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erwinsvow · 23 days

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an idea… rafe and shy reader having sex for the first time

everything's overwhelming with rafe, but this is particularly so. you thought you were completely ready for it, from the way you had handled everything else so well. in fact, rafe was the one taking things at the slowest pace possible, trying to make sure he didn’t pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

you didn’t like it—thought he was trying to be something he’s not. he’s gentle with you but never like this, never to this extent. it must be a big deal then, sleeping with rafe, giving him your virginity, you finally decide, if he’s acting so differently about it.

in fact, you think you’ve been ready to give it up since you first started dating him. rafe brings it out of you, coaxes a different side of you out with gentle words and soft touches. you’re going mad over it. you can’t count the amount of times you’ve crawled into his lap at any given opportunity, anywhere the two of you are alone—his truck, the couch in your living room and at tannyhill, the hidden booth at the country club. you’re begging for it, not sure how much more obvious you can get.

you finally decide tonight’s the night—following a nice dinner with the two of you. you had spent extra long getting dressed up, a pretty white lingerie set on underneath your blue dress, all done up for rafe. finally back at tannyhill, entire body vibrating and tingling with excitement, you don’t wait another moment, crawling into rafe’s lap and kissing him hard. you take off your dress and rafe stops just for a second to take in how forward you’re being.

“hey,” he finally breathes against your lips, pulling away. “c’mon, you’re not ready for this.”

“yes i am!” you whine, impatient and horny, feeling rafe get hard underneath you. you want him to be able to do all the things you know he wants to do, want them done to you. “i am, i am-” and you lean back to kiss him, ending up pinned underneath him before long.

he knows you’re not, but he plays along. you’re so wet already he doesn’t have to do much, but he makes you cum all over his fingers anyways, hoping it’ll satiate you.

“please, rafe,” you moan against his mouth, pushing in for another needy kiss. “wan’ it inside. please.” and he does know you, knows everything about you, but even he can’t resist when you say things like that.

you watch with big eyes while he lines himself up with your wet hole, hovering over you. you think you’re so ready, that three of rafe’s fingers inside you should be comparable to what you’re about to feel, that you’re more than prepared. your eyes squeeze shut when rafe pushes inside, all the air leaving your lungs. you try to moan out but it’s more of a gasp than anything else, one that rafe swallows into a kiss.

your eyes get watery—it’s just habit. it hurts, too, because rafe is so much bigger than you expected. you bite your cheek, looking up at rafe through teary eyes and clasping a hand over your mouth—you don’t want to admit that he was right.

“c’mon kid, give it up. y’not ready for this, i know you,” rafe says, leaning in close to your ear to whisper it quietly. he’s not even half-way inside you.

“i-i can take it,” you hiccup. you hate disappointing rafe.

and it’s not that he doesn’t want to—he does, desperately so, wants to fuck you within an inch of your sanity every time you walk into a room and look at him with your shy eyes and sweet smile. he wants to break you, wants you cumming on his dick until there’s nothing left in your head, no shyness left in your heart. but he wants it when you’re ready for it, not like this.

it only takes another minute, you finally admit you’re not ready, and rafe pulls out of you. you feel like crying, terribly sad and dejected, wishing you could just be normal for rafe for once, be what he wants.

“stop,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. his arm rests over your stomach, trying to get you to lighten up. “when you’re ready for it, i’ll fuck you until you can’t think. s’just not today, kid.”

you finally agree when he says that, getting over it because you know without a doubt in your mind—rafe knows you better than you know yourself.

#omg what a lovely lovely prompt thank you babe <3 #this may not be what you were expecting #to me the very first time they have sex its too much for shy reader so it doesn't actually happen happen... but it is still the first time #i rlly wanted to write something like what you guys would expect but i really felt like this is more real of their relationship lol #anyways <3 i hope you like it!#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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half-bakedboy · 17 days

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Number 2 from the 50 cliché tropes and prompts

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn't help but steal it

Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways.

Then he started staying over Tommy's house more and more. He'd always come prepared–an overnight bag filled with an extra LAFD shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, and two shirts, one with a collar and one without–just in case he needed to rush out in the morning.

This morning, he isn’t quite as prepared as he wishes he had been. Tommy’s in the shower after sleepily kissing Buck good morning and Buck promised he’d run Hercules–Tommy’s ten-year-old retired racing greyhound–outside before Tommy dropped Buck off at work. Thunder crashes outside and rain pounds on the roof, and Buck didn’t even think to bring a jacket.

He looks around the bedroom closet, careful not to invade the private space too much, but he doesn’t see anything that might help. He knows there’s an umbrella waiting beside the door, but he’s already shivering from the chill sneaking in through the closed windows and Buck knows he’ll need something to protect his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pullover laid neatly on top of the laundry pile. It’s similar to his LAFD one, but a lighter blue that matches Tommy’s on-duty uniform. It won’t keep him dry, but it’ll keep him warm and keep the water off of his skin which is all he has time to care about. He snatches it up and shouts to Tommy that he’s taking the dog outside even though he’s not sure he’s heard.

Before he gets too far, Buck pauses to get the pullover on. The first thing he notices is how much bigger it is on him. He’s not a small guy by any means, and he’s not much smaller than Tommy–at least he thinks–but there’s so much extra fabric that he has to bundle it up at his waist. He can also tell that the back doesn’t stretch taut against his shoulder blades and that the neckline slouches a little in the front.

It’s strange to wear something so unfit for him, but at the same time, Buck can’t help but feel giddy. He glances at himself in the mirror and feels small, but not in the way he usually does. It doesn’t make him feel inconsequential or overlooked, but like he’s protected and well-loved. It stirs inside of his stomach until the joy begins to bubble in his chest.

He notices that Tommy’s name is embroidered just over his heart, and he brings his fingers there to trace over the lettering. It takes everything in him not to whisper his name combined with Tommy’s last and he wonders if this was how his old girlfriends felt when they stole his LAFD shirts that had his name brazen on the back.

Where he expected to be a bit embarrassed at the claiming nature of it all, he can’t help but feel… powerful. Yeah, there’s something powerful about wearing someone else's name, like he’s screaming to the world that Tommy is off-limits because he’s Buck’s.

He’s Buck’s.

He’s too busy thinking about what exactly that means for him to hear the bathroom door open and a freshly showered and shaved Tommy emerge. Another figure beside Buck’s reflection startles him but Tommy’s reassuring hands slide around his waist. It’s strange how normal it feels to have strong, long arms wrapped around him and a broad chest waiting to hold him up as he leans back against it.

“You’re wet,” Buck says, feeling the dampness on Tommy’s unclothed chest. He’s in sweatpants like he’s ready to lounge around for the day, but the bare skin of his upper body is clearly on display where Buck’s body isn’t hiding it. He wants to pull away just so he can take another peek.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice nor care that Buck is analyzing them because he’s too busy doing the same. There’s something in his eyes, though, that sends an eruption of warmth to Buck’s face. Tommy tugs at the extra fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s having the same realization as Buck did, and then he slides one hand up Buck’s chest to trace his name. He whispers each letter like a secret into Buck’s ear, piercing eyes never leaving Buck’s in the mirror.

Buck shivers, pressing back against Tommy and leaning his head back so that it plops on Tommy’s shoulder comfortably. Tommy finishes his name before dragging a finger to the neckline of the pullover and letting it hang there like a weight that keeps Buck grounded.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Tommy points out like he doesn’t already know. Buck suddenly feels anxious, like he’s made a horrible mistake, and stands back up straight. He turns to look at Tommy as he speaks.

“Is that okay? I didn’t bring a jacket so I figured—”

Tommy kisses him before he can finish, and Buck can only hope it becomes a pattern.

It’s just as soft as their first kiss and every kiss they’ve shared since then, but it grows in passion second by second. Tommy is gripping the fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s deciding whether he wants to pull it over Buck’s head or leave it on his forever. Buck holds his naked shoulders, palms sliding down the hard planes of his chest then his abs, before sliding underneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

When a cold nose hits his hand, Buck jumps back, out of breath and startled. Hercules is staring up at them like he’s let them have their fun and he’s done waiting to go outside. Tommy swipes at his face as he chuckles and Buck leans down to pat Herc’s head.

“I’m sorry, Buddy. Am I stealing all of your dad’s attention?” Buck coos, and he can almost hear Tommy’s good-natured eye roll.

“Well, if Evan here is done distracting me, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you outside, huh?”

“Oh, if Evan is done distracting you? Like you didn’t just walk out of the shower half-naked and damp and looking like you wanted to drop to your kn–” Buck inhales deeply when Tommy glances down then back up and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, I’m out of here. Be right back,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to Tommy’s reddened lips.

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, watching him start to walk away.

“Do you want your pullover back?” Buck asks, because he figures that’s what he would’ve wanted to be asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours now.”

It sounds a lot like I’m yours now, but Buck doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he takes Hercules out, ignoring the storm rumbling above him, and strokes his thumb distractingly against Tommy’s name over his heart. He guesses he’s Tommy’s now, too.

(now on ao3)

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obsessedwithstarwars · 1 year

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Jazz gets death threats working at Arkham Asylum. She thinks they’re hilarious. I mean, it’s hard not to laugh when you’re technically considered Queen Mother of The Infinite Realms. In her mind, the notes are basically telling her to go home and hug her brother/child.

The Batfam are growing increasingly concerned and confused as to why she doesn’t take these threats seriously.

#danny phantom #jazz fenton #jasmine fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #batman #arkham asylum #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #so much potential #angst or antics #you pick #tag me if you use this #please and thanks <3

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luxaofhesperides · 1 month

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Ghostlight prompt: Danny and Duke being childhood friends, but Danny tells Duke the moment the accident happens and such cause he trusts him, only for Danny to go radio silent when giw decide to block the town communications in senior year.

So Duke-does he tell Danny he's Signal or not? Up to you-gets worried the longer no contact goes by.

Maybe the away game thing seen in other posts where the sports team still does away games and Danny gets enough good will with star or dash maybe and they send a message to Duke that's some coded phrase and Duke knows shits going down?

(yourlocalcorviddad, it's a side blog so didn't want to send from main sorry)

Danny is not someone who is on his mind a lot, these days. It’s to be expected, considering how distance and their double lives eat up all the time they have to talk. Really, it’s a miracle that they were able to speak enough to learn about their own individual vigilante work, especially with Duke bouncing around foster homes for a good portion of that time.

They haven’t spoke in months but that’s normal for them.

Duke thinks he can be forgiven for not knowing something was wrong. He still won’t forgive himself for it.

“Danny’s gone?” he repeats, feeling numb. There’s static ringing in his ears, his entire world hollowing out.

The guy in front of him looks grim, unable to meet Duke’s eyes. Did he introduce himself? Duke can’t remember, can’t keep his spiraling thoughts straight in his head. “He’s gone. His entire family is gone and we haven’t been able to call for help because… well…”

“It’s those guys, right? The ones in white?”

“You know about them?”

“Danny told me. Danny told me a lot about what he did in Amity Park.”

The guy lets out a slow, relieved breath. “Good, then I don’t have to explain. Sorry, it’s just that it’s not something we talk about, especially out in the open. After the last few months, things got really bad. We know the GIW took the Fentons, but we can’t find out how or why and they’ve got us on a tight lockdown.”

“Then how did you get out?” Duke asks. Another arguably more important question pops into his mind a second later. “Actually, how do you know about Danny and… you know. The other things.”

The grimness on the guy’s expression fades away some beneath the sudden shame and embarrassment. “Oh, that. Well, I dunno how much he told you about his, like, daily life, but, um. I’m Dash. Baxter. I bullied him?”

Dash.

Dash. That’s a name he recognizes.

Danny’s complained about Dash a lot in the past. Since they were in middle school, really. Duke would always get mad on Danny’s behalf about how terribly he’s being treated, how no one would stop such obvious bullying. And every time, Danny would laugh it off and say in that soft voice of his, It’s alright, Duke, really. Having you care is more than enough for me.

It never stopped the bullying, though, but the way Danny talked about Dash changed when they both entered high school. He was still annoyed about everything Dash did, but there were less insults about him, less venting about every little thing that pissed Danny off about him, as if he just didn’t care anymore.

And there is, of course, the most memorable time Danny called Duke about Dash over the summer.

Hey, Danny, Duke had began, only to be cut off by Danny yelling, I kissed Dash?! Or he kissed me?! What am I supposed to do now!

And Duke, despite the jealousy he felt at hearing that Danny and Dash kissed, laughed so hard he cried while Danny yelled at him to be helpful.

There wasn’t any discussion on Dash since, beyond a comment here and there about a funny fanboying thing Dash had said about Phantom. The focus of their conversations shifted towards how hard it was to be heroes or vigilantes, quiet reassurances that they’re both doing the best they can, tips traded about best ways to patch themselves up and get through the night. Sometimes, it felt like Danny was the only person in the world to really know Duke; all his pain and promises, his dreams, everything he was Before and who he became in the After.

He’s missed Danny, but the last message Danny sent him told him that things were getting rough in Amity Park, and to not call or contact him until he reached out first.

So Duke trusted in Danny and focused his attention in Gotham, putting his all into becoming a better hero, someone people can rely on.

He thinks that maybe he should have fallen into the Bats’ bad habits of invading privacy to make sure Danny’s okay.

Too late for that now, though.

“I know you,” Duke says after a long moment. “He talked about you sometimes. Come with me, we have a lot to discuss.”

Dash looks appropriately nervous, but he doesn’t argue.

It’s a tense, quiet walk to the library where Barbara works. She’s stationed at the front desk when he arrives and greets him with a smile, eyes flicking towards Dash in question.

“Hey, Babs, got a private study room open?”

Her gaze sharpens and Duke can’t help the feeling of relief that flows through him, knowing that Oracle is ready to look out for him. “Let me check,” she says, turning towards the computer to click around a few pages. “Study room 8 is open.”

That’s the study room with a working lock and soundproofing. It also has cameras and a mic inside, but all the other study rooms have one too, just for safety purposes. Things could always go terribly wrong when people are locked together in a small room, and having video and audio evidence of what happened has assisted in more than a few cases.

He leads them up to the second floor, past the students studying and the group of young children in the back corner of the library listening intently to a read aloud.

The only occupied study rooms are those up front, closer to the stairs. The back rooms are empty and quiet, the perfect place for a little impromptu interrogation.

“So,” Duke says as he closes the door to study room 8 behind them. Dash sits down as if this is just a casual conversation, but the way his foot taps against the floor betrays his nerves. “Danny’s gone. And somehow, that lead you to me.”

Dash glance around, then leans closer to drop his voice into a harsh whisper. “The Guys In White got some insane upgrades a few months ago and forced every citizen of Amity Park into a surveillance state. The entire Fenton family is gone, but we all know it’s really because they want Danny.”

“Explain the situation in Amity Park some more.”

“Well. It’s like this: we didn’t take them seriously, so they upped their moves and got us trapped. No one goes in or out of Amity Park without good, verifiable reason. We have a curfew and we can be randomly stopped and searched for ectoplasm or exposure to ghosts. Most of the ghosts have left, but a few of the stronger ones hang around to cause trouble to get the GIW off our backs for a bit.”

“So how did you end up in Gotham?”

“I was invited to tour the college. And since outsiders were expecting me, the GIW let me go. But there’s definitely some that tailed me to Gotham, but I can’t find them at all. Even talking to you now is a huge risk for me.”

Which means they don’t have much time to talk before someone comes looking for Dash. His words, paired with everything Duke’s heard from Danny, paint a deeply unpleasant picture in his mind. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s Danny we’re all worried about. He told me before he got caught that if anything happened to him, I should find you. Tucker helped us narrow down where exactly you are and sent you that text to get you to where we met.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Dash admits. “But Danny trusts you, and he needs your help.”

Duke was never going to say no to this request to begin with, but damn if those words don’t make him want to run to Amity Park without waiting for anyone else.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll help rescue him and bring down the GIW. You should go now, before they get too suspicious.”

“What are you planning?”

“I got a couple of friends who are good at destroying government property. Trust me, you’ll see what we’re up, we’re pretty noticeable if we’re pissed off enough.”

“Don’t take too long then,” Dash says, standing up, “I expect a good show from you. See you around, man.”

And with that, Dash pats Duke’s shoulder and leaves the study room. Duke doesn’t follow after him. He’s got a rescue to start planning, and the less time he wastes, the better.

In the end, it’s pretty simple. It’s not a hard mission at all when the time comes for them to act, but the amount of data they gather and have to shift through is daunting. But that’s more Tim and Barbara’s forte, so he trusts them to handle it.

Together with Red Robin, Spoiler, and Black Bat, they hit Amity Park hard and fast.

One night was spent learning the lay of the land and every station and lab set up by the GIW. The second night was spent burning it all down and tossing open cages full of green blob ghosts and a few transparent, weakly glowing human ghosts. Stronger ghosts, glowing brightly, joined them in a few places with battle cries and maniacal laughter.

They split up and took down all the bases and patrol stations on their own, sweeping through the city like vengeful shadows.

By dawn, the GIW were in shambles, without any bases or equipment, and rounded up for arrest.

Cass was the one to find Danny and his family; his parents were forced to create weapons for the GIW under threat of Danny and Jazz’s torture. Danny was locked up like an animal and studied. Jazz had restraints on, including a muzzle, and a bloodthirsty rage in her eyes. Apparently, she had put up the most fight and, while being studied for repeated exposure to ectoplasm and radiation, started biting people.

The Fentons are big names in this conflict. Tim makes the executive decision to burn one of his out-of-state safehouses so they can hide and recover in peace, then promptly moves them into it as soon as the EMTs give them the all clear. They’re gone by the time the sun is rising over the horizon, and the curious Amity Parkers that have gathered behind the blockade of police cars have to be reassured that the Fentons have been taken away for their protection, not for further abuses. Even then, tensions are high and the locals are clearly prepared to start rioting now that they have a chance to fight back.

As vigilantes, they’re not meant to interact with cops much. Perhaps it’s simply their experiences in Gotham that keep them at a distance, disappearing into the neighborhood the moment attention shifts off of them. Either way, Duke is hurrying out of Amity Park with the rest of the team on his heels, eager to return to Gotham and follow up on their own leads to make sure the GIW is properly gutted and dismantled.

Duke heads off for the Hatch as soon as they reach Gotham, hoping to shed the suit and finally be able to call Danny. The guilt of not noticing how bad things had gotten rolls through his stomach, and more than that, he’s missed hearing Danny’s voice.

The first few calls go straight to voicemail. Duke leaves a quick message asking Danny to let him know how he’s doing as soon as he can talk.

Then he goes for a shower and to change into civilian clothes, prepared to make his way to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know how everything went. And hopefully distract him from his Disappointed Father/Leader Lecture about taking on missions behind his back, as if Duke can’t handle himself. And also because Bruce has no leg to stand on when it comes to this. He’s fully prepared to throw that entire lecture back into his face at a moment’s notice.

The post-mission exhaustion is hitting him hard and fast. Duke has to brace himself against the wall once he’s out of the shower, resisting the urge to just lie on the floor and sleep there until he starts feeling more human.

Somehow, he gets himself into some sweatpants and a plain shirt, pulls on a pair of mismatched socks, and begins gathering his things so he can get to the Batcave.

He’s in no state to be driving. Maybe someone would be willing to take him there?

Just as he reaches for his phone to thumb through his contacts and see who he can bother, it buzzes in his hand. Duke blames the way he jumps on his exhaustion, then blinks his tired eyes to squint at the name that pops up onto the screen.

Danny.

All at once, his exhaustion fades away. A rush of adrenaline runs through him as he scrambles to accept the call, already pacing around the room so he doesn’t fall asleep.

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence, then the exhale of a breath that turns to static over the call. “Duke,” Danny’s tired voice says. “Duke…”

“You doing okay? I couldn’t get to you before you and your family had to leave and go into hiding, but I’ve been worried about you, man.”

“I’m good. We’re all fine, now. Fentons are strong, you know? We’ll bounce back in no time.”

From what he’s heard about Danny’s family, that’s most definitely true. He’s seen the pictures of walls Jack Fenton has burst through with his body. It’ still hard to believe that no one in the family is a meta, outside of Danny.

“You need anything? I can get it to you, just say the word. Anything at all.”

Danny hums, then asks with a playful note in his voice, “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I need you. How fast can you come meet me? I’ll even pay for express delivery.”

Duke laughs, so relieved at hearing the lightness return to Danny’s voice that he feels weak in the knees. “It’ll be at least two days. I gotta sleep and debrief with Batman before I can see you. It’s gonna take some time to get out of Gotham again.”

“Maybe I can go to you, instead,” Danny suggests. “Fly over and be there is less than an hour.”

“Are you in any shape to be flying right now?”

“I’m fine! Already healing and everything,” Danny insists.

“It might be dangerous if any rogue GIW agents go after you.”

“Well,” Danny says, “That’s why I need to get to my knight in shining armor sooner rather than later, right?”

Duke bites his lip to fight back a smile, blinking his eyes forcefully to keep them from closing under the heavy weight of exhaustion. “Does that make you a damsel in distress?”

“I mean, I did need rescuing, so I guess? I’m not much of a damsel, but I could put on a pretty dress for you. It’ll be like playing pretend when we were kids.”

“Oh, man, I kinda miss those poofy dresses. I think I could still rock on, put it on top of the armor when I go out for patrol.”

Danny snickers. “Signal: the most well dressed vigilante in Gotham.”

“That’s me, baby!”

The last of the agonizing fear that’s choked him since he first talked to Dash finally melts away. Danny’s fine now. Everything’s okay; the GIW are done for and there’s plenty of people willing to look out for the Fentons. This will never happen again.

“Hey,” Danny says, voice suddenly turing more serious. “Send me your location. I wasn’t joking when I said I could fly over to you. And before you say anything! I do need it; Jazz and my parents are smothering me and I just need to get away from everything and pretend all of this never happened.”

The admission softens Duke, makes him shove away everything that tells him this is a bad idea, that Danny needs more rest first, that having Danny fly over alone and without warning any of the Bats fills Duke with anxiety.

He does miss Danny. More than he can put into words.

“Yeah, okay,” he says at last. “Come meet me, Danny.”

He texts Danny the location of the Hatch before common sense tells him to be more careful with his base of operations. Not that it matters, anyways; if there’s anyone in the world he trusts with everything, it’s Danny.

Then he sends the Bats a quick text saying he’s crashing in the Hatch and to not bother him until the sun is fully up two days from now. Oracle gives him a thumbs up emoji, which is a good guarantee that she will personally see to it that no non-emergency messages interrupt his rest and recovery time.

Duke has no idea how long it will take Danny to get to the Hatch, so he putters around, cleaning up the space and straightening it out in an attempt to keep busy enough that he doesn’t crash. Travel really takes it out of him. It’s one of the cons of being born and raised in Gotham: he doesn’t have the stamina to travel outside of it, especially when they were there and back in less than three days.

Thank god for Tim’s many motorcycles and his tendency to see the speed limit as a weak suggestion that can be ignored while on a mission.

Ultimately, the call of sleep is too strong to resist.

One moment, Duke is sorting through files on the Hatch’s computer, and the next moment, he’s face down on a bed with his face shoved into a pillow.

Blearly, he manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and send Danny a typo-ridden text that hopefully gets across the message of might be asleep so just come in, don’t wait for me to answer the door.

He’s out like a light as soon as it sends. The last thing Duke registers is his phone dropping out of his hand and falling against the mattress with a little bounce.

When he begins to wake up, something’s changed. As much as he wants to go back to sleep, awareness comes back to him slowly and Duke forces himself to claw his way out of unconsciousness to figure out what, exactly, is bothering him so much. Until he figures out what’s changed in the room, he won’t be able to sleep because he’ll be worried about someone breaking in.

His mind comes back online long before his body does. It’s only when he tries to move that Duke realizes he’s no longer alone on the bed; there’s someone wrapped up in his arms, body temperature a little too cool to be a normal human.

Blinking open his eyes, Duke looks down at the head of messy black hair and feels Danny’s soft breath ghost across his chest.

“Danny?” he manages to say, voice rough with sleep.

Danny hums and doesn’t move.

“Hey, look up. Let me see if you’re really alright.”

“Mmm, no,” Danny mumbles, burrowing his face into Duke’s chest some more. “‘m sleepy.”

A good argument. Duke is also sleepy.

“Fine,” he says, “Check in the morning, then. G’night, Danny.”

“Night, Duke. Thanks for saving me.”

He tightens his grip on Danny, contentment burning warm in his chest. “Always, Danny. I’ll always save you.”

That’s why he’s a hero, after all. To save others, to reach a hand out to everyone the way he needed when he was younger. To keep the people he loves safe. To make sure Danny always finds a way back to him.

This is what makes all the pain of this lifestyle worth it.

Danny makes everything worth it.

(@yourlocalcorviddad tagging to make sure you see this!)

#ghostlights #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #prompt fill #my writing #i thought up a whole backstory to the duke/dash kiss (accidental. embarrassing for both parties) but it didnt fit w the rest of the fic so #its not included. i can include it in a rb if u want tho!!#my sleepy boys..... they go thru so much but at the end of the day they always feel at home with each other #childhood friends duke/danny is so important to me #also couldnt think of a coded phrase sorry. now we just have dash walking up to duke like HEY. HELP DANNY. and duke went with it #thanks for the prompt!!

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hatepotion · 1 year

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oh boy do i have prompts for you!!! literally anything with cam because i love her so much. cam and gideon? cam and pal? cam and nona? cam and corona? cam and pal and harrow and gideon? possibly these are not good prompts because. i'm just listing characters so let me get back to you with more elaborate prompts lol

i stole this from a post you reblogged, so it's only fair :)

#thank you so much for the prompts :^)#and thank you to EVERYONE who sent me suggestions! i'm so excited about all of them. can't wait to draw more #campal #camilla hect #palamedes sextus #the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #my art

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months

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Old Men(tor) Big Naturals

(for @3luecactuz)

#star wars #yoda #lord of the rings #gandalf #gandalf big naturals #That's an active community last I checked and I *will* throw this into that tag <3 #Thank you for letting me live my dream.#Specifically- thank you for opting into ‘surprise me’ and having the luck of the dice #Finally…I have drawn yoda big naturals….#its like the weight of two boulders have lifted off my chest #big heaving old man shirt boulders.#All my silly words aside; thank you so much for your longtime support dear 3luecactuz B*)#Praying and hoping you also find this a delightful twist of fate and I have not inspired you to throw me overboard.#Raffle prize 1/5 done! I warned you all I was going to start by swinging a bat. Stay tuned for more this week!#No theme this time around except to have fun with the prompts <3

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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Okay so @willowworkswithwords sent me this fucking perfect prompt about Steve casually mentioning how much of an asshole his dad is is during a movie night at the Munsons and Wayne immediately shifting into Concerned mode, and I almost finished the thing but then tumblr glitched and i lost it to the void forever. I learned my lesson to never save anything to tumblr without backup ever again, buuut here it finally is:

Wayne first met Steve Harrington long before Eddie officially started dating the boy. He figured out that his nephew was head over heels before Eddie himself did. He hadn't been too thrilled about it, at first. In his experience, boys like Steve Harrington, with his big car and neatly ironed polo shirts, could only want two things from boys like his Eddie: drugs and secret encounters in the dark before he'd finally follow the path that was perfectly mapped out for him by his parents. But it didn't take him too long before he admitted that he had misjudged the boy. He noticed it even before Eddie himself did: Steve Harrington had fallen like a brick for his nephew, and he was in it for the long run.

He mostly met the boy in passing, whenever he'd come home from his night shift while Steve was just leaving the trailer park, or when he'd be heading out to get to work at the same time as Steve came by to pick up Eddie for a date or to hang out with that group of freshmen that Eddie would never stop talking about. The boy was always perfectly polite to him, calling him things like Sir and Mister, apologizing for being in his space and thanking him for the most ridiculous little things. Wayne thought it was a bit much, but he supposed that it was just how the boy had been raised, all formal and uptight. There was something behind it, however, a certain guarded look in his eyes, that always gave Wayne this uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He didn't quite understand what that was all about – until the three of them were having a movie night in the trailer on one of Wayne's nights off.

The two boys were all over each other on the couch, their legs entangled and their fingers intertwined, with their heads as close together as if they'd die if they wouldn't be breathing the exact same air. It made Wayne wish he had a camera on him; instead, he tried to imprint the picture into his memory.

He didn't care too much for the movie, which was about some rich teenage girl trying to break free from the restrictive uptown life that was suffocating her by getting herself some no-good boyfriend in a leather jacket – who Steve and Eddie enthusiastically agreed was a “hot piece of ass.” The main bad guy was the girl's dad, a character who checked off all the rich asshole dad stereotypes: suit that made him look bigger than he actually was, wife who let herself be bossed around by him at all times, and that kind of undefinable charisma, which made everyone else feel like all the air had left the room whenever he'd walk in.

'He kinda reminds me of my dad,' said Steve while leaning forward to get himself a handful of popcorn. It was just an innocent, offhand remark, and sounded perfectly nonchalant – but as he said it, the camera zoomed in on the girl's face to convey one single emotion: fear.

Steve leaned back into the couch and stuffed his mouth full of popcorn, getting crumbs all over his shirt and seemingly not noticing how both Wayne and Eddie had frozen by his remark.

Wayne met his nephew's wide-eyed gaze over the top of Steve's big hair. Wayne wasn't exactly a talkative person, and over the years in which Eddie had been living with him, they had perfected the art of silent communication, not needing more than some looks and gestures to have complete conversations with each other.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at Eddie, which meant something along the lines of Did you know about this?

Eddie responded with a barely-visible nod.

Wayne made a sideways movement with his head. Why didn't you tell me?

Eddie shrugged. It wasn't my place to tell, that meant.

Wayne nodded at him and turned his gaze back to the screen, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to properly shift his attention back to the plot.

'You wanna stay over?' Eddie asked Steve when the movie was finished.

Steve's eyes immediately flashed to Wayne's corner, that familiar guarded look in them. 'Um... Would you – would it be okay if I stayed the night, sir?'

'You can stay whenever you like, son,' said Wayne. 'And stop calling me sir, alright?'

'Alright, yeah, okay, sorry sir,' Steve stammered, which made Eddie burst into loud laughter. Wayne merely shook his head and got up from his chair.

He never sat Steve down for some official talk about his asshole dad – that wasn't his style anyway. He preferred conveying the message by little gestures: calling him “son” whenever he had the chance, refusing to be called “sir” ever again, giving him a key to the trailer, inviting him over to watch basketball together, taking him fishing when they both had a day off work... After a while, that guarded look finally disappeared from the boy's face. But it returned a couple months later, when Steve accidentally called Wayne “dad” in a distracted moment. Wayne didn't say anything about it; he merely gave the boy a pat on his shoulder to let him know it was okay. He didn't mind getting called “dad” by Steve Harrington for one bit.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #willow thank you so much for sending me this prompt i really loved it #wayne munson my beloved #ficlet #stranger things #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fruity ficlet

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inklessletter · 11 months

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I dreamed of your voice last night, and it sounded as lonely as I am. Are you trapped in there? Are you... are you real?

Thank you for trusting the process again <3

#stranger things #steddie #steddie art #fanart #art #digital art #steve harrington #eddie munson #no this is not part of any fic #this is me being a hopeless romantic again #and full in love with tragic stories #unless #you consider this a prompt #and write something absolutely cool about it #and if you do please tag me #thank you so much #i really hope you like it

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diamondsheep · 2 months

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Happy Birthday to the Best Cook Ever 💛💛💛

#look i know that i talk about Zoro all the time but you guys don't know how much i love Sanji #he is actually one of the reasons why i started watching One Piece and i just LOVE drawing him #i have like 100 drawings of the curly cook <333 #anyway happy birthday to this idiot that has bringed me so much joy and has made me cry so fucking much (*looks at Sanji's Backstory*)#ily sanji thank you for being one of my favorite characters ever 💛💛💛#hmm i'm gonna tag this as sanji week bc i used some prompts as inspiration lol #also do guys like individual posts with individual drawings ? or batches like this one are ok ??? bc i can post these individually ?#one piece #sanji #sanji week #blackleg sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji one piece #my drawings #sanji op #one piece fanart #i guess that otoko is here too lol #otoko #toko #diamondsheep art #my art #aww i just sentimental about this fool and bc i drew him in basically all his life stages ? 😭💛✨

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gingermaple · 2 months

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i am once again drawing grian in cute outfits - specifically these shoes as suggested by @definitelynotshouting

#art #mcyt #hermitcraft #grian #outfit prompts #definitelynotshouting #<- thank you tem for enabling me <3 #i spent much longer than i should've rendering this lmao #ofc the piece i go absolutely crazy on is grian in a lil dress #i had to render so many different textures and figure out how dress folds work to make this happen #but god im so insanely proud of the end result

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skyshipper · 3 months

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@PSCENTRAL EVENT 24: TEAM TOOLS PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA - NARCOS (2015-2017)

#pscentral #pedro pascal #javier peña #narcos #pedrohub #usergif #pedropascaledit #ppascaledit #skyshippergifs #guys it's a fucking miracle but i actually used the channel mixer for this challenge and i can't fucking believe i was able to do that #i actually tried to use ALL the team tools for this set and i'm happy to say i did it!#i learned a bunch of new shit making this so thanks as always to pscentral for challenging my brain with these prompts #i had so sooooooo much fun making this #god #javi might be my favorite all time pedro role #idk what it is but he does things to me #what a fucking babe #anyway happy wednesday loves

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valeriianz · 4 months

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Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

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These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation.

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly.

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly.

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute.

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

#dreamling #hob x dream #omg i managed to write a semi-holiday themed fic!#so sorry this took a hundred years lol #im slowly working on all the prompts sent to me from this list #thank you so much for sending one in!!#i hope you love it!#my writing #happy holidays!#this is sfw mostly

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alyssamariag · 4 months

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Prompt 2 for Javianuary — “Speedo”

my instagram | my shop

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virescent-v · 4 months

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I’ve always wanted to see a fic surrounding this: the aftermath of Emily’s rescue from Mr Scratch. Maybe a fluffy bath moment at home or sweet smut vibes?

Aftermath

A/N: Bestie! I loved this idea. Tbh, I had to watch that ep first because I had no idea who Mr Scratch was. I'm only on s5 of my watch through hahaha. But I watched it, and wrote this! I hope it does it some justice. I think this is really my first take at a hurt/comfort fic.

Word Count: 1.6k (I broke my less than 1k word challenge, oops) Warnings: honeslty, not too much. There is some slight smut tho.

You were told to wait at home. But the wait was excruciating.

You hadn’t gotten many details from Penelope other than Emily had been kidnapped, drugged, and had gotten rescued. She was otherwise unharmed. You only knew that she was chasing a high profile psychopath; someone that had even Hotchner running into WITSEC.

So, you were waiting. Impatiently. For your girlfriend to come home. So you could check her over yourself, especially since you knew she wasn’t going to be responsible and go to the hospital.

You were broken out of your inner anxious ramblings by Emily stumbling through the front door, all but dropping her bags at her feet and practically running right to you.

“Em,” you whispered, gathering her in your arms. You could feel her slightly shaking, the adrenaline of everything finally crashing on her. “You’re home, baby, and safe. You’re safe now,” you said, continuing to whisper sweet words to her, rubbing your hands on her back, helping to wear off some of the epinephrine coursing through her.

You tried to pull away, so you could look at her, really look at her, but her arms shot out and grabbed you around your waist, pulling you even closer to her. Like she was trying to burrow into you.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her nose dragging up the side of your neck, breathing in your perfume.

“Okay, okay.”

It takes a couple of minutes; you can feel Emily mouthing something against your skin, as if she’s trying to ground herself, reminding herself that she’s not with him anymore. Eventually, though, she loosens her grip on you, allowing you to look at her face for the first real time since she got home.

When your eyes connect, you can see the tears shining in hers. You can feel the weight of her stare, silently communicating between the two of you.

I almost died.

But you didn’t, love. You’re home.

You trail your hand up her arm, across her shoulder, and over her heart.

You’re alive. You’re safe.

As you tap your pointer finger on her chest in time with her heartbeat, she takes a shuddering breath, a few tears finally making their way down her cheek. She blinks a few times, not trying to hide the emotion escaping her, before taking a deep breath that seems to use all of her remaining energy.

“Can- can we take a bath?” She asks, timidly. As if you would ever deny her anything.

You don’t say anything. You just grasp her hand in yours and lead her to your bathroom. You sit her on the toilet, tucking some of her stray hair behind her ears. You reach over to your oversized tub, turning the water to just on the side of scalding. The temperature Emily prefers.

As the tub fills, you watch Emily, rubbing your hands on her knees. She’s still occasionally shaking, but not as badly as when she came in. Her gaze isn’t focused on anything, worrying you that she might start receding back to memories from earlier. You know she’ll be hit with nightmares later, something you’ve dealt with before and know how to handle. You just want to prevent that for right now.

Once the tub is full, you add some bath water oils, a eucalyptus smell. You’ve found that it’s better for keeping Emily calm over lavender or vanilla smells.

You start to strip, placing your clothes in the hamper. Emily still isn’t focusing on anything, her eyes settled on her hands on her lap. She isn’t even registering that the bath is ready, so you approach her quietly.

“Em, baby, the bath is ready. You need to get undressed.”

Her eyes tracked up your body, but there wasn’t her normal heat in her gaze. Only as if she was making sure that it was really you.

When your eyes connected, you had to stop yourself from gasping. Her eyes were turning red from trying not to cry, almost overflowing with unshed tears.

You crouched down in front of her, your nude form not even a worry. You rubbed your thumbs across her cheeks, trying to get her to release her emotions. You’d take them from her if you could.

Emily feels your thumbs rubbing back and forth, letting your love for her ground her to this moment. Eventually, she closes her eyes tight, all of the tears breaking free, and she starts to sob. She collapses into you, burrowing into your neck again. This time, you can hear her mumbling, wheels up, I’m home, wheels up, I’m home over and over again. A mantra.

You give her a few minutes, letting her get out most of the current wave of emotion. You know it’ll hit her again later, likely many times, and you know you’ll take them all in stride. Anything for her.

Another deep breath, another slow release from you. You reach over and grab some toilet paper, wiping at her teary, snotty face. You can tell she almost cracks a smile at the noise her nose makes when she blows it into the tissue; she’s slowly coming back to herself.

After you toss the tissue in the trash, you grab the hem of her shirt. Tugging on it, Emily raises her arms, allowing you to undress her. There’s no sexual charge to your movements; this is purely emotional, intimate connection between you and your girl.

You get in the tub first, spreading your legs so Emily can settle between them. Usually, she’s behind you, always pampering you. It’s only on rare occasions do you get to be the one caring for her, so you take pride in your movements, your ability to calm her when she most needs it.

As she settles in front of you, you feel the last of her energy leave her. The hot water around you soothing sore muscles, easing her overworked nervous system. Her heart rate starts to slow, her breaths becoming deeper, slower, longer.

While you know that her body is physically relaxing, you know that her mind is not.

You never get the details of the case. She never wants to burden you with the gruesomeness of her job, doesn’t want you to worry more than you already do. Emily’s a profiler, can read anyone in the room and pinpoint their motives. But you’ve become an expert in Emily.

You help her through the aftermath as best as you can, providing her with the space to unwind in whatever what she deems necessary - or whatever way her body deems necessary. Sometimes it’s a hot bath and a good meal, sometimes it’s body-wracking sobs on the couch, and sometimes it’s taking her to the local gym to spar with someone and let her anger out.

You see sides of your girlfriend that you know no one else has or ever will. She’s a strong, independent person with walls taller than Everest. Somehow, you’ve managed to climb them, repel down them, and settle in. Emily let you settle in, let you unwind the barb wire around her heart. You’d protect it with your life.

You start rubbing a soft cloth with your body wash across Emily’s body; she’s always taken comfort in your smell after a bad case. You make sure to go slow, not knowing what happened to her, not wanting to trigger anything unknowingly.

As you reach her bent knees, you feel her flinch a little. You stop immediately, trying to check in with her again. She’s mouthing the same mantra: Wheels up, I’m home, wheels up…

“Em? Do your legs hurt?”

A slight shake of her head. No pain, which likely means it’s something mentally.

You continue slowly, letting her feel the cloth on her legs. “Open your eyes, Em. Your legs are okay.”

You watch the side of her face, watch as her eyes blink open, watch as her eyes track your hands up and down her leg.

Another deep, shuddering breath as you feel her relax back into you. She continues to watch your movements, her eyes growing more focused as they move back up her torso.

“I need,” a whisper, caught in the dryness of her throat; she clears it before trying again. “I need you to touch me.”

You release the cloth, notice it float away to the end of the tub. Your hands wrap around her, settling lower on her belly, resting there. You watch the side of her face again. “You sure?”

You would never take advantage of her, not while she’s vulnerable. You’ve had this conversation before, about how sometimes after certain cases she just needs to feel connected to you, feel intertwined with something that is real.

She turns to look at you, her nose brushing against yours as she whispers a strong, steady, “love me,” against your lips.

She trails her hand to yours, interlocks your fingers, before bringing both of them down to her core. Interconnected, simultaneously, you start rubbing slow, steady circles on her clit, working her up easily, lovingly.

Each brush of your fingers against her has her twitching, rolling her hips into your hands. Her head thrown back against your shoulder, you can see her feeling you, feeling your love for her. The only thing on her mind now is her, you, and the way that you make her feel. Each stroke of your fingers is a promise, a vow to protect her, keep her safe, love her. It’s a love letter of all of the things you wish you could voice, of all of the ways you care for her.

As she nears her peak, your lips find her ear as you whisper over and over I love you, you’re home, I love you…

Her back arches against you, her hips pressing more fully into your hand. You help her ride through the waves, gathering her in your arms as she settles back down. Your lips brush light kisses around her temple and cheek as she catches her breath.

“I love you,” she says. “I’m home.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #virescent v fanfic #ask v!#emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #i somehow wrote and published three fics in one day???#who am i????#god i love emily so much #thanks for the prompt bestie!!#if theres mistakes in this do not let me know #i read through it once before posting ahhaha

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