sight of you.
All he could do was turn away as you closed the door behind you. He could feel your concerned stare take in the damage; shoulders stiff as he’s now painfully aware of the cracks in his face. Icy-hot shame swells in his chest and bleeds his face red.
Dear god, the last thing he’d ever want you to see is this.
He doesn’t move to stop you. He’s too tired to stop you. King Dice sags against the back of his office chair, eyes dull and distant as he blankly stares at a burnt spot in the wine-red paper of his wall. Faintly, the die could hear you fuss at him through the mental fog. However, he makes no move to say anything; numb beyond belief.
You, meanwhile, frantically flutter about his office, open and slamming shut drawers and cabinets like a bat out of hell. Finally, you dug up an old, dusty medkit with a triumphant “aha!”, rousing your boyfriend back into the present with a pained groan. Sheepishly, you offer an apologetic look his way.
Dice still doesn’t turn away from the wall. However, a marble green eye intently watches your every movement. You were aware of his gaze while you searched through bandages and salves, but kept quiet. The poor man’s already been through enough, you think.
Once you are satisfied with the contents inside, you click the kit shut with a satisfied hum. You turn back towards your boyfriend. He’s looking straight at you now, uncertainty in his eyes and a tenseness in his jaw.
When you begin to approach him, Dice quickly breaks away to stare at his lap. You watch his fingers faintly twitch beneath your gaze, the motion forcing his lips into a grimace as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. You frown, mouth curling into a displeased frown.
“You probably don’t want me in here right now,” you slowly say, teeth worrying at the inside of your cheek. “Anyone would want to be left alone– being in all that pain and all. But…”
Your grip on the battered kit tightens enough to turn your knuckles white. Dice is looking back up at you, and you feel your face grow hot. Lips dry and throat tight, you tentatively lick at your lips before continuing.
“I don’t like seeing you like this, Dice,” you lay a hand on his pale cheek. “Please, just give me one chance. If you want me to stop, just say the word. I won’t try to push anymore…”
The die stares up at you, mouth pinched into a thin line as he looks off to the side; marble green eyes dulling slightly. When was the last time anyone had tried to help? When was the last time anyone had actually cared enough to help him? There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you were well aware how he ended up in this sorry state– he could hear the sounds of celebration all the way from Inkwell Hell. Surely, you had to be humiliated. No one in their right mind would be able to live down the fact their boyfriend had his ass handed to him by a couple of short stack cups…
And yet… Dice glances towards you, expecting the worrying facade to drop any minute before being berated into high heaven. Instead he’s met with the glassy sheen in your eye– wet with unshed tears– as the medkit trembled in your grasp from how tightly you held it.
Heart heavy with reluctance, Dice further leans against the palm of your hand. His eyes gradually slide shut as he lets out a loud exhalation from his nose.
“...Very well, Doll… Go easy on me, though. I had a long day.”
Your heart practically soars, and you have to fight back the little excited noise welling in your throat as a relieved smile stretches your lips. You get to work in an instant, cracking open the kit in your hands and taking out various supplies, and setting them down on the end table beside the couch.
Meanwhile, Dice merely sits back and allows himself to be gently pawed at as you fuss over him. Cool salves smooth over the cracks of his flesh before it's covered in bandaging. Every little movement you make is followed by worry-filled questions (“are you okay with this?”, “Does this hurt?”, etc.), all of which he answers with a small hum.
It feels…Nice, having someone treat him with such care. He’s gotten used to the mixed reactions of infatuated admirers, the scornful victims, and the cautious knowers– ‘twas the price of fame, after all. But you… You always had thrown him for a loop.
You weren’t afraid of him. A fact that he found both maddening and comforting. Everything about you– from your personality, your soul, the love you gave him– was earnest. It felt strange. Strange but good.
And as he sat there, drained yet content, Dice can’t help but think that he should get injured often if you’re going to play nurse.
#my writing#fanfic writing#requests#reader inserts#x reader#cuphead#cuphead dont deal with the devil#reader insert#king dice x reader#king dice headcanons#king dice#gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#self ship#hurt/comfort
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Haven | R.C
Summary: In which Rafe finds refuge in your arms and utters those three little words for the fist time.
Warnings: fluffy angst, rafe struggling w his mental health.
A/N: In honor of this precious human’s birthday here’s an emotionally fluffly lil drabble <3 It’s a lil messy cause I literally wrote this in like half an hour so I basically just spilled everything that was in my head without planning it but I hope you guys enjoy !!
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
It had been a long and complicated journey for the both of you to end up in the haven that you had constructed, one that had consistently proved a challenge for both of your overall mental states. Everyone had warned you over and over about the eldest of the Cameron children when you had initially started dating, they’d given you extensive lists on the different ways that he could break your heart. Despite his stature, Rafe had never gone without a foul reputation of misdemeanour and toxicity. But of course, stubborn as ever, you couldn’t see past the sweet nothings he’d utter and the cool ocean of blue that would lull you into that sweet sense of security like the soft ripples of the obx sea.
But Rafe had grown up under the unforgiving direction of his father which in turn meant that his stone cold persona had been something that was drilled into him since his early years. It took him more than a few months to overcome his impulsive lying and self-destructive way of completely diminishing everything that would render him vulenarble or, hell, even happy.
In time he learned to let his guard down, your persistance and unconditional affection was a foreign thing for him. At the start he’d relentlessly attempted to ensure that you would see him for who he had been all those years before. You didn’t falter though, behind every lie he’d speak you could see the truth, every blow he'd deliver in order to sabotage what you had, you’d take with a heavy armor. Loving him was hard work but in the end it was worth it.
In these moments, you could both reap the rewards of your pervalence.
After a particularly taxing day running chores for his dad with Topper and Kelce, he’d found himself exhausted and disstressed under the safety of your bed sheets. With swollen eyes and an outpour of emotions he’d unload on the only thing that helped his heart breathe.
“I suck, everything I do ends up in a burning pile of trash and I just don’t understand why I’m like this.” He spoke in between panicked breaths.
“You don’t suck.” You reached out to carress his tensed jaw, the touch imediately promting a release. “You’re so much more than the title you were born into or the stupid reputation that people have built for you. Rafe what people think about you is in their head not yours.”
“I’m not, everything they say about me is true Y/N. I’m a bully and- and I’m entitled and I just I dont know how to stop. Like today when we were out at the country club we saw that Routledge kid doing deliveries.”
You bit down on your lip, preparing for the inevitably nasty outcome of his story.
“And Topper got so worked up and- and Kelce was encouraging it and so then-”
“Did you hurt him?”
Rafe screwed his eyes shut and let out another shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to- I don’t know what came over me, Topper started on it and I swear to god at the start I was trying to mediate it but then he said something about how you were gonna realise how shit we all were and you were gonna leave me when you came to your senses and I just-”
“It’s okay.” You spoke quietly
“No it’s not okay! I couldnt control myself again. It got physical again. And I lived up to everything everyone says I am. Again.”
“You’re right it’s not okay, you should have walked away. But look at you now, you know what you did was wrong. A year ago you would have probably taken pride in hurting that pogue. I know that it probably doesnt mean very much right now but its progress. Its not nothing Rafe, it takes stregth to admit you’re in the wrong too.” As your words calmed his mental strain your thumb worked to do so physically. You stroked his cheeks, wiping each tear as they fell- a fitting metaphor for the way you banished his anguish.
“He was right y’know. You are too good for me and one day you’re gonna realise it.” Behind his words was that tone of voice that desperately begged for what he was saying to be untrue. He couldn’t lose you.
“This again?” It wasn’t the first time that the two of you had hashed out this conversation, clearly it was a trigger for for Rafe. Beyond that it was one of his biggest fears.
“Rafe I know exactly who you are and I don’t want anyone else. I’m with you because you make me feel safe and happy and you help me be the best I can be.” You continued.
Although what you were saying was nothing shy of the truth, all he could hear was everything you were to him. He wasn’t strong on his own accord, you gave him strength. You’d replenish him so that his pain and anger and everything that fed into the darkest side of him was gone, and in it’s place you’d nourish his morality. You exhanged his ugliness for your beauty each and every single time.
“I love you so much.” The words came quick and mumbled but they hung in the air as if he’d been speaking into a megaphone. Almost like a reflex they came out without him even being able to process them. Neither of you had said the words until now so the way they’d sounded coming out of his mouth robbed you from the breath you were about to take.
Your shock promted the silence to extend which caused Rafe’s ever-anxious doubting brain to panic with each passing second.
“I’m sorry- I-” he scrambled for something to say, he knew he didn’t have it in him to take it back. If he had he would have been lying. He did love you, he loved you more than he thought was even phsyically possible for him. You had saved him. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or say it too early but I do. I love you and I-
“I love you too.” You interupted with a warm smile. Significantly louder than he had been in order to cut through his rambling and ensure him that the immense emotion he was feeling was reciprocated.
He pulled you closer to him and he could have sworn his heart physically stopped for a second, the spike in dopamine and serotonin almost too much for his body to handle. You felt it too. Because whilst yes, you may have saved him, Rafe Cameron truly turned your world.
As you spoke those blissful words he couldn’t believe that the pair of you were in the place you were. He knew it was no thanks to him and yet here he was, staring at the light on the other side of his seemingly never-ending tunnel of malignancy. In moments like these the tunnel would get shorter in length, he’d learned that by letting you in and letting you love him. When he’d look back at the start of your relationship he’d feel embarrased at himself, what he thought had been him protecting himself from vulnerability had really just been his pride keeping him anchored to the state of malevolance that he had become so acustomed to.
Nowadays he felt lighter, your love elevated him to heights he’d never ventured into and it was okay, he wasnt scared. He didn’t feel weak for allowing himself to be vulnerable with you he just felt relief. Relief and love.
“I could never not love you. I promise.” You muttered as you pressed soft kisses where his tears had previously fallen, leaving behind dried tracks in their place.
He hadn’t even realised he’d stopped crying. You had that effect on him, so effortlessly you could rid him of anything that hurt him and more often than not without him even noticing.
And so armed with a promise and the indestructible sword that was your love he felt at peace again. He was content with the knowledge that he could face whatever came at him as long as he had you. Because all he really needed was to love you and try to be better and that would be enough.
As you fell asleep in eachothers arms for what must have been the hundreth time, you both felt the strength of eachother’s love engulfing you in a coccon of assurance and bliss. He was yours and you were his and that was all either of you needed.
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#rafe cameron#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron drabble#drew starkey#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron obx#obx angst#outer banks#obx#outer banks angst#rafestuff
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Mind If I Join You?
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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.
Give it to me.
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
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#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
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riding getou’s face
t/w: alluding to minor manga spoilers, f!reader, oral (fem receiving), face riding, getou loves to eat, mention of overstim, quick drabble to quench my thirst
getou suguru spends his days choking down curses that leave his mouth plagued with the most vile aftertaste. it’s long and excruciating and he despises every minute of it — and when he gets home he needs something to mask the flavor, something to distract him from the horrors of his technique. and today he decided that was you.
or the slimy folds of your sopping cunt, to be more precise. it took some serious convincing to get his timid girlfriend to climb onto his face and let him have his way with her, but it was worth it. you were such a shy little thing, always so embarrassed when the two of you tried something new.
but suguru would never steer you wrong, never make you do anything that wouldn’t make you feel good — and this time was no different. the mere second that his warm tongue slithered its way around your swollen clit, you were rendered utterly useless. good thing he had his strong arms secured around your back, because you’d be a pile of putty other wise.
your initial timidness flew out the window, high-pitched whines filling the room as you shamelessly rutted your hips against his face. and suguru loves every second of it, lapping and sucking at the sensitive folds of skin around your tight hole, coercing the prettiest moans out of you.
he forgets everything when he’s buried inside you like this, his tongue now shooting past your entrance and licking at the sticky walls. the tip of his nose is pressed perfectly on your clit, providing an added layer of sensation to the pleasure that was jolting through your body. and the wet, squelching noises combined with suguru’s heavy moans and gasps for air are a treat in themselves.
the entire experience is heavenly, but then again everything revolving around suguru was. his followers view him as an unearthly shaman, a god — and you agree wholeheartedly, because nothing in your life has ever felt more divine than his head between your thighs.
in a matter of minutes he has you unraveling, shaking and squirming in his arms while your warm juices flow onto his tongue. he milks your for everything that you’re worth, sliding his tongue in each crevice and lapping up every drop of your luscious liquids. and he keeps at it long past the point of your orgasm, sending your body into fits and shakes as he sucks you into overstimulation.
he just can’t get enough of you — it’s a taste he’ll grow to cherish and the taste he’ll yearn for when he spends his days swallowing bitter curses. the horrid flavor of those wretched beings is enough to make a person crazy, make a person do things they wouldn’t have other wise.
but suguru has something to keep him sane now, and it’s his newfound love to shove his face between your legs.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen oneshot#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk oneshot#suguru getou smut#suguru smut#suguru geto smut#getou suguru smut#geto suguru smut#getou smut#geto smut#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto x reader#getou x reader#suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#silver.nsfw
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Can you do one where the reader is Bonnie’s twin sister and is dating Stefan ?
Salvatore - Stefan Salvatore x Bennet!reader
Masterlist Link
Summary; based on the request
Warnings; making out, slight smut, fingering, swearing, threats, mentions of torture, Bonnie being an adorable protective sister, implied smut
“Shhh.” It surpassed your mouth as a rumble onto your lover’s lips, as yours stretched out into a hushed smile. He too showed an expression of happiness, as he pecked your lips, his hands sliding beneath the material of your top, soothing your back with his calloused and wise hands.
There was a problem rendering you with the necessity of being quiet, it would be a terrible travesty if anyone within the household were to hear you, giggling like a teenage girl (which you were), their Bennet curiosity swiping off their nose and leaping into action as they would surely, and most definitely, take aid to discover what it was that had you amused so.
Their opinion on the immortal men of time, that were transformed into a whole new species by one transfusion of exchanged blood, and a sentence of completed death, was not an optimal nor within preferred context. Vampires had taken so much from the Bennet witches throughout the years, that there was a stifling resentment wedged between the two.
You and Stefan were the exception, the two star crossed lovers entailed in a forbidden romance. He wasn't the enemy, but that did not mean that your sister Bonnie would be pleased with the current partner that you were adjoined by in your relationship. She'd watched Elena fawn over the green eyed charmer, it would be an utter nightmare for her to discover that you were now coiled beneath him on the rectangle of your bed, as he pressed tentative kisses along the length of your neck, smothering you with affection.
It was inevitable that your secret rendezvous would one day be revealed to all, including your sibling, however that wasn't something that you wanted to think about as Stefan's hand crept down, and over your skirt, sliding beneath the flowing material, and up the skin of your thigh. His action extracted a wisp of a gasp out from your mouth, as you pawed at his chest, distinctively staring through silence that you were keen in removing the shirt from his body.
The message was delivered as he reeled it up over his head, exposing his lean and fit body to your eyes. He continued to feather your skin with amorous touches, as he removed your panties by sliding them down your legs, shoving your skirt up so that your intimate skin was bare to his touch. “Stefan....” you whispered his name, as he slowly slid a finger into you. Your eyes fluttered peacefully shut, as his thumb coiled in a circle around your clit, for a moment it was silent, until the door opened.
“Stefan?!” Your sister repeated your words, making you instantly cover up your barren flesh, and your boyfriend to roll off you. There was digress in Bonnie’s eyes, she was severely judging you in your choice of partner, you were well aware of how her mind worked. Her arms became crossed as she rigidly shook her head, Stefan tossed his shirt back over his head, trying to make the predicament that little bit more bearable.
“Bonnie, I can explain...” it was rather obvious what was going on. An explanation wasn’t wanted nor was it needed, everything that was necessary to know was right before her face. The two of you had been caught in the midst prior to sex, which was as awkward as expected, however more so considering your sister remained glaring back and forth between you and the vampire.
“If you’re going to tell me that it’s not what it looks like, I’m calling bull on that.” She stated in an unimpressed manner. “This also means that you invited him in.” Her and Stefan didn’t hate each other, their kinds had simply been used as pawns against one another for far too long, and she hated to see you, her twin, in a cycle with a vampire, especially a Salvatore.
She had a feeling you were seeing someone, call it a fraternal thing. Though out of the entire town, it had to be one of those brothers, the brooding and dangerous siblings that survived by drinking blood and often compelled people close to them to admin their whims. “You have too much trust in people y/n.” She sighed, and she wasn’t entirely incorrect with all things considered.
“But he’s the right person to trust.” You tried to reason with her, but after all the pain that he had put the Bennet family through, it was difficult, and logically so, to believe your words. “Come on Bon.”
“No. I can hardly believe you, you went behind my back to see him, out of all people.” She spoke angrily, her tone wavering with hurt. Stefan took that as the moment that he was meant to intrude, he stood, walking towards your sister, a small and kind smile upon his face.
He appreciated her instinct to protect you, but you weren’t as naive as she thought you to be. It had taken him multiple accounts to even sway you into even agreeing going on a date with him, though he realised that all those rejections had been worth the price of pain, because he had grown significantly upon you.
“I love your sister.” The vampire informed the witch, glancing over at you with a newfound smile on his frozen in age face. Your eyes widened, the two of you had yet to exchange such words, though rather than interrupting by saying them back, you allowed him to continue speaking, despite Bonnie’s light scoff. “I know you don’t like it, but can’t you accept that she’s happy, don’t you want your sister to be happy? That’s why I’m fine my brother is with my ex, I care about his happiness above all.”
“I’m not giving you my blessing.” Her chest heaved at her statement, she was far too protective to give anyone the pass of go ahead at you. “If you hurt her, I will pierce a stake straight through your heart, though I’ll make sure you suffer first. This is not a forgiveness Stefan, as you said, every sibling wants theirs own to be happy, but if I see one tear that you are responsible for, you’ll be praying to god.”
“That is understandable.” Stefan nodded his head, Bonnie sent him one last furrow of her brows before leaving and closing the door, slipping in a few words about keeping the volume down whilst doing so. “Now where we?” He licked his lips after his enquiry, as he crawled onto the bed, and cupped your face, leaning his own down closer to your own.
“In the midst of me saying that I love you back, and that I would take not doubt my sister in the slightest Salvatore, she’ll kick your ass if you hurt me; and so will I.” He kissed you, bringing your hand up to his heart, as he stared his emerald pools into your y/e/c galaxies.
“That’s not a part of my plan.” He promised, only to suffocate your attempted response with his lips once more. You were vastly aware that you had to tone down your noise, to keep Bonnie calm. You could practically feel her stare at the wall in the living room, although you were clearly in your own room. “I plan to spend forever with you.”
“That is a complicated subject, let’s not get to that conversation just yet. I’d rather spend time with your cold body than your even paler and motionless one, Bonnie will kill you if she hears whispers of that possibility.” To sway away from the idea of being like him, you pushed the duvet away from your bottom half. “How about you spend forever between my legs, and then we’ll get back to that.”
#stefan salvatore oneshot#stefan salvatore imagine#stefan salvatore fanfiction#stefan x reader#stefan salvatore smut#stefan salvatore x reader#stefan salvatore#Stefan oneshot#tvd imagines#tvd smut#tvdreader#tvdimagine#tvd one shot#tvd x reader#tvd imagine#tvd fanfiction#vampire diaries stefan x reader#the vampire diaries x reader#vampire diaries smut#vampire diaries imagine#vampire diaries oneshot#vampire diaries fanfiction
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I Will Carry You, Always (Loki x Reader)
Or, That Time Loki Was There To Comfort You
Word Count: 1054
Warnings: This deals with heavier feelings of sadness/questioning worth, loneliness, and describes a breakdown. That being said, this does end on a much warmer note than how it begins. Just a word of caution going in, just in case.
A/N: I've done a handful of fics where the reader comforts Loki, because we all know our fav Asgardian needs all the hugs, but sometimes it can be the other way around too.
Sometimes there's days where we need all the hugs as well.
May this imagine be a warm hug for you, if ever you need it ❤️
(title inspired by Carry You - Novo Amor :')
You had tried so hard to keep it together during the meeting.
You weren't sure exactly why you were feeling this... out of place with your own self. When you had woken up this morning, it felt as though you were slightly disconnected from your soul, a narrow and treacherous gap filled with the things that haunted you the most gaping out from inside of you.
You never spoke about these feelings. You felt that there were much more important matters that needed to be addressed. With the issues going on in the world that the Avengers needed to deal with, your own feelings were trivial in comparison. You'd deal with this sadness yourself, as hard as the waters were to navigate sometimes. There had been many storms like this in the past, this was nothing new. You knew that these feelings would fade, it was only a matter of when.
You kept your head down as best as you could during the meeting Tony had called that day, speaking only when spoken to and keeping your gaze on the table. You rendered yourself as invisible as you possibly could, and it felt safer that way. You were out of the way of everyone else, a casualty to be avoided.
Somewhere during the meeting, your mind drifted back in time. You thought of the child you once were, the way the world seemed effortless -- lighter even -- as if you could lift the entire universe like Atlas himself. You longed for that innocence again. You wondered how your younger self would react if ever you travelled back in time, and the thought brought tears to your eyes.
What you would do to have this heaviness disappear.
You excused yourself with a voice barely higher than a whisper and stepped out of the meeting room briskly. Your heart pounded in your chest as you thought back to the others in the meeting room. Did they notice you? Did any of them see the way your eyes turned glassy before you raced out of the room.
You hoped not, but there was a near-imperceptible part of you that wished someone did. Anyone, really.
You made it halfway down the hall to your room when you heard someone stepping cautiously behind you. You slowed your pace, but didn't turn around. You didn't want to face whoever had decided to follow you, you didn't want them to see the way you were falling apart.
"Y/N?"
It was Loki. You could recognize his voice anywhere.
Maybe it was the magnitude of his presence, maybe it was his tone of voice, maybe it was even the fact that he knew darkness better than anyone, you weren't really sure. But something about the way he said your name nearly brought you to your knees right there on the spot. You couldn't fight the sob that betrayed you as it escaped louder than you anticipated, and you covered your mouth quickly with one hand.
Your shoulders trembled as you cried, and you felt a warm hand rest softly on your shoulder as Loki gently spun you around to face him. You kept you eyes shut, moving your hands to cover your face as best as you could so he wouldn't have to see you this way.
"Oh, Y/N..."
Loki didn't ask you what was wrong, he simply pulled you close and wrapped his arms around you protectively. You clung onto him as if the world depended on it, and one of his hands moved to caress your hair softly as the other traced small circles comfortingly across your back.
"I'm sorry," you squeaked, keeping your cheek pressed against his shoulder. You were pretty sure you currently looked as though you had crawled through hell and back, and you didn't want Loki to see you this way.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You weren't sure why you kept apologizing, but you repeated the words over and over until they felt hollow in your mouth. You heard Loki make a sound of protest as he kissed your temple, almost as if to silence your apologies.
"Stop that." He commanded, his voice gentle yet firm as his grip tightened against you. "Stop saying such things."
"I-I'm sorry."
That earned a halfhearted chuckle from the god, as well as a short breathy laugh on your part as well.
Loki stepped away from you slightly, moving his hand to your chin and encouraging you to look at him. His eyes met yours, and concern filled his features as he took you in. You could see the knowledge of thousands of years in his gaze, and with it, uncountable years of pain seemed to surface in his green eyes as well.
You opened your mouth to explain, but Loki shushed you gently. He shook his head with the most gentle smile gracing his features.
"You don't have to explain." He murmured warmly. "I understand."
You sniffled, and Loki brushed the tears off your cheeks with the softest of touches.
"I understand more than you'll know." He whispered once more, bringing his arms back around you. He tucked your head protectively under his chin as you returned his embrace and held on as tightly as you could.
"Thank you."
It felt nice to have Loki here. It was different, and scary at first -- especially when you weren't able to hold in your tears in front of him -- but now that the Asgardian was here holding you in his arms, you didn't want him to leave.
"You're so strong, Y/N." Loki kissed the top of your head as he spoke in a low voice. "You have endured so much, and here you still are, with a heart of pure gold."
You couldn't help but let out a small bitter laugh. "And how do you know that?"
"We share the same sadness." Loki whispered. "I feel it. It runs through my soul the same way it runs in yours."
You didn't reply, and instead you inhaled deeply as you let your head rest against Loki's chest. There was something just so warm and real about him. You could hear his heartbeat, and it comforted you like the weight of a soft blanket.
"You're safe, Y/N." Loki whispered, placing one last gentle kiss to your forehead. "It will be alright."
Taglist: @startrekkingaroundasgard @delightfulheartdream @justasmisunderstoodasloki @marvels-mischief @k8obr @pastyoverlord265 @lowkeytesss @levylovegood
#loki#loki x reader#loki x reader imagine#loki x reader angst#loki x gender neutral reader#loki imagine#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson imagine#loki x reader hc#loki x reader headcanon#loki hc#loki headcanon#mcu loki#loki oneshot#loki x reader oneshot#the avengers
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Whumptober No. 3: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But...
Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”
Summary: Nothing could’ve prepared Geralt for Jaskier being brought to Kaer Morhen, nor for the sight of the bandages on his injured hands. Despite what happened on that mountain, Geralt wants to know who did this - who took away something so integral to the core of Julian Alfred Pankratz. But he doesn’t get the answer he thought he would.
Words: 2k
A/N: DAY THREE LET’S GOOO! And after two and a half months, I’ve finally gotten another witcher fic out! It feels good! I missed writing for this fandom so much (and it’ll help me ease back into Spider’s Thread), and this was SUCH a fun prompt fill for today. This was inspired by some of That Jaskier Content from the latest s2 trailer, and it’s... implications about the state of his hands. I hope you enjoy!
[CW: Hurt/No Comfort, Torture Aftermath, Hand Injury]
--
Nothing could have prepared Geralt for this.
No, there was nothing in this world - not even a miracle - that could’ve prepared Geralt for the moment he sensed a portal - one of Yen’s portals - outside the keep.
For the moment he ran out to a balcony and saw her there, having somehow - despite everything he believed, everything he thought he knew for certain - having survived the Battle of Sodden Hill; for the moment he’d lay eyes on a very much alive Yennefer… with a bard’s arm drawn over her shoulder to support him.
His hair was longer now, down to his jaw, and a burgundy leather jacket - adorned with ribs and folds just like that red doublet he wore as he looked down at him on that mountain, heart shattered - lay in tatters on him, bandaged hands peeking out of it’s sleeves…
He didn’t look the same - Gods knew he didn’t look the same - but Geralt still recognized Jaskier.
He was shuffled into one of the many, many spare rooms almost immediately, and Geralt tried talking to Yennefer. Of course, she’d been tense with him, but that was alright. At least she was alive to be tense with him. He’d take that over a particular alternative any day.
Speaking of tense...
The keep had never felt so cold as right now, when Geralt of Rivia stood in the doorway of Jaskier’s impromptu room. Here, the bard sat in an old chair, in front of a desk he did not look like he’d use to write on anytime soon. No, he looked at the wood slab despondently, not even seeming to notice Geralt.
So, he spoke up, speaking to Jaskier, his companion of twenty years, for the first time since that mountain.
“Jaskier… you’re here.”
Jaskier didn’t look at him, but he did speak.
“Wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know where else to go, and even if I did, Yennefer insisted - didn’t think I’d be safe anywhere else. Can you believe that? Yennefer of Vengerberg has a soft spot for me. The end of days may very well be upon us.”
His voice was hoarse. Geralt knew it must have been from screaming. His eyes drew down to Jaskier’s hands, where patches of horrendous blue and gods-damned purple peeked out from slivers of space between the bandages that showed his open skin.
“Your hands…”
“Oh, these old things?” Jaskier looked down at them, “Well, Yenny did her best, but they still hurt like a bitch to play with. I won’t bestow new ballads on the world for a while yet. Sorry if you expected me to sing your praises…”
But his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t do that even if his hands were as good as they were that day in Posada, or in Cintra, or on that mountain…
Geralt pursed his lips, trying to hold back his question. He didn’t deserve to know, he knew that, but he had to…
“...Who did this to you?” he spat out.
Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet the Witcher’s, and he laughed. It wasn’t like before - like the sunrise in the spring, like the bloom of buttercups, like love and joy and all the things he came to equate with Jaskier’s laughter, however unconscious, unadmitted these comparisons were. No, it was an empty, sardonic, quietly angry thing.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That’s why I asked.”
“And for what?” he asked, “So you can tear some fucker to shreds for laying a hand on me? Because you think I’m still your naive companion that would swoon at the thought of you exacting revenge on him for my sake? So you can make some grand gesture of brutality?”
“I’m not the one of us enamored with grand gestures.”
Jaskier tilted his head back and huffed. The shift in his movement made his hair move a bit, and Geralt realized he missed that little swoop - the little… floof, even - of hair that went down his forehead before, when his hair had been shorter.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said “us” about me and you.” Jaskier remarked, “Twenty years, and you acknowledge that I was something to you. Not sure what, but something.”
“You were…”
Jaskier’s eyes widened as if he remembered something, “Oh! Right! I remember - a shitshoveler. The catalyst for all your plights, something life would bless you by taking off your hands.”
Guilt sliced into Geralt like a kikimora’s claws.
“Looks like life heard “taking” and “hands” and went straight to me…” Jaskier huffed with the ghost of amusement with himself, looking down at his hands.
“Of course you can still joke.”
Jaskier shrugged, “Not much else to do. They took my lute, and my ability to play it, but they haven’t taken my wit.”
He crossed his legs.
“The funny thing is…” he said, staring down at the cracks in the table in front of him, “There was a little bit there where, if you’d apologized, I would’ve forgiven you. But… there wasn’t a trace of you to speak of after that hunt. Nowhere I went. Not that I went looking.”
“I didn’t have time to look for you, either.” Geralt said, “I was with Ciri.”
Jaskier snapped his gaze up.
“Oh, come now, Witcher.” he said with venom Geralt only ever knew from bigoted villagers that Jaskier had tried to change the minds of with his songs before, “Does your prolonged lifespan render you timeblind, or has your head been so far up your ass for so long that you can’t even properly tell time anymore?”
“I-”
“Two years, Geralt.” he said, “A blink of an eye for you, maybe, but that’s how long it was between that damned dragon hunt and the fall of Cintra. Two years you could have found me, before Cintra fell, before-”
He snapped his jaw shut.
“Before who?”
“No, Geralt!” he snapped, slamming his hands on the table to help him stand up. It seemed that his anger stopped him from realizing how bad that would hurt, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Geralt tried to step forward, but it was like the ground between them was covered in hot coals, and Geralt’s feet couldn’t have been more bare.
Once the pain seemed to quell, Jaskier’s eyes opened, and he glowered at the Witcher.
“You don’t get to know. You don’t get to make that bastard beg for mercy and act like that fixes anything - as if it does anything but conflate your ego that is so, so massive despite how much you hate yourself. You don’t get to take revenge on my behalf. You don’t get to act like this,” he held up his hands, “is anything compared to what you did to my heart.”
“I’m sorry-”
“And you DON’T GET TO SAY THAT NOW.” he screamed, killing Geralt’s words before it could leave his lips.
Geralt saw tears in his eyes as he huffed shaky breaths.
“You don’t get to say it like some off-hand statement, only brought up since it’s relevant.” he said with a wavering voice, “You don’t get to only say it now that I’m here, fallen right in your lap because Gods knew where else Yennefer could take me. And you don’t get to say it like it means anything now.”
“Now?”
Jaskier lowered his gaze.
“...I sort of figured you were embarrassed. That you were too scared to get your head out of your ass, like you are with a lot of things, but once you did, I would’ve…”
He sighed.
“But I heard you went to Cintra. Heard you went to claim your child-surprise.”
“What does Cirilla have to do with this?” he asked.
“Who do you think he asked about with each bone he broke?” Jaskier asked, snapping his gaze back to Geralt, “You? If it were just you, I would’ve…”
He sighed.
“That isn’t the point. When I heard that after twelve years of running from your claim, you hauled your arse to Cintra to protect her, I realized that you were always capable of going back to unfinished business, to scorned places of the past - you could always do it, if it was for the sake of something important enough to you.”
Jaskier lowered his gaze again, smiling sadly - smiling bitterly. It was an odd thing, a bitter smile, but Jaskier, like a fine doublet, wore it well.
“I just wasn’t.” he said, “I’m not your destiny, or your djinn-bound soulmate. I was just a bard.”
My bard. Geralt wanted so badly to say.
“What could I have said?”
Jaskier’s lower lip quivered as he looked at the Witcher near-dumbfounded, as if his incredulousness were a dagger that cut him deep. He leaned back against the table.
“You tell me.” he shrugged, “For those two years, I was still stupid enough that anything would have worked. Really, I wished some of my eloquence rubbed off on you, and I could’ve gotten a plea that, in a spur of irony, I was one of the few blessings life ever granted you, but anything that sounded remotely like an apology would have worked.”
He put his hands on his hips. Geralt could tell how hesitant he was.
“...At least, it would have made me think I was worth an apology in your eyes, and I was worth all the work it could have taken, tracking me down to say it.”
He rubbed a patch of cloth on his trousers with his thumb. Geralt didn’t miss how the corner of his lip twitched.
“At least, I could’ve known that what you said really was just a product of the heat of the moment, sprung forth by a misplaced attempt at levity, and there was no truth to it. I was so desperate that I would have taken anything if it meant I’d stop missing you.”
“You obviously stopped missing me eventually.”
Jaskier threw his head back again, “Wrong again, Geralt.”
He stood up straight again and walked across the floor, which, to Geralt, was still littered with hot coals he couldn’t dare step over.
“Do you really think that the venom in your words - the spit from your lips - the fury in your eyes could clear you from my mind? From my heart?” he walked right up to Geralt, though the space between them felt like it was pushing the Witcher away from Jaskier like a magnet.
“Do you really think that anything but the Gods themselves could’ve made me stop missing you?”
Geralt couldn’t say anything. Hearing Jaskier’s words… it was like a vocal hex, like someone had sewn his very lips shut.
(Perhaps if he had done so himself before that day on the hunt, things wouldn’t have gone so bad…)
(No, no, he still would’ve found a way to ruin things. He was Geralt of Rivia, after all.)
Jaskier was only inches away from him now - a distance like something from a dream, after they’d been distant for so long… but even though this was the closest their bodies had ever been to one another, the Witcher knew that Jaskier’s mind - his heart - was as far away from Geralt as it could ever get.
Jaskier was the one to break eye contact - as if he was still terrified of giving the Witcher the chance to break anything - and he looked down to his feet.
“...If you want to know who broke my hands, Yennefer knows more than I.” he said, “She’s the one that found me, told me more of who he was. All I have is a name for a face.”
Geralt turned to leave. Jaskier grabbed his wrist.
The touch burned.
“But…”
Jaskier lifted his head and looked Geralt in the eye.
“...You want to know who did this to me? Who ruined me? Who broke me?”
Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul, the ice blue of his irises piercing him like shards.
“Go look back on that mountain.”
#whumptober2021#no.3#''who did this to you?''#fandom#fanfic#broken hands#torture#torture aftermath#hand injury#the witcher#jaskier#geralt of rivia#geraskier#my writing#mine
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p ☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? 💕💕
☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? (doing this)
Word Count: 1,864
Also on AO3 [masterpost]
Two years after the world didn’t end, Team Free Will 3.0 started traveling.
They didn’t always stick together, or even stay in the United States (Sam and Eileen made the trip to Ireland), but they knew they all still had a home in the Bunker.
It was simultaneously freeing and terrifying to be in control of their own fates, something that Sam, Cas, and Jack had all taken in stride. While Eileen struggled at times, Dean was the only one held back by it, as much as he tried not to be. The moment he had first realized that his life was not his own, he’d fought against it out of instinct and righteousness, but now that he had it…
As much as Castiel and his brother both assured him that he was who he was on his own terms, rather than whatever Chuck’s machinations had wanted to him to be, he worried he didn’t know himself. He was just as adrift as he had been in his teens and twenties, desperately trying to emulate his father in order to find a sense of self; as he had been freshly back from hell, violent and afraid of everything he had done and become; as he had been standing in that graveyard with God telling him to kill when he knew revenge wasn’t what his mother would have wanted and wasn’t what he truly wanted.
Castiel had told him in his confession, his brother in several passing speeches over a lifetime, and Dean himself had said it straight to God’s face, but was it true? Who or what was he outside of saving people and hunting things, outside of the narrative Chuck had constructed his entire lifetime?
The vastness of the question was enough to make anyone spiral, so he tried to avoid it.
Charlie helped when she came over. With Sam and Eileen abroad, and Cas all too willing to have deep conversations Dean wasn’t ready for as much as he loved him, she and Dean became closer. She had been staying at the Bunker for a time, not long after Jack and Billie brought her back. She, too, was finding it difficult to adjust to the new world they found themselves in – she had tried for a full year and a half to get her legs under her on her own, but the world had changed in the six years before she had been brought back. Even though she had managed to reinvent herself numerous times before, it was difficult. The Winchesters were more than willing to offer her a place to stay in the meantime.
It worked well for everyone, though it was particularly chaotic now that Sam and Eileen were taking a brief vacation abroad. Dean was constantly with his two best friends (one of whom was his lover), as well as Jack. Charlie and Cas had become close, something that Charlie had deemed “WLW/MLM solidarity” (neither Dean nor Cas knew what that meant). To Jack, Charlie had taken the role of cool aunt, which was both wonderful and terrifying in equal regard, especially given that Jack was, at this point, back to being in a body his own age with his original powers rather than those of a god. The combination of a super-powered six-year-old and a nerdy LARP-enthusiast was certainly an interesting one, especially given how their energies fed and built on each other’s.
It was this merry band that found themselves inside an art museum one hot August afternoon.
Charlie and Dean wandered the lower gallery for a short while as Castiel took Jack through a more kid-focused section, and for a time they wandered in silence.
“So how are you today?”
“You live with me,” Dean responded, only to be faced with a shrug. “How are you?”
“Today’s been good,” Charlie said with transparency. “I woke up again. Started sewing more of my Triss costume – from The Witcher video games, not the show, you know? Now I get to hang out with friends and see some pretty cool art. Maybe I’ll apply for another job today, or bake some bread, or we can finish getting me all caught up on Game of Thrones.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Dude, spoilers!” She looked straight to him, and Dean shook his head. “Anyway, you’re dodging the question by asking about my awesome life. Not cool, so spill.”
Dean sighed as he walked by another painting of fruit. “I don’t know, Charlie. Could be better, could be worse.”
“Figured out who Dean Winchester is yet?”
“Do any of us truly know who we are?” Dean quipped back.
“Really?”
“Lil’ existentialism never killed anyone,” Dean said with a shrug. “But no, not yet. It’s all still just a big…mess…of what’s him and what’s me.”
“Well, here’s a start for you: Dean Winchester is my friend, and always will be, regardless of whatever some crack writer says.”
“Pretty sappy, but I’ll take it.”
“Shut up.”
Dean Winchester is a friend.
When Cas and Jack rejoined the pair a little later, they all wandered up to the 12th to 19th century European gallery. Jack and Charlie broke away when they came across the tapestries. Castiel, however, was drawn to a painting a little further in. The gallery was still and quiet as Dean joined him.
“St. Sebastian, huh?” Dean said, reading the label. “Know him?”
“My memory of 200 BCE is muddled at best,” Castiel said. “I don’t think so. The painting is beautiful, though, if tragic.”
Dean looked at it again, trying to see what Castiel saw. A beautiful mouth was twisted in pain as arrows lodged in the body, unstoppable. The arms were contorted and restrained, rendering punishment inescapable. The eyes were wide and dark, looking upwards as if begging for divine intervention that would never come.
In it, he saw himself. He saw his struggles with faith in a higher power, with the needless suffering he and his little family had been put through. He saw his loss, his fear, the control he lost when he realized he would never be free from Chuck. What he didn’t see was the anger.
Beyond that, however, he saw Castiel. He saw Cas’ expression when the Mark had worn Dean down, when he had thrown Cas to the floor along side the corpses of the Stynes. It was the same loss, the same fear. The expression was akin to brokenness yet not shattered. He was still faithful, still true. It was the same look on his face when he had confessed in the dungeon. Beautiful but tragic.
What had Dean ever done to deserve that resoluteness, that level of trust in spite of the fear.
“I’m sorry,” he started, words catching in his throat. How did he even begin to make up for all he had done? Yet, it was as if Cas had read his mind. Hell, he was an angel. Maybe he just knew.
Castiel turned to him, a familiar softness in eyes not tainted by pain or prayer for intervention. Dean could lose himself in the deep blue seas.
“You’re forgiven. You’ve been forgiven.”
They stood side by side, listening to Jack’s squeals of joy only a room over, for several minutes before Castiel spoke again.
“You’re unsure of who you are,” Castiel said. It was a fact they both knew, even as Dean started to protest the topic. “I’ve already told you what I think, but let me remind you. You’re the single most loving person I have ever known. You love in spite of Chuck. You care about this broken world, even when it seems hopeless. You always have.” He paused for a long moment before saying, “In plainest terms, you’re a lover, not a fighter.”
“I don’t know about that one. Can’t I be both?”
Castiel let out a long-suffering sigh at that before wandering away to look at the other paintings.
Dean stayed by the painting of St. Sebastian for another few minutes, trying to see what Castiel saw in it before hearing Jack call for him a little way away, his high, childish voice carrying through the halls.
Dean Winchester is a lover.
Downstairs, there was a special exhibition on the history of dance. Jack practically dragged Dean in, his eyes wide and excitement palpable. Charlie and Castiel laughed and promised to catch up in a few minutes – Charlie wanted to grab a print of an art piece from the museum store. Dean and Jack wandered from exhibit to exhibit, looking at everything from classic vinyl to tap shoes. Despite the artifacts and objects, news clippings and sound bites, Jack was fascinated by a video of people swing dancing projected on the wall.
“What’s up, kid?”
“I wish I could do that.”
“You can,” Dean said. “You just have to do what they’re doing.”
Jack looked up to him, eyes wide and a broad grin starting to cross his face.
“Will you show me?”
It took a little bit of practice, and they missed more of the moves than they got, even with Jack standing on Dean’s shoes, but they both enjoyed what they were doing, which made it worth it. Jack’s smile as he danced up to Charlie and Castiel a few minutes later made it all the more precious.
“Come dance with us!” he called out before rushing back over to where Dean still stood.
“Having fun?” Cas asked as
“Cas!” Jack called. “Come on, come on, come on!”
Castiel smiled and shook his head before turning to Charlie and taking her hands. They instantly fell into sync with the video, matching the moves in perfect synchronicity. Dean felt himself stop in shock as Castiel flipped Charlie over his shoulder as if it was no great feat.
“Woah, when did you learn to dance like that?”
“I do have some memories of watching humanity. I was even on Earth when this dance was invented.”
“And I took dance lessons a few years ago,” Charlie offered by way of explanation.
“I guess we’ll just have to up our game, huh Jack?”
Jack giggled, his gap-toothed smile looking all the more excited. They busted out a few new moves, even improvising for a while.
“Dude, you dance like a dad!” Charlie laughed, twirling Castiel as she did so.
Dancing there in the museum, Jack on his feet as Castiel and Charlie watched on, Dean came to a final realization of the day.
Dean Winchester is a father.
As the day drew to a close, the group started to head out. Jack clung to Dean’s back, wiped out after a long day of dancing and wandering the museum. He watched the birds fly overhead in the golden light as they wandered to the car. Cas took the backseat with Jack, who promptly fell asleep.
“This was fun,” Charlie said, setting the bag with her art print on the seat between her and Dean. “It’d been a while since I’d gone out like this.”
It had been fun. It was nice to enjoy the world rather than save it.
Even if he was still working on figuring out who he was, Dean finally felt content.
#fluff#domestic fluff#supernatural#spn fic#dean winchester#castiel#charlie bradbury#jack kline#kid!jack#spncreatorsdaily#creativecavier#userdee#userstarry#userpris#rambleoncas#tuserari#usershey#slipper007writes
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Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ
The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people.
Requested: no.
Word Count: 2092
Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function.
Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked.
Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked.
For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either.
God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?
In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles.
“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back.
It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.
Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back.
The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer.
“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”
“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”
Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least.
“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you.
His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words.
You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”
“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”
“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”
“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”
Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”
You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic.
“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.
What a nice thing to say to someone.
“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”
“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking.
Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?
You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind.
“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”
“W-why is that?”
You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”
Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”
Good question.
“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”
“O-oh... you mean like a...”
Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”
Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”
“Sure.”
Were you and Eren...?
“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction.
“How so? Do you paint?”
“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.
“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out.
Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”
“The shadow?”
“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”
You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information.
“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”
“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”
The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”
“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”
“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”
You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.
“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”
Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”
“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”
Bertholdt tenses.
“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”
“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”
“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”
Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away.
“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile.
“Y-you’re starting again?”
“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper.
Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart.
And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you
#bertholdt x reader#bertholdt imagines#bertholdt hoover x reader#bertholdt fubar x reader#bertholdt fubar imagines#attack on titan x reader#attack on titan imagines#attack on titan fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#aot x reader#shingeki no kyojin x reader#shingeki no kyojin fanfiction#shingeki no kyojin masterlist#aot masterlist
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Proposing a Duel ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~
Summary: Finally, after years of pining, years of waiting, is Phoenix prepared to propose to the love of his life. But with someone he parallels so intensely, nothing can ever be straightforward.
Tags: Marriage Proposal, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Arguing, Childhood Memories, they're so dumb, and bickering 5ever, but they're so incredibly in love your honor, and deserve intense happiness like this, also this is probably set in the aa5-6 timeline somewhere but Who's Counting
Additional Notes: Hello everyone! Finally managed to tackle and finish one of my 20+ Narumitsu drafts lol. I recognize that this is quite the common trope/plot with these two, but I'm of course shooting for a "yay, two cakes" situation! We simply cannot have enough proposal fics, and these two deserve all the happiness/sweetness in the world quite honestly. They're tired- let them REST.
Anyway, super excited to share this with you all, and I hope you enjoy!
You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]
It felt different. He felt different. There was a certain and light sweetness that seemed to be lingering in the air. There was a tender warmth that seemed to be burning between two forms. There was a magnetic tug that seemed to be pulling harder than usual.
Perhaps it was finally pulling towards the inevitable.
Phoenix’s breath caught in his throat at the very consideration. It had been so long after all. The entirety of his life had slowly led up to such a thing. But even still, he doubted his readiness, doubted his ability to proceed.
Though, looking at the man beside him easily dampened such doubts. Fear melted away into giddy nervousness, and worry softened into warm tingles.
Because it was Miles.
Miles.
A man who had evaded him for years. A man who had changed him for the better. A man who had beautifully fought for betterment all for his sake. A man who he’d do anything for.
A man he wanted to marry.
The direct utterance within his mind manifested a flushed smile, his head going woozy with adoration. Inevitable indeed; it felt so right to consider, so...perfect. He of course hoped his proposal would follow suit, that it would declare such deep admiration to the receiver. He wanted it to be just as wonderful as the very man-
“What is it?”
The murmured baritone snapped Phoenix from his honeyed thoughts, startling as he returned to the present.
“Huh?”
Though Miles’ stare remained trained ahead, Phoenix could still pick up on the tenderness that washed over his facial expression.
“You were staring quite intently, darling.”
The term of endearment, the tonality of his boyfriend’s voice, and the ginger facial expression did nothing to help his blush. The defense attorney’s cheeks were fiery, though his growing smile aided in the distribution of heat.
“Is that anything new? I always struggle to take my eyes off you.”
He watched with amusement as color struck Miles’ face to match, his expression crinkling into something of embarrassment.
“Nngh...” he quietly groaned, earning a chuckle from Phoenix before he continued, “Well, at least I’m the one driving then.”
“Thank God for that.”
They ventured back into comfortable silence, but affections were still reciprocated. Miles slipped a hand off the steering wheel and laid it palm-up on the console, an invitation that Phoenix immediately took. He gave his boyfriend’s hand a soft squeeze, contentedly sighing as his thoughts began to wander once more.
Hand holding wouldn’t feel the same for very long after all. There would be an even deeper connection with it, a deeper unity. Soft skin and sturdy fingers would be bordered with precious metal, a glistening reminder of their utmost promise to each other...
“Phoenix.”
The tanner man jerked back to the present once again, though not as harshly as before.
“Yeah?”
“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Are you saying I’m normally loud, baby?”
The slight rise of his boyfriend’s brow was enough to draw forth a laugh, the deeper implications plenty visible in such a mere gesture.
“More talkative than I, yes,” Miles huffed, though he quickly ventured back towards a more solemn air. “Is something on your mind?”
“Ahh...no.” A lie. And it was very dangerous to offer a lie to the man who sought nothing but the truth in every regard. So Phoenix very quickly covered with a genuine statement, a true explanation indeed. “I just...get lost in how much I love you sometimes.”
Heterochromatic eyes had averted with such a statement, and his other hand had taken purchase upon his neck. The silence that followed however, drew his gaze back towards his partner. But, following the pattern of comfort, any and all apprehension was doused by the prosecutor; the intense blush and bashful furrow on his counterpart’s face triggered giggles.
“Darling...” Miles muttered in disdain.
“It’s true!”
Silver eyes briefly flitted sideways, before the opposing man heaved a large sigh. Years ago, such a statement would likely earn some manner of reluctance or coldness. In the present though, and to Phoenix’s delight, it slowly drew forth a gentle smile once more.
“If I wasn’t speeding down a highway, I would perhaps have to kiss you,” Miles eventually murmured.
“Just perhaps?” Phoenix laughed.
“Mm...”
The prosecutor readjusted their conjoined hands, and better gripped Phoenix’s, gently bringing it to his awaiting mouth.
“Assuredly,” he said, sealing the word with a tender kiss.
It was the defense’s turn to be bashful, flushing and giggling and crumpling in on himself. It was without fail; close to proposing, and yet rendered so useless by his beloved. He doubted that would change, even well into their marriage. It hadn’t for years and years after all.
When Miles lowered their hands back to the console, Phoenix heaved a breath, easing into conversation before thoughts hoisted him away again.
“Where are we going anyway?”
There was an odd pause, coupled with what sounded like a shaky inhalation. The prosecutor did indeed answer, but through vagueness only.
“You’ll see.”
“Are we close? Because I perhaps have to kiss you too.” Just as Miles has done, he brought their hands upward, gripping the prosecutor’s just so and returning the gesture with warm lips. “Hands don’t really cut it.”
“Yes, dear. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
Phoenix grinned, and pressed a plethora of short kisses to the other man’s hand- so much so that he earned a soft whap of disdain to the face. He broke into giggles then and freed the prosecutor from his onslaught, simply opting to sit and wait for their arrival, albeit anxiously. He hoped it was a proper location. He hoped it was someplace fitting. He hoped it would be a date worth turning into something more. He wasn’t sure if he could stand the idea of having to push things back any longer; the ring had already been in his possession for one day too many.
The car finally slowing down brought him from his thoughts, and he blinked as he attempted to process where they were. It didn’t seem to be a fancy restaurant or anything typical of Miles; in fact, it seemed like they were just in some random part of the city. And yet, there seemed to exist an odd sort of...familiarity to it all, a sense of dejavu gnawing on his mind.
Regardless of the swirling thoughts, he snapped to action the moment they stopped. The second Miles parked the car, he was leaning across the center console, following through with his previous statements and tugging them both into a proper kiss. The pair sighed and melted against each other’s mouths, sucking and gliding and caressing.
When Phoenix attempted to slide his tongue betwixt his partner’s lips however, did the prosecutor lean back and break their connection.
“Not so fast, Wright,” he tutted, though his brow was playfully cocked, “Can’t have you sullying this date.”
“Me? You’re the one who’s irresistibly gorgeous.”
Miles rolled his eyes, causing the tanner man to chuckle, before he poised himself to depart the vehicle.
“I rest my case.”
Phoenix continued with his mirth, but had no further objections; no, he didn’t need to sully their date at all. There would be plenty of time for intimacy, but only one chance to present such a momentous inquiry. So he exited after his boyfriend, and walked around the car to be by his side.
Gazes were soft once more upon meeting, and the prosecutor offered a hand for Phoenix to take. He did so happily, and allowed his partner to lead. In doing so however, perplexity joined the mix, his wavy brows furrowing as he continued to try and place...where exactly they were. It wasn’t exactly a park, or a restaurant, or any discernible destination at all. It merely seemed like Miles was leading him down a sidewalk- and was his hand...trembling?
His face scrunched with further confusion, the two of them continuing to wind through buildings. Soon however, buildings opened up to a very particular scene. Rounding a corner stopped him dead in his tracks. Gazing upon the openness before him smacked his brain with a plethora of memories. He saw many a picture, heard swaths of innocent laughter, and felt rushes of old warmth...
“Remember this spot?”
Miles’ murmur managed to reach him, but his composure still swayed. Tears almost pricked his heterochromatic eyes, his nose tickling with the threat of their manifestation. Because yes, he absolutely did. The small canal, the grassy hill, the surrounding quaint homes, the sunset...
It was a scene from their youth. It was a place they had frequented together as grade schoolers. It was a place where dreams had been discussed, and bonds had been formed.
And God, was it perfect for taking said bonds even further.
Phoenix had to keep a hand over his mouth for a few beats, attempting to keep his composure at bay. Breaking down in front of Miles wouldn’t be anything new necessarily, but it would produce suspicion.
Thankfully, the prosecutor didn’t seem to notice- at least, not yet. For he simply snickered and tugged, softly beckoning with their conjoined hands.
“I take that as a yes. Come on then.”
He led them both down the old path, strolling in the golden light of the setting sun. Phoenix could almost see flashes of their grade school selves as they happened along, laughing and shoving and playing. And, through the sparkles in his vision, could he also picture the glistens of precious metal, of gemstones shining with promise and love.
He had to bite his cheek to keep himself in check. When would be the proper time to ask anyway? It felt so close, but so very far. It felt so perfect, but so out of reach. Maybe it would just come to him. Maybe the stars would align. And if Miles’ hand was still oddly trembling, he could no longer tell; his was too.
The prosecutor slowing down pulled him from his running thoughts, but made the situation all the more real. He allowed Miles to lead him into the grass, onto one of the slopes neighboring the sidewalk. Mismatched eyes rapidly blinked to shoo away tears; it was such the perfect parallel. It was such a beautiful nod to their roots.
“Love, I didn’t think you remembered this!” he strained out, beginning to beam immensely, “It was so long ago.”
“Well of course I do. You were the better part of those years after all.”
“Miles...” Phoenix heaved a breath, his smile beginning to rival the light shining upon them. “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? This was so thoughtful.”
He watched with delight as the opposing man flushed something terrible, his silver eyes averting and his grasp retracting.
“Ngh...” he softly groaned, before dismissively waving a hand and moving to sit, “It’s merely a trip down memory lane, that’s all.”
“Yeah but...” Phoenix couldn’t help but laugh, latching on to some teasing for a bit of emotional respite, “Esteemed Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth sitting in the grass for me?”
Miles seemed to stiffen a bit, coupled with another crawl of red across his visage.
“Is that really such an oddity?”
“A bit, yeah! It’s different than what we normally do.” Phoenix snickered a bit more, before he lowered himself to the ground as well, sitting flush against his partner. The mirth departed his voice then, his tone traveling back towards a more earnest warmth. “So it’s just...It’s really sweet. And meaningful.”
And utterly perfect for what he had planned.
He watched as Miles’ face immensely softened, though silver eyes averted once more. Phoenix took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to the offered cheek, before moving to nestle his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He sighed a contented breath upon doing so- particularly when he eventually felt Miles’ head snuggle against his.
Part of him was anxious, what with a brewing proposal swirling around in his depths. But another part hushed him, and told him to simply enjoy the scene for a moment. It was a lovely contrast against their usual life; just getting to take a few moments of calm hush with his beloved, in a place that meant so much to them. The sunlight was warming, his partner’s body was soothing, and the air was enticing.
Mismatched eyes half-lidded, and he hummed amidst the quiet. He wanted it to continue. He wanted to stay in the moment forever. But the other half of him began to cry out for attention. The other half drove him to speak, to drive the peace towards partnership.
“God, Miles...How did we even get here?”
“It’s been a long road, hmm?” the prosecutor murmured after a few beats.
“Yeah. Crazy to think I’m here with you like this. It was always a dream of mine.”
“I concur.”
“So proper,” Phoenix snickered, moving to press another kiss to the opposing man’s cheek.
“Hush,” he huffed. Before Phoenix could nestle back downwards however, Miles turned his head and captured their mouths for a proper kiss. And just as soon as the kiss started was he rising to stand, stoically and handsomely staring out towards the departing sun. He seemed to let out a shaky breath, before he continued in solemn tones. “As children, when I sat with you here, I...couldn’t help but look to the future, and imagine what could be. To think that it’s realized now, and far more than I ever pictured...”
He heaved again, and seemed to look downward at his feet.
“And to think that it could continue...”
Phoenix’s heart leapt into his throat; how was it that Miles was perfectly setting him up? How was it that he was meticulously laying the puzzle pieces out? It was almost like he knew, like he was aware of the ring burning brightly in his pocket.
“Phoenix...”
It was time. Oh God, it was time. It was like some divine forces yanked him upward, piloting him towards the start of a new beginning. He no longer questioned it. He no longer felt apprehensive. He only felt entirely driven to begin.
“-Miles, I adore you,” he blurted, butting in and rambling without much control, “I love you so much. I can’t imagine being with anyone else but you. You’re gorgeous, and amazing, and so important to me, and...”
He could feel his partner’s eyes on him. He could feel the burn of their bodies. He could feel the very question hanging in the air between them. His chest tightened, his eyes watered, and his extremities quivered...Yet he still managed to reach for the life changing box in his pocket, and poised himself to get down on one knee.
“And so I have to do something I’ve thought about since I met-“
“-Hold it!”
The sudden objection from his boyfriend startled him, causing him to crash down upon his knee as opposed to a gentle descent. He winced a bit at the impact, but physical pain was quickly replaced by emotional; Miles looked...appalled. Phoenix felt his chest squeeze immensely, coupled with a croaked utterance of the prosecutor’s name.
“Wh- Miles?”
He watched with further horror as his counterpart backed away, heaving and wringing his fists a plenty. Miles even went so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose with a hand, sighing and straining a cursed sentence.
“I cannot believe this...”
The defense lawyer trembled, the words piercing a crack in his heart. He had been wrong. He had been overzealous. He had pushed Miles too far. He had backed himself into an unlovable corner yet again.
He opened his mouth to speak, to question, to beg for answers, but all that escaped was a quivering breath. Oddly enough, the sound still managed to reach the prosecutor, because he looked back before...miraculously softening?
“-Wait wait, no. Apologies. I...” he said with a raised hand, before pulling it back in and freezing.
They both were silent for several beats then, the air immensely tense and thick. Though Phoenix felt slightly better that his beloved no longer appeared...disgusted, his heart still ached something terrible. He was confused, and downtrodden, watching his boyfriend closely for any further reactions.
React he did; he shifted more into the typical tense nervousness, pulling at his shirt and avoiding eye contact. Numerous deep breaths also heaved from the prosecutor, the exhalations sounding surprisingly shaky. Though it was likely only seconds, the quiet felt like hours, Phoenix clambering for any sign he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.
And it was a wonder he doubted his partner so. It was crazy that his anxiety still got to him. The traumatic scars really did run immensely deep. But regardless, Miles finally provided, looking back and turning the situation around.
“My darling,” he began, his silver eyes interlocking with heterochromatic, “I am...so sorry for startling you. I just...have no idea how we possibly managed...”
With that, the prosecutor reached into his own pocket, and presented something that connected all the glittering puzzle pieces together.
Oh.
Oh.
Every ounce of apprehension washed away. Every bit of discomfort fizzled into nothingness. Every drop of sadness evaporated into thin air. And all was replaced by the most dazzling, incredible warmth Phoenix had ever experienced.
Because it was a box, much like the one he still had in his own hand.
Suddenly, everything made sense. He had brought him out here with identical intentions. He had sweetened his tongue with the same question. He had been preparing to go down the same road, and was startled by the abrupt change in plans.
They had both tried to propose to each other. They had both tried to ask for each other’s hand.
Phoenix wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sob, and subsequently settled for a mixture of both. His free hand clapped over his mouth, and he quivered from tears and mirth alike.
“Miles? Miles?!”
Through the glaze, he could see the prosecutor shaking his head. And over his trembling vocalizations, he could hear the strained quality his boyfriend’s voice had taken.
“Always throwing me for a loop, Wright.”
“Oh my God!” Phoenix laughed, rubbing at his eyes with a hand as he attempted to compose himself. He was overwhelmed, so delightfully overwhelmed. Because two opposing rings meant they were on the exact same page. Two pieces of beautiful metal signaled each other’s answer.
His laugh choked off with more of a sob, and he peered through his fingers to get a look at his boyfriend. Miles had his head turned away, a hand grasping his face once more. Was he crying as well? Or trying not to? Whatever the case, the very consideration sent further tears down the tanner man’s cheeks.
“I...I love you,” he rasped.
“I...” Normally smooth and cool vocals were shaky and taut, the prosecutor clearing his throat before attempting again. “I love you too, dearest.”
The situation beautifully plateaued, the two men taking numerous beats to compose themselves. Neither moved. Neither said anything. Neither made any sort of advance with such a dear connection woven between them.
Phoenix continued wiping his tears and blowing out cleansing breaths. He slowly became aware of the fact that he was still on one knee, still poised to officially pop the question. Though, how was he to go about it? And with an opposing ring in the playing field? He felt inclined to inquire.
“Love?”
He watched as the prosecutor straightened, smoothing out his dress shirt and composing himself something proper. It looked very much like how he recovered in court after a sudden blow, scrambling back from an emotional edge and easing back into stoicism.
“Yes?” he answered after a few beats, though his voice was still thickened.
“What...what do we even do now?!” Phoenix laughed, his free hand traveling to rest upon his neck.
“Well,” Miles began after heaving another cleansing breath, “If we’re getting into technicalities, I’ve had this planned for months.”
The sheen in Phoenix’s eyes flashed with a new spark, the tears glistening with fire. No, not just an opposing ring- a rival ring. It seemed that old habits died hard.
“So? I’m the one on one knee right now! I beat you to it.”
“And? I don’t believe you had any sort of plan regarding this.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m trying to marry you, Phoenix,” Miles said matter-of-factly, tapping his bicep in the normal way, “Ergo, I know you better than perhaps the back of my own hand.”
The tanner man wanted to laugh at the courtroom persona his partner had suddenly adopted, argue with the points being brought to the table, and melt at the fact that Miles Edgeworth wanted to marry him. Unfortunately, he was incapable of anything of the sort; the truth was a little too on the nose.
“Ahh...” was all he sheepishly managed, his free hand grasping his neck harder.
He watched as Miles cocked a brow and gave him a knowing look, furthering the blush that gripped his cheeks.
“Out with it then.”
“Okay...Maybe I was about to start winging it...”
“Mm, as always.”
“But so what?” Phoenix exclaimed, “I’m always ready to get into how much I adore you, and why I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else, and-“
“-You are not about to advantageously segue, Phoenix Wright.”
The defense attorney burst out laughing, finally standing back up and closing the distance between them.
“Miles!” he comedically whined, giving his boyfriend’s chest a gentle shove, “Dammit, you do know me a little too well.”
“Indeed. Which is why I feel more than apt to be the first one to proceed.”
“No! I was ramping myself up towards a big speech and everything.”
“As was I. I’ve dreamed of this since I was young.”
“And you think I haven’t?!”
The prosecutor’s face devolved into more of his usual scowl, his arms lacing across his chest. It was quite the sight really, what with his eyes still containing wisps of moisture. Still, the strange contrast didn’t cease the pair’s argument.
“We seem to be at quite the impasse then.”
“A bit!” Phoenix snorted.
“Is your stubbornness really going to stop us from getting engaged?”
“Is yours?”
Miles let out a harsh sigh, his annoyance becoming more and more noticeable.
“You’re being ridiculous. Why does it matter who proposes to whom anyway?”
“If it didn’t matter so much, you would have let me go for it!” the tanner man pointed out.
“You’re incredibly obstinate.”
“Haven’t you always admired that?”
“Phoenix,” Miles hissed.
“Besides, so are you!”
“Tell me, do you have a better comeback besides mirroring what I’ve just said?”
“I could always tell you to shut up and let me get on with it.”
“Oh, so romantic and well spoken,” the prosecutor snapped, throwing his hands with exasperation, “Truly makes for the sweetest memories.”
“Says you! You’re the one who started all of this. I could have proposed already!”
It was then that Phoenix’s eyes glinted once more, this time with a spark of mischievous stubbornness. In knowing him so well, Miles appeared to pick up on it, his body twitching and his brow furrowing.
“Don’t you dare-“
The prosecutor’s snarl cut off as they both leapt for the same conclusion. Knees crashed to the ground together, and boxes were hastily grappled for, the two racing for that beautiful spot.
And then something tickled Phoenix once more.
Maybe it was the way the love of his life was kneeling and fuming before him, holding a precious box in such a seething manner. Or maybe it was the way they were both treating their rings as weapons, like they were drawing them for a duel. Or maybe, it was the way they were arguing over a damn proposal.
Regardless, the tanner man was powerless, and began laughing again without much control. The sudden mirth seemed to slap the prosecutor; out of the corner of Phoenix’s eye, he could see his partner stiffen something terrible. It was likely striking even more of a nerve, but he couldn’t help it. It was so...stupidly them, and so amusing as a result.
He bent over from the force of his giggles, instinctively placing a hand on Miles’ bent knee to steady himself. The voice of reason in the very back of his head screamed danger, as an angry prosecutor could easily shove it off. But just as the situation continued to unfold in an odd manner, as did motivations. For Phoenix felt a gentle hand come to rest upon his own, squeezing as opposed to throwing.
“What’s...so funny?” he barely heard his boyfriend ask, his hesitant voice drowned out by the seamless mirth. He had to take numerous beats to sharply inhale, to attempt to get some air, before he could even consider replying.
“...This!” he gasped, wiping building tears with his free hand, “Us!”
To both his surprise and amusement, he heard what sounded like a cheerful huff from the prosecutor. Maybe he was being pulled down into the fun as well? The thought tickled the tanner man even more, and he rode another wave of giggles before fighting for further conversation.
“Miles...Miles...What the hell are we even doing?”
Yes, the prosecutor was definitely laughing now; Phoenix could hear the chuckles blending in so well with his own. It sent him into another fit, made worse by what Miles said next.
“Being...Imbecilic I suppose.”
The pair took a few moments to laugh together then, completely replacing the annoyance in Phoenix’s system with honeyed warmth once more. How typical of them. How beautiful of them. Riding an emotional rollercoaster was something of wonderful normalcy, even in what was supposed to be a special moment. Though, perhaps it actually made the moment all the more meaningful, all the more memorable.
“God! We’re so stupid...We’re so damn stupid...” the defense eventually wheezed, continuing to wipe at his eyes.
“Speak for yourself,” Miles huffed, slowly standing back up and brushing himself off.
“We’re- hey!” Phoenix laughed, erecting to give his boyfriend’s chest yet another push, “You’re an ass.”
“Oh, will the loving talk ever cease?” the prosecutor sighed with a roll of his eyes.
The tanner man continued to giggle, before he stepped even closer, nuzzling his nose tenderly against Miles’. The pair softened immensely, and the defense attorney took advantage by offering yet another kiss.
“I love you so much,” he whispered when their mouths parted.
“I love you too.”
The pair took a few beats of tender silence then, stepping down from the nonsensical energy that had been their argument. It was Miles’ turn to take advantage then; he reached with a hand to brush black hairs back into place before gently framing a damp cheek.
“I do still intend to go through with this, you know,” he murmured, before mildly cocking a brow, “Even though the mood has been thoroughly soiled now.”
“I do too. I-“ Heterochromatic eyes widened slightly, the tanner man starting like he had reached a brilliant conclusion in court. “Hey, actually...”
“Hmm?”
“Hear me out on this, okay? Going back and forth is totally our thing, right? We kinda just proved that.”
A huff and eye roll from the prosecutor drew another shaky laugh from the defense. Still, he continued.
“So what if we...propose together? Back and forth?”
He watched as a strong swath of red spread across his boyfriend’s cheeks, coupled with a furrow of his brow. Silver eyes flitted off to the side as well, a sign he was either flustered or objecting.
“That’s...”
In fearing the latter, Phoenix quickly interjected. “-I know, I know, it’s weird. And not exactly traditional. But it’s...us, you know?”
“I suppose that would indeed solve our problem after all.”
“Okay...”
The tanner man heaved a multitude of cleansing breaths, attempting to pull his composure back to the proper place. But with the element of surprise gone, with two rings in the vicinity, and with the love of his life staring through sparkles of unshed tears...He couldn’t help but shakily laugh, intense emotions swaying all over the place.
“Whew, I...Dammit! I can’t focus now-“
“-Shh,” Miles cut in, suddenly leaning closer and nestling their foreheads together, “Come here then, dearest. I believe we need to...take a moment.”
The defense’s breath caught at the proximity, but he nodded, allowing himself to get ushered away by the man before him. Nestled so close, aggressively ricocheting emotions had no choice but to settle; for there was nothing quite as soothing as snuggling up to his beloved. His mind whited out with the gentle, floral scent of the prosecutor, and the soft warmth his being provided. Though his heart was still pounding, and his eyes were still watering, it did indeed effectively walk him back to a more composed mentality. Perhaps because it reminded him just how much he adored the opposing man, and just how much he wanted to marry him.
“Better?” Miles eventually whispered.
“Yeah...” Phoenix replied, before blowing out a few more cleansing breaths. This was it. This was really it. “Okay. Okay okay...”
He leaned back then, intertwining both stares and fingers. The two shared a look of love, of reverence, of happiness, before stepping fully into the light.
“Phoenix Wright...”
“Miles Edgeworth...”
The tanner man watched as his beloved opened his mouth, but stiffened when no words followed. The tender visage furrowed back into a scowl, but thankfully, Phoenix wasn’t left in apprehension for too long.
“Curses. I had been so ready!”
Phoenix found himself laughing once again; composure was still a beast, it seemed. But somehow, by some damn graces, were words poised on his own tongue. So he gripped his love’s hand a bit tighter, and allowed them to fall.
“Well here- I knew I wanted to marry you from the moment I met you.”
The furrow on Miles’ face didn’t ease- it only turned incredulous. Naturally, Phoenix laughed even harder, and gave the prosecutor’s hand another squeeze.
“I’m serious! Even at nine years old, I could recognize my soulmate.”
Miles seemed to consider the statement, or allow the words to blanket over him. Either way, after a few beats, did he find his stride as well, steering them both towards a more solemn air.
“From the beginning, you enraptured me,” he murmured, silver eyes trained off to the side, “I felt safe around you, happy around you. And there was a deeper sort of calling that I recognized too- something brilliant and pure that I haven’t experienced with anyone else.”
“I think it was so strong and beautiful that I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Phoenix admitted.
“Indeed. It frightened me, and you know this. I denied its call initially. Or perhaps I didn’t deem myself worthy of standing hand in hand with such an incredible, intelligent, wonderful man.”
“Miles...” Phoenix murmured, his voice and face coated with disdain.
“Especially after all I’d done. So, I of course stepped away from that gorgeous light you cast.”
“But I had no intention of losing you. Still don’t.”
The two squeezed hands, before monochrome eyes slowly crept upwards to find mismatched once more.
“Nor I you,” Miles whispered, “When your hand was presented, I could only avoid its reach for so long. There was only so much running before that warmth enveloped me. No longer could I deny the deep and complex feelings you evoked within.”
“I didn’t know how to go about it, you know. Once I had your hand, I didn’t know what to do. I stumbled a bit trying to figure it all out.” Phoenix looked downward at their connection then, a warm, tearful smile overtaking his face. “All I did know was that I was so incredibly in love with you.”
He heard Miles’ breath catch, and subsequently offered a few caresses with his thumb. The prosecutor softly cleared his throat, before he managed to tenderly continue.
“I...knew I was in love with you too. The second you found me, the second you reached me, I could feel it.”
“Yet somehow we danced circles around each other,” Phoenix shakily snickered.
“I just couldn’t comprehend it. I struggled to find mutuality. Because, I of course just wanted to see you happy. I wanted nothing but the best for you. And I wasn’t sure I fit that bill.”
“You did. You do.” Phoenix softly broke their connection for the purpose of framing his partner’s face, tenderly holding and intently staring. “God, Miles, you do. I don’t think I could love someone as much as I love you. Maybe I couldn’t even wrap my head around it either.”
“And we both experienced hardships of course.”
“Yeah. But you were there for me. You took my hand as well. You guided me and made me a stronger, better person. I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for you.”
“I of course can say the same about you. You are...” Miles heaved a shaky breath himself, before reaching to mirror the touch. “...the dearest thing in my life, Phoenix. You are my light, my guidance, my foundation, and my truth. You are so incredibly important to me, and I love you more than I ever deemed possible.”
Phoenix had heard his partner speak soft sentiments before. He had experienced the deeper, more vulnerable side of the prosecutor a handful of times. But whispered in a spot from their childhood, proclaimed as they sought to strengthen their bond...
It amplified his tears tenfold, his bottom lip wobbling as awed cascades poured forth.
“I...M-Miles...Dammit...” he croaked, leading to a playful eye roll from his partner.
“Mm, so eloquent,” Miles softly huffed.
“Shh! I...” Phoenix hesitated, overwhelmed and overflowing with adoration. He felt there wasn’t much to say to top what had just been murmured- and he also knew he dangerously close to falling apart. Consequently, he softly tugged his partner closer, and locked them in a tender kiss. He couldn’t help but whimper against the prosecutor’s lips, but he hoped to instill every bit of honeyed warmth he could manage- at least until he could properly vocalize.
“You’re my home, my warmth, my dream, my everything,” he eventually murmured, his mouth ghosting against his partner’s, “I love you more than humanely possible. You make me so so happy. There is no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. So you’re kinda...stuck with me forever.”
“I would have it no other way. You have me, always.”
“Always. I’m yours.”
The two men stared at each other for numerous beats, glassy eyes peering deeply into each other’s souls. Tears ran down Phoenix’s cheeks, whereas Miles remained unshed and unbroken. But regardless, the intense emotion was palpable, the next step dangling right there for both to grab.
“So then...” Miles whispered.
“So then...” Phoenix quietly returned.
In mirroring each other, in being on the same plane, the two simultaneously lowered to one knee, far slower and less chaotic than the previous time. Instead, it was purposeful, devout, the pair entirely interlocked as they continued. They both presented their respective boxes once more, and shakily prepared for the final step.
“Phoenix Wright?”
“Miles Edgeworth?”
“Would...would you do me the extraordinary honor...and privilege...” Miles started.
“...of becoming my husband?” Phoenix finished.
It was then that he opened his box, with Miles following closely behind. And again, did he come incredibly close to breaking. Again, did he nearly lose hold on reality.
Because of course he and Miles continued to parallel. Of course they both ran with the same idea: The ring the prosecutor was presenting glistened with blue, just as the ring he presented glistened with red. They were gifting each other’s aesthetics. They deeply recognized each other, nodded to each other, and such an element would likely switch the next time they gifted rings.
The next time they gifted rings...
“I’ve waited so long to marry you, Miles...” Phoenix managed to gasp.
“I’ve pictured no one else...”
Phoenix was barely breathing, barely thinking. But still, did the words roll off his tongue, like they had been poised to do for eternity.
“So...yes.”
The preciousness finally broke the nigh impenetrable glass, a single tear rolling down the prosecutor’s cheek as he returned the deepest sentiment.
“Yes.”
Phoenix choked out a pitiful sob, and couldn’t help but tug them both upwards, his mouth finding Miles’ the second they were standing. And it was a wonder how their kiss almost immediately felt different, tasted different. It was sweeter, purer, and more profound. It was like their lips connected in a way they hadn’t before. It was something gorgeous, something new.
Perhaps it was because they were engaged. They were engaged.
Miles Edgeworth was his fiancé.
Another heaving sob from the defense attorney forced the kiss apart, and he opted to simply bury himself against Miles’ neck, beaming and crying all the while. He snuggled as close as he could possibly manage, and relished in the feeling of hands embracing him tightly. There, he attempted to compose himself, but naturally, the opposing man didn’t make things easy.
“Pull yourself together, Wright,” Miles softly jested, his voice thick with moisture, “You’re yanking me down with you.”
“I c-can’t,” he half-laughed half-sobbed.
“Mm...Perhaps I should take advantage and christen your finger with a ring first then...”
Sobs leant more towards laughter then, the defense attorney tightly hugging the prosecutor before leaning back in the embrace.
“N-nice try! We’re still doing this together.”
“We need both hands, silly,” Miles huffed before cocking an amused brow at his partner, “Though, judging by our differing composure, I relinquish my previous statement and deem it appropriate that you go first. Before you collapse on me, that is.”
“God, I love you...” Phoenix laughed, “And yeah, no promises...”
They both snickered, before turning their attention downward. Eyeing the two rings almost choked Phoenix up something terrible, but he managed to hang on by a mere thread. He focused on the band he intended to gift, the essence of his partner, fixating on completing the beautiful tradition. With a hand, he removed the precious ring from its box. And then shakily, softly, reverently, did he grab Miles’ hand with one of his own, and slip the band onto his finger with the other.
He shivered at the sight, at the ring finally resting in its proper place. But he barely had time to process before Miles began to mirror, slipping the opposing ring onto his tanner finger in return.
And then red truly danced with blue. Blue completely intertwined with red. Two colors dazzled and sparkled beside each other- just as they had for years, and would continue to do so for the rest of their days.
Phoenix could do nothing but stare for what seemed like an eternity, his trance only broken by Miles bringing their hands upward. Once more did he press soft kisses to Phoenix’s fingers, the weight of which was far greater now. The defense had no choice but to articulate.
“I’m...I’m going to marry you.”
Phoenix let out another round of gasping breaths, and was sure his smile was going to split his cheeks as he uttered the dreamlike phrase once more.
“Oh my God...I’m going to...marry you, Miles...We’re engaged.”
“We are...” the prosecutor quietly reaffirmed.
Shivering laughs trembled both bodies, before Phoenix gently pried his hands free. He immediately reached to frame Miles’ face, and the new glisten to his finger forced further cascades down his cheeks.
“We did it...” he laughed.
And the expression that had washed over his fiancé’s face was like nothing he had ever seen. It seemed to carry a level of adoration he didn’t even know existed. It seemed to be comprised of more warmth than that of the sun on the horizon. It seemed to be an expression entirely reserved for him.
All of which told Phoenix that he had, in fact, made the best decision of his life. Though, the following murmured word from his beloved hammered it in, cemented them fully on the unified plane.
“Finally...”
#Narumitsu#Narumitsu fanfiction#Wrightworth#Wrightworth fanfiction#Phoenix Wright#Miles Edgeworth#Ace Attorney#GOD LMAO#I FINALLY FINISHED IT#i wasn't expecting it to be 6k+ so#we Out Here#I'M SHAKING IN MY BOOTS THOUGH LOL LIKE#I'M STILL INTIMIDATED TO BE POSTING THESE TWO/IN THIS FANDOM#BUT I'M TRYING MY DAMNDEST HARDEST#giving me the Spookers fellas#but i just#i finished t&t and my desire to give them softness and happiness intensified TEN FOLD LIKE#GOD#THEY WENT THROUGH SO SO MUCH#THEY JUST DESERVE SOME WARMTH FOR ONCE OKAY#i simply had to throw up a crap ton of reverence or i'd pass away
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Part XXVII: Captive
Author’s Notes: N/A
Genre: Angst
Summary: Joel and the rest of his patrol group find themselves in danger. You become emotional after receiving some startling results.
Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Joel leaned forward against the counter as he wrote his entry into the log book. There wasn’t much to say. The little log cabin that acted as their first checkpoint was clear of any danger and showed no signs of tampering since the last entry. He closed the book and looked back at his two patrol partners. Marcus and Glen were resting in their respective spots. Joel figured it was time for him to do the same when he saw a shadow pass in front of one of the living room windows. His brows furrowed as his focus heightened. It could have been a number of things that he saw. Glen noticed his hardened demeanor and asked what was wrong. All Joel did in response was put one finger over his lips and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the handle of his pistol.
One of the floorboards that made up the porch creaked. The sound went away just as quickly as it appeared as if a competent being had known they made a mistake and removed their foot from it. It was at this point, Joel knew it wasn’t just some lost deer roaming around the premises. The other men followed suit and aimed their guns at the entry points. The air was very still save from the dust particles that floated in ray of sunlight across the living room. It was also eerily quiet. The three of them exchanged quick glances. Joel was about to walk up to the door when it swung open from the outside. A small group of men rushed in and immediately opened fire.
Joel ducked and crawled over to the kitchen. He flipped the table over to use it as a shield. His thoughts immediately settled on the safety of his partners before he peeked his head out to see where everyone was. Marcus was hiding behind the couch. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he stuck his hand out to shoot blindly at the attackers. Joel popped up from behind the table to shoot them. A bullet hit one of the men’s shoulder while another managed to hit another in the cheek, rendering him useless. He ducked back behind his makeshift shield a split second before a bullet could graze him.
The attackers were currently distracted by Marcus shooting at them again. Joel took this opportunity to crawl away and find another place for cover to catch them at a different angle. As soon as he peeked his head around the other side of the table, he saw a pool of fresh blood. His eyes followed it to the source to reveal Glen laying on the floor. His eyes stared blankly out at the wall in front of where his body laid. Joel quickly took cover behind the table again and gathered himself for a second before making a run for it.
With a rush of adrenaline, Joel shot at the attackers which inadvertently covered Marcus as he ran to another place of cover. He managed to wound them, but not kill any. They took cover behind the same couch Marcus used. During the few moments of stalemate, he noticed that only two took cover and if he killed one early, then that left one more…Joel’s vision suddenly went black a split second after a sharp pain shot through his head.
A pounding ache tormented Joel’s entire head. His vision first came back blurry then all at once clear. He pushed himself up from the cold cement floor into a sitting position. He noticed that it was significantly colder than before as he instinctively shivered. Large hunks of meat hung from hooks attached to the ceiling. His legs almost felt foreign under his weight as he got up. The sound of metal hitting something hard echoed into the room he was in. Following the source of the sound, he accidentally bumped into one of the hunks. As it swayed back and forth on the hook, Joel noticed features familiar to him. His eyes darted from the hair around the belly button to the nipples at the top. They widened in realization that the hunks of meat were human torsos and that the men who attacked him were cannibals.
A loud chop brought his attention back, leading him to cautiously follow the sound again. Quietly, he picked up a lead pipe off of a shelf on his way. He came to a halt at the doorway. A strange man’s back was to Joel as he hovered over a naked body on the table. One of the legs was already detached and pushed aside, almost falling off the table. The cannibal lifted his hand with the cleaver to do the same with the other leg when Joel ran up to him and pressed the pipe against his throat from behind. He gagged as the knife fell out of his hand. Joel applied more pressure against his windpipe as he brought his arms into his chest. His eyes flashed over to the bloody body on the table. If it wasn’t for the cannibal leaving the head on, he wouldn't have recognized him as his patrol partner, Marcus. Just like Glen, his eyes looked blankly on. They focused on a spot beyond Joel.
He released the pipe from its position against his throat and let him drop to the floor. Rage overtook him as he instead swung the pipe against his head. He kept at it until he was sure that he was dead. Even then, he wanted to add a couple more swings, but he knew that he wasn’t the only one he’d have to fight to get out of there. It wasn’t worth getting caught or spending extra energy on if he stayed to beat his head into a pulp. Hesitantly, he approached the dismembered body on the table and closed his partner’s eyelids before moving on to the next room.
******
Your foot tapped against the floor almost uncontrollably as you waited. You let your head fall into your hands as to avoid staring down at the stick on the counter. The sound of the door swinging open caused you to pop your head up to find Ellie on the other side of the bathroom.
“Uh, sorry. I forgot to knock.” She said in a low tone. It looked like she needed to pee, so you swiftly ushered her in and closed the door behind you. As the door clicked, you forgot to take the stick with you. Pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, you listened as she flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet. Surely she saw it just sitting there. You only stopped when she opened the door again. She stood there in front of you silently for a few moments. “Is that yours?” Her head nodded in the direction of the counter.
“Mmhmm.” You hummed and nodded. “Is it ready?”
Ellie turned and hovered over the stick. “Does two lines mean it’s ready?”
“Oh my God.” You whispered. “Fuck.” You began repeating the expletive before sitting back down on the edge of the tub.
You grabbed the stick to double check for yourself and there it was, two very distinct lines. If one line was faded, you would try to convince the nurse to administer you another test, but this seemed pretty definitive. You didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, you wanted this, but you still couldn’t help the nerves that flared up across your body. Guilt began to rise as you regretted not waiting for Joel to do this with. He would know how to feel. You continued to sit there, imagining him sitting on the edge of the tub with you. He’d take the test from your hands and double check the instructions from the box before smiling. You would imagine him engulfing you in a hug, tucking his head in your neck and mumbling some words of joy that you couldn’t quite discern.
Though the daydream offered a sense of comfort, you were snapped out of it when a real pair of arms wrapped themselves around your middle. You looked down and saw Ellie sitting next to you on the edge of the tub. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Her presence, while an accidental invasion of privacy, was welcomed. You repositioned yourself in her arms to hug her back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to curse in front of you.” You whispered into her hair.
“I’ve heard worse.” She replied with a playful tone in her voice.
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Mmhmm.” She hummed lightly.
“That this stays between us.” You wipe a tear away. “I have to talk to Joel and then the doctor.”
“Who am I going to tell?” She said, referencing the fact that you’d never seen her converse with anyone else since she first spoke in front of you and Joel.
*******
“Hey, Tommy, give me a hand with this.” A resident of Jackson yelled out. Your head whipped around in his direction. You’d been looking for Tommy all day. The resident was sitting down near the stables trying to get a horseshoe off a huff. Tommy stepped out of the shelter and came into your view.
“Tommy, hey! I hope you’re not busy now. I’ve been looking for you actually.” You said when you got closer to them.
He bent down to get a closer look at the huff. “I always have time for you; you’re family. Now what’s wrong?”
“Well, Joel and ‘em aren’t back yet from their patrol. They were scheduled to be back two days ago. I know sometimes things happen that delay their travels---”
“Exactly.” He finally pulled the horseshoe off and tossed it into the dirt. “Any number of things could have happened out there that caused them to veer off plan. Those three are some of our most experienced patrolmen. We both know firsthand what Joel is capable of.” He noticed that his words were not easing the worry written across your face. “Did you know that I spent five extra days out on one of my patrols. It was the toughest route I ever did, but every decision we made as a group was for the betterment of our survival even if it meant staying out there a little longer. Five days really isn’t normal though. I’ll tell you what, I’ll get on the walkie and ask our scavenging group to see if they see any signs of them heading back. They should still be close enough to catch Jackson’s frequency. Their route is right next to Joel’s; it should be no problem for them.”
“And what if they don’t see any signs?”
“You know what our emergency policy is. We send out a search and rescue crew if the original group is not back within six days.”
“Does that not seem like it’s too long to you?” You asked.
“Like I said, especially on longer routes, they can be delayed for a number of reasons. I know it's not what you want to hear, but we’ve wasted resources and lost lives in the past to premature rescue missions.”
“Tommy, that’s your brother! Wouldn’t you want him to go out looking for you if you were out there possibly in trouble?” You said frustratingly.
“I know he would go out and look for me when it was time. Everybody who is cleared to patrol knows what the emergency rescue policy is. They were trained for situations like this just as you were. I’m sorry.” Tommy placed a hand on your shoulder as he tried to find compliance in your eyes. “I left my radio in the stable. I’ll go and try to contact the scavenging group now. Hopefully they are still in range.” You nodded before he walked off.
#TLOU#TLOUII#TLOU2#thelastofus#joel miller#joel x reader#the last of us joel#tlou joel#tlou joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#joel x fem!reader#Joel Miller x Fem!Reader#joel miller x you
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High Sex (Dabi x Black Reader)
(Hoevember Day 15)
(Tons of AAVE this y/n is hood coded and obviously black)
You kicked open the rickety door of Dabi’s basement room in the new hideout and slumped down the stairs.
The space was dimly lit from the singular, dirty lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Candlelight flickered against the walls, and the air was thick and cloudy with the scent of burning herb.
Erykah Badu’s sweet and smoky vocals pumped from a small speaker beside him on the low set bed.
“Come in, I guess.” Dabi chuckled. “You look like shit.
“Ya mama.” You shot back, smirking.
You started to climb on his bed, when Dabi stopped you.
“Yo, take that shit off before you even think of getting in this bed.” Dabi nodded at your bloodied clothes.
You rolled your eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried about this raggedy ass bed.”
“I am, and you are too the way you’re lookin’ at it right now,” he disrupted himself to toke the blunt, “unless the bed isn’t the only thing that’s interesting you.” He smirked.
“Calm down, Walking Dead. You ain’t got nothing I want.” You gave another eye roll.
Thank god your brown skin hid the flush burning your cheeks. Dabi was propped up against the pillows wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that showed off the patch work of his burned and smooth skin. The gold surgical staples complimented his turquoise eyes, and his black hair was damp. In short he looked fine as hell, and he was right.
His smirk widened. “Do it slow, you know I like that shit.”
“Fuck you, Dabi.” You tossed your bloodied shirt at his face making him laugh.
Wriggling out of the leather pants of your costume you stood before him in nothin but a skimpy lace thong and matching strapless bra. Dabi’s gaze drank in your curves greedily.
You crawled along the bed until you collapsed at his side, and snatched the blunt from him between your long decorated nails.
Dabi had been into you since the moment he recruited you for the league, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say his attraction wasn’t at least part of the reason he’d pushed so hard to get you to join.
“So, How many families are gonna be missing a member tonight?” He asked, watching your juicy ass jiggle as you swung your feet in the air.
You shrugged, exhaling the smoke in his face. “Just a couple of lowly heroes. Nobody worth an obituary.” You shot back nonchalantly.
That was another thing he liked about you. You could be a cold bitch when you wanted to and he loved it.
“Then we should celebrate. Let me rub your booty.”
You snorted. “Who is that a celebration for? Me or you?”
“Both of us, kitten,” he laughed. “You look like you could use a good dick d-I mean rub down.”
You shot him a look and took one more drag of the waning blunt before sitting up.
“Sir, the only reason I’m here is because you have one of the only other showers in the building. It’s either this, or get spied on by Shiggy while I attempt to use his.
“Aww, babe,” Dabi touched his heart, pulling a fond expression, “so you chose to get spied on by me while you use my shower? I’m touched, y/n.”
A mellow high had begun to cloud your mind, making you drag yourself out of Dabi’s warm bed before it settled in your bones and rendered you immobile.
“What can I say?” You tossed out over your shoulder. You put a switch in your hips that had the poor man gawking shamelessly as you padded across the cold floor to his bathroom. “You’re the lesser of two evils.” With a wink, you shut yourself into his small bathroom.
You sighed as the hot water broke through the sweat on your skin. Your braids were going to be frizzy after this, but who gave a damn. It just felt so good to get clean.
Between the high and the steam you were so lost in the sensations that you didn’t hear the door click open.
“Need some help?”
“Shit, Dabi!” You jumped as he came up behind you.
He chuckled as his arms snaked around your waist and pulled you against him.
“Damn I love the way you say my name. Wish I could tell you my real one so I could make you scream it.”
You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Oh it’s like that, huh?”
“Yeah,” You could feel his long dick twitching against your ass crack and bit your lip. “It’s like that.”
Fuck.
“You couldn’t make me scream even if you tried, Walking Dead.”
“Ohhh, kitten,” he practically groaned against your neck before sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh. “That’s the third time you fucked up.”
You moaned as his pierced tongue slithered along the marked spot.
“The third?” You mumbled absentmindedly.
“Mmhmm.” His long fingers gripped at your curvy thighs before pressing against your sensitive clit.
All of a sudden, he had your thick thighs wrapped around his slim waist as he slammed you against the shower wall.
“The first,” he kissed your collarbone, “was bringing your fine ass in here in that tight ass leather outfit,” he pumped his length along your slick folds. “The second was leaving this door unlocked,” now he was slurping on your hard nipples, sending a tingle through your body.
“Fuckkk, Dabi,” you sighed as your body hummed with need.
“The third,” his blood shot, turquoise eyes fixed on to you, “is that little smart mouth of your. Cuz now I have to fuck you up.”
With that he slammed you down on his dick so hard his balls slapped.
“Ahh! Fuck!”
Dabi didn’t relent, as your cunt flexed around his length, he bounced you up and down squeezing your ass to keep control.
Every slam of his manhood into you, made stars blur in your vision. Your head felt hazy and empty of anything other than the mind numbing pleasure Dabi was assaulting you with.
“Fuck, fuck, shit! Oh my godddd, Dabi. Ahaaa~”
“What’s that, y/n? Hmm? You said you want more?”
If possible he fucked you faster, and harder. His manhood digging deep into you until the pleasure almost hurt. His abs flexed with effort and every thrust made his pelvis brush against your clit.
You could barely breathe between your screams and gasps of ecstasy. Your dark eyes remained fixed on Dabi’s pleasure filled gaze.
“God, y/n,” he half grunted, half chuckled, “you feel so fucking good. Fuck!”
If you could speak, you would say the same, but as it stood between the bud inn your system, the steamy heat clinging to your flesh, and your breathless moans, you were practically slipping into unconsciousness.
Instead, you dug your nails into Dabi’s back, not caring about the scared skin and dug your nails in as your pussy dribbled with desire.
“Don’t stop.” You sobbed into his ear, every pump of his cock making your words stutter. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeease don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he sighed, eyes rolling back as his own ecstasy washed over him. “Trust me, baby girl, I won’t.”
He slowed down the pace, enjoying the creaminess of your textured walls slurping at his dick.
He rolled his hips and pressed a kiss against your plump lips with each stroke.
“Dabiii, oh god, pleas-“
“Sshhh,” he kissed you again. “Come on, y/n. Come on this dick. Come all over it, baby.”
He was determined to drag your orgasm out of you slow and hard.
Your nails snagged into a bit of the unburned skin on his back and you dragged your long nails against it.
“Ahhh! Shiiit! Dabi!”
Your scream choked out into a whine as the orgasm finally exploded through out you. Your pussy spasmed as the euphoria washed over you. The sensation was only enhanced by your previous high and seemed to roll over you in endless waves that made your legs quake around Dabi’s waist.
With a growl of his own, Dabi pulled out to bust his load on your stomach.
By the time the two of you were done, you were practically melting into each other.
“Damn...” you muttered, your head collapsing back against the shower wall.
“Damn is right.” He replied, face buried between your breasts. He peered up at you, wearing a cocky smirk. “Looks like I do have something you want after all, babygirl.”
#high sex#bnha imagines#my hero academia#bnha#dabi x black reader#bnha scenarios#my hero fanfic#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#bnha smut#black writers#dabi x black!reader#villain dabi x villain reader smut#dabi smut#hoevember2020#aave
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89 & 30 “this isn’t what it looks like” and oral sex. Let’s do Donatello because of reasons. 😆😁
👀👀👀
Ok ima try and make this a filthy as possible cause I know you’ll appreciate it
Rated Explicit (18+ Only)
Donatello sighed.
This repair wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been at it for five hours now. Each part dissembled and reassembled yielding the same result, nothing. He’d looked at it every possible way, or at least he believed so. Donnie took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, maybe it was time for an obligatory break. You usually were here to impose those but unfortunately you were still stuck at work.
Donnie sighed, he wished you were here, he could picture you reprimanding him for pushing himself too hard all while kneading into his aching stiff muscles. He really was lucky to have a nice, caring and unfairly beautiful girlfriend.
Man you were just, gorgeous.
Donatello took out his phone, your latest message being that you were stuck at work and you’d be there late. He frowned leaning back against his swivel chair, stretching out before scrolling upwards. The two of you often sent each other all sorts of things, from insightful articles to memes to all matter of dirty things. He grinned when his eyes fell a particular text chain from a few nights ago.
It had been a heated conversation. The two of you had not seen each other for a few days, and while it had started with innocent I miss you’s it had quickly turned into wishing the other were there to devour one another. Donnie scrolled through the pictures you had sent him, each becoming more scantily clad, each making Donnie want you there right now.
He sighed putting the phone down, maybe you’d get here soon he hoped.
A shower was in order and that’s where he made his way towards. Once stripped and under the warm spray Donnie couldn’t help but let his mind wander to those images of you, you had looked so delectable in such intimate poses. There was one particular image in his mind, a perfect image of your parted lips and naked chest, he could recall the text of you saying how you wanted to swallow his cum.
Screw it, he could rub one out, he needed the oxytocin.
He hadn’t bothered holding himself in once his mind got the better of him. He wrapped his hand around his hard cock and the instant relief he felt as his tension lessened. Donnie wished his hand was your mouth, you had a gift when it came to going down on him. The warmth of your mouth, your lips so perfectly around his length, oh and if you wore lipstick...
Donnie groaned pumping himself, each languid motion a teasing sensation that shot all throughout his body. Fucking his hand hadn’t been a top priority since he started dating you, you more than provided all he needed when it came to carnal desires but just sometimes he needed to take the edge off.
And that damn image of you had been burnin a hole in his brain. “Fuuuck” He moaned under his breath in one particular upward stroke, teasing the head of his length. In his reverie Donnie didn’t hear the door of the bathroom opening, you had just arrived and after looking for one tall terrapin in his lab and garage you figured he must’ve been in the shower.
Your first thought was sto sneak in and possibly get the drop on him for a few giggles. Then though, an idea formed which seemed more fitting, so you stripped. A shower felt perfect right about now, with work being such a pain lately, warm water on an overworked soul sounded like the cure.
Needless to say when you pulled by the curtain you couldn’t help but raise and eyebrows and smirk.
“Couldn’t wait for me?” Startled couldn’t begin to explain how Donatello was, he had quite literally been caught right handed.
Those gorgeous brown eyes of his looked at you, hand still cupping himself. “This isn’t what it looks like” He spoke sheepishly but quickly felt a spike of excitement when you stepped in and grabbed his waist. “Oh so you weren’t thinking about me and rubbing one out? Hmm, could’ve sworn you were” You feigned innocence while running your hands up and down his waist, Donnie grinned and leaned in to give you a kiss.
But you denied him, enjoying his pout.
Then his brain scrambled when you go on your knees.
How’d he get so lucky?
You nudged his hand away replacing it with yours, gripping the hard length and giving it a slow stroke. The wanted fell on you, it’s heat comforting and even more so when Donnie ran his hands through your soon drenched hair. Your lips ran the length of his shaft, a teasing look in your eyes that left him scatter brained. The first initial lick went to the underside, it always rendered him weak at the knees.
“Oh god” Donnie bit his lip, the sensation of your tongue swirling around the tip so much for him to handle, he was particularly sensitive there. You took him in, just the head to get him needy, that innate desire to thrust present but he held back. Donnie’s breath caught when you suddenly took more of him in, the grip on your hair a deathly one. You gave him a show of looking up at him, all sprinkled with sweetness. You bobbed your head, hollowing out your cheeks before giving another teasing swirl of your tongue to the head of his cock.
Donnie’s face was always so worth the jaw pain afterwards., his parted lips and half lidded eyes, hips beggin to move and thrust and choke you. You ran a hand up to the bottom of his plastron before letting it slide down a muscular thigh. Drool gathered at your chin but couldn’t be seen by the random trails of water that fell here or there.
The way Donnie’s thighs became so taut and tense alerted you that he was close. “C-can I...?” He stuttered out, moan stuck in his throat. You knew what he wanted, he had a somewhat secret love for facials. Well what better place than here.
You nodded briefly allowing him to know he could, your sucking and bobbing intensifying to get him just as the perfect edge. Donnie’s moans picked up at just the right moment, you released him from your mouth and parted your lips to stick out your tongue. Donnie stroked himself fast, that image of yours that had been stuck in his brain didn’t hold a candle to it right now right here. With a long groan he came, the white spurts landing mostly in your open mouth but a few long ropes shot across your cheek and chin. You licked your lips, enjoying that primal look in his gaze as he had just marked you.
Donnie helped you up and under the stream to clean you, a nice comforting numbness in his bones. He wrapped himself around your small frame, churring as you petted him.
“Should sneak up on you more often” You kissed his cheek.
“If it ends like this I’m not complaining, worth the heart attack” He mumbled against your shoulder with a soft laugh before giving the spot a kiss.
Then he got on his knees, smiled and pushed a leg onto his shoulder.
Worth totally catching him indeed.
#tmnt bayverse#tmnt donatello x female reader#tmnt Donatello#tmnt Donatello x reader#tmnt Donnie#Donatello x reader#donnie x reader#tmnt Donnie x reader#Donatello tmnt#Donnie tmnt#ns*w#ask#tmntspidergirl#requested one shot#writing prompt
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You two are dancing in a snow globe round & round / and he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown…
Amanda looked at her reflection in the cloudy mirror hanging from the interior of her locker door. The pads of her fingers swiped expertly beneath blue eyes, hoping to catch any mascara that had strayed through out her day. She fluffed the hair at the crown of her head, wanting to bring life back to her blonde waves, and in a brief moment of psychosis she contemplated running to Duane Reade to purchase a spray or even a hot tool that could save her. Amanda let out an audible groan - at the horrifying fact that she was becoming her mother, at her disappointment in her subpar hair - and slammed her locker door shut. At least the outfit she had tossed together after her shift was cute: dark jeans and a black top with fluttering sleeves that was just sheer enough to hint at what was underneath.
She was due at One Hogan Place in 20 minutes.
Sonny had insisted that he owed her dinner. How many dinners had he made for her and the girls? Hundreds, it felt like. How many times had they sat around at bars together after cases? Too many to count. How many empty take-out boxes had they shared? A lifetime’s worth. But this, this was different.
This was a date.
Familiar with the DA’s office, Amanda hoped she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew there. She didn’t want to answer questions about why she was hanging out so late and she was too nervous for small talk. Most of all she didn’t want to have to lie, not tonight. Keeping her head down, she flitted up staircases and down hallways until she was in front of Sonny’s office. She pulled in a deep breath, reminded herself that this man had seen her at her very worst, so her flat hair wouldn’t be the end of the world, then gently knocked on the door. It was cracked open, so she waited a beat before she slipped inside.
Sonny was sitting at his desk, leaned over some paperwork. For the brief moment she was able to, she admired the stretch of his shoulders. When he heard her enter, he looked up. The smile that immediately tugged at his mouth when he met her eyes made Amanda’s heart squeeze in her chest out of overwhelming adoration. “Hi,” she exhaled, somehow both more and less anxious at the sight of him.
“‘Manda, hey,” Sonny greeted her. He stood up and waved her further into his office, coming out from behind his desk. “Come in, come in.”
“You still working?”
He heaved a sigh, returning a file to its rightful cabinet before turning back to her. “It never ends.”
She perched herself on the edge of his desk as she so often did, setting her purse down on the surface beside her. “Hey, c’mere,” she said when she noticed something: his tie was crooked, collar rumpled, his hair out of place. He had probably had a long day. She reached out a hand to him, nose scrunched as she smiled. “Your tie, you… well, like my grandma used to tell me and Kim after a long day of school, when we’d come home all roughed up: ‘you look like you’ve been shot out of a cannon.’”
Another grin broke across his face as he took a step forward, then stood in front of her, still, obedient. Amanda could feel his warm gaze looking down at her while her manicured fingers reached up to adjust the knot of his tie. “Well, you look beautiful.”
She knew her cheeks were turning pink; God, she hated that. What happened to her poker face? Her eyes flickered up to meet his as her hands drifted up toward his collar. Then she was smiling like a lovestruck teenager, as if no man had ever complimented her before this exact moment. Maybe she just needed to hear it from the right one. “Thanks,” she murmured as she smoothed the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t try to fix his hair - she liked the little strand that had escaped its style.
Sonny was standing so close to her that his legs bumped hers, silently asking her to make room for him. So she did: she parted her knees so she could playfully trap him, lower limbs snaking around his tall figure until her feet hooked loosely around the other side. A huff of laughter escaped Sonny as she felt his warm palms slide up the sides of her thighs to find her waist. Through the thin fabric of her shirt she could feel his thumbs moving back and forth, back and forth, and Amanda suddenly no longer cared about their dinner reservations.
Amanda carefully set the heels of her palms back on the edge of the desk, fingertips dangling. Collarbone prominently displayed, she gave her head a languid shake to move her hair away from her face. She gazed up at Sonny, still caught between her legs, playing against her side. Anticipation was beginning to simmer in the pit of her stomach. “Anything else I can help you with, Counselor?”
Desire had darkened Sonny’s features and now he appeared mischievous as his eyes flickered over her thighs, her chest, her mouth. “Ah…” he started to answer her, but then he leaned in and kissed her instead of completing his thought. There was nothing gentle or cautious about the way his lips found hers: it stole the air from her lungs and his mouth felt searing hot. Her hands lifted from the desk, one cradling his elbow, another reaching up to his jaw. She loved the prickly feeling of newly formed stubble on his face, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue. The long line of his body angled itself closer to hers, and as she leaned back, she felt him let out a rough exhale at the way their forms aligned.
Amanda had sworn to herself that she would not fuck this up - whatever this was that she was doing with Sonny - by having sex with him too soon, but in that moment she was so dizzy with want that his incredibly nerdy desk blotter was looking hotter and hotter. The hand at his elbow dropped blindly to the shiny metal of his belt buckle. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she couldn’t help but toy with it even though she knew it was a bad idea for more than one reason.
“‘Manda…” Sonny growled her name against her mouth, half in a warning, half in encouragement. One of his hands had wandered up the front of her shirt to ghost over her breast, so whatever he was trying to get her to stop doing, he had rendered his own message ineffective.
“I won’t,” she breathed against his lips insincerely, fingertips trailing down the line of his fly, teasing, testing, “we won’t…”
“Mr. Carisi, sorry I’m so late. I’ve got those -“ The voice of a young girl accompanied by the office door swinging open broke them both violently from their heated reveries. They separated from one another like they had been electrocuted: Sonny launched himself backward into his file cabinet, appearing to slam his funny bone in the process. Amanda scrambled off of the desk and on to her two feet, loose paperwork flying, hastily wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand as she stood at attention. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, with unruly curly hair wearing an ill-fitting sweater, but most importantly her eyes were wide in complete confusion. A large manila folder hung from her fingers.
“Lindsey!” Sonny yelped, carding his fingers through his hair. “Lindsey, hi. Hey. I just, you can put those on my desk,” he went on, pointing to the space he and Amanda were just occupying. “Thank you.”
Lindsey cautiously, wordlessly, placed the folder where she was told, then stepped back toward the doorway.
“This is, uh… do you know Rollins? Amanda? Detective Rollins?” Sonny asked Lindsey awkwardly, unnecessarily. His eyes shifted over to Amanda as he explained, “Lindsey is a law school intern here.”
“Nice to meet you,” Amanda offered, arms crossed over her chest to indicate that she was not interested in prolonging this painful interaction.
“Nice to meet you,” the student echoed, tone hollow. Turning away from them both, she let her hand linger on the door handle as she asked, “should I close this?”
“Yeah, please,” Sonny mumbled before his intern disappeared into the hallway.
Alone again in the office, Amanda raised both of her eyebrows and shot him a pointed look. “Real smooth, Carisi.” Her heart was still pounding against her ribcage, partly because they were almost caught, partly because she didn’t know how Sonny was going to handle something like this. He was so nervous about keeping secrets, whereas Amanda felt like her life had been a series of little untruths for as long as she could remember. She kept her arms crossed like she was protecting herself.
Sonny leaned back against the file cabinet as if he was deflating. After what seemed like forever, he let out an exhale, then reached out a hand to her. “So… how about that dinner?”
note - idk just a lil one shot xoxox
#amanda rollins#sonny carisi#rollisi#law and order svu#svu#fanfic#fanfiction#one shot#amanda rollins x sonny carisi
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For @teabagofdoom (which won't let me tag!)
~~
There was, when it came right down to it and truth be told, very little that could hold a candle to the combination of a warm blanket (fluffy) and a hot chocolate (plenty). The coldest drafts that swept through the bunker couldn't touch Gabriel when he was wrapped two blankets deep. The warm drink did the job of keeping his hands and chest toasty, and there was nothing else the archangel could ask for.
Voices echoed quietly from a distance, friendly but loud enough that the buzz of them kept Gabriel company. His room was barren, the emptiness reflecting how he felt inside, a lifetimes worth of torture and pain tended to warp the already fragile self worth of God's most disposable angel.
Gabriel took another tentative sip, the heavy feelings running through his mind pushing him lower and lower. He might as well be in the dungeon by now he felt so low.
What was even here for him?
Yes, he was dry and well fed and more than cared for. Curse that ridiculous moose for thinking an archangel couldn't take care of himself.
These were all things Gabriel could provide for himself with the snap of his fingers. So why was he still here? Half buried on this hard mattress with only the soft glow of a forty year old light bulb to illuminate the far corners of his newly given room.
Gabriel had been asking himself this question for the better part of the night.
Through feeling everyone else in the bunker fall asleep late into the night; even his younger brother, Castiel, which was all kinds of worrisome. Through the long hours of self deprication and chastising. Even through the sound of ever so quiet footsteps outside his room.
He knew who it was immediately, the long gate of the larger hunter easily identified. He stayed in his new room though, the enochian script burned into the walls taunting him in the dark.
It was quiet for a while, at least outside of Gabriel's mind, that is, before the footfalls returned, then...stopped outside his door?
He certainly wasn't expecting that.
Before there even was a knock at his door, Gabriel was up. He crossed the floor, still with a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, pulled up high past his ears.
When the knock came, Gabriel already had a hand on the doorknob, ready for the inevitable (yet needed) intrusion.
Gabriel's door creaked open, peeking out to find the tall frame of Sam standing at the threshold with two fresh steaming mugs in his hands.
"Hey." His words were calm, calculated. "I saw your mess from hot chocolate in the kitchen…"
Gabriel smiled, yet he couldn't help his eye roll.
"...And I thought you might like a refill." Sam held out the fresh cup, steam and warm smells wafting into his room.
Who would have thought, in this age of angels falling and demons working for the good guys, that a small gesture from the one human Gabriel had known for longer than he deserved, would render him speechless.
The angel stared, wife eyed in the dark; long enough for Sam to become a little uncomfortable with his offer.
"W-Well," he stammered as he shifted from one foot to the other, "I guess you had your fill."
He was a full three steps away from his room before Gabriel had the good sense to stop him.
"Sam, wait!" he called. The hunter stopped, turned his head ever so slightly, hurt and a little shame still swirling across his face. "I-" Gabriel took a deep breath, ready to take a step towards healing, towards feeling like he still belongs in this world. "I could use another cup."
#its a drunk rich sleepover#sabriel#have a rambling#makes zero sense no stars#but its nice to let the nonsensicle qords flow
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