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hermanunworthy · 7 months

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can i request 23 for oakworthy? :3c

Charmed (In Your Arms)

23: carrying the other one in their arms

from the touch prompts list!

kai i KNOW u chose this one bc of that one hcs ask and ily for it bc i have been waiting for an excuse to write something about it teehee

also on ao3!

In a perfectly ideal fantasy (of which he has many), Hermie would be the most charming of princes, dressed in an expensive suit, whisking his bride away into the sunset in his very capable arms. The princess, in her elegant white gown, would swoon over his admirable strength, calling him her hero, and he would kiss her cheek with a dashing smile. A choir of birds and angels would sing in harmony, following them into the distance as the curtains drew on their love story.

But “happily ever after” just doesn't seem to be quite in Hermie’s reach yet. Because… Well…

“Wh-Whoa! ” the prince cries out as the weight of the mannequin in their arms tips them over and crushes them on the floor. For–well, not the first time.

…Hermie might not be the best at everything in acting.

They shove the wretched doll off of their definitely-now-bruised body and sit up with a groan. They have to get this down, if they’re ever going to stand a chance auditioning for the prince in the school play. What kind of Prince Charming can't sweep his princess off her feet?

Hermie may have been known for their wonderful acting abilities, but not exactly for their physical capabilities. And though they know the school’s theatre department is not one to typecast, as they’ve been able to land a variety of roles before… a scrawny kid like them is not exactly their first choice for this particular character. It’s not an easy feat to pretend to be a powerful, masculine man when you're just a pathetic non-binary teen who can't even lift a chair without breaking a sweat.

They brush themself off in embarrassment, feeling as though an entire audience has just witnessed their blunder. “Once more, with feeling this time!” they mutter to themself, although the only feeling they have left in them is frustration (and aching pain).

They crouch down to pick the mannequin back up, expecting it to be a herculean task with how tired their arms are, but find lifting it to be a breeze, all of a sudden. Perhaps they really are settling into their role–

“Hi, Hermie! What’s the mannequin for?”

Standing on the other side of the mannequin, holding up its body effortlessly, is Normal. When did he get in here?

Normal is, shockingly, not in the mascot costume at the moment. Standing backstage with his messy hair and casual clothes, it would be easy to mistake him for stage crew. But Hermie is one of the few people who are used to what Normal looks like underneath Teeny. Well, maybe “used to” isn't the right way to put it, in Hermie’s case. Seeing Normal so plainly like this is startling to them, in a way. He looks so much smaller when he’s not in the bulky suit.

The thespian masks his shock by taking on his princely persona once again, giving a stage bow before standing straight and tall (it hurts his back a bit though, since he’s still unlearning his awful Joker posture). “Greetings, Normally.” He rests a hand on the mannequin’s shoulder, as though it really is his betrothed. “I am simply practicing for our future wedding.”

“Oh!” Normal’s cheek flush. “That’s… Oh! You mean, like… the princess! At the end of the play! Oh wow, you're trying out for the…” He trails off as he stares at him, his blush steadily deepening.

“Prince Charming himself, yes,” Hermie finishes for him while he’s still starstruck. His polite smile shifts into a smirk. “It would appear my charms are already working?”

Normal tries to laugh it off, but he’s visibly sweating as much as he does when he’s been at cheer practice. “Ha, yeah, you're uh, doing a great job…” He clears his throat and shakes his head a little. “But, uh. I actually came because a teacher asked me to grab those chairs that got taken in here yesterday?” He points behind Hermie at a stack of chairs sitting against the wall. “I-I wasn't, like, expecting you to be in here, too.”

“Ah, of course.” The prince gestures for him to go ahead, trying to scoot the mannequin out of the way but failing.

The mascot kid scurries past him, clarifying while walking backwards, “Not that I mind seeing you! I'm glad I saw you!” In his distraction, he ends up bumping his back into the chairs. Once again, he laughs it off.

He turns around, grips the base of the bottom chair, and somehow lifts the entire stack with ease.

It's easy to forget just how strong Normal is. Despite his lack of height or a jock-like attitude, this little sophomore can lift. Hermie just doesn't understand how he's able to support an entire pyramid of cheerleaders, with those very arms, just hidden underneath the arms of his costume. Now that is talent.

That's it! Inspiration strikes Hermie (as well as jealousy, but he can handle that just fine, as he has had to before).

“Normal, wait,” he says without thinking it through first. He instantly realizes that doesn't know what he’s doing. Asking Normal for help is admitting that he can't do it himself. He’s supposed to be confident, capable, not asking a school mascot to teach him how to carry his own bride.

But it’s too late, because Normal is literally dropping everything for him right now. He places the chairs back down on the floor immediately and turns back to him with his full attention. “Yes, Hermie? What do you need?”

A truly loyal knight he would make. Perhaps this is a better way to look at this situation: simply the prince calling on a trusted guard to aid him.

The thespian straightens himself again and tries to put on an authoritative air. “The teacher requested you specifically, I imagine, because you are notably strong, correct?”

“Uh…” Normal glances at the stack of chairs. “I mean, I guess? She knows I do cheer.”

Hermie nods. “Yes, and you are able to carry people with great ease, as I have seen.”

The cheerleader scratches the back of his neck bashfully. “I don't know if I’d call it ‘great ease’, but…”

“Normal, do you happen to be familiar with the bridal carry position?”

Normal jumps a little at the question. “I… am, why?” There’s a nervous but somewhat hopeful twinkle in his eye.

Hermie wraps an arm around the mannequin's waist. “I might acquire some… assistance, in preparation for the big day.” He curses his face for beginning to heat up in shame, but at least it’s underneath his makeup. Still, he shouldn't be averting his eyes.

When he directs them back at Normal, he finds his expression to be much more openly flustered than him. As is the mascot kid’s near-constant state, it seems. “Oh, yeah! I’d–I’d love to help! What do…” He swings his arms back and forth. “What’s holding you up about it?”

What’s holding him up is that he can't hold this thing up. “Might I demonstrate with this, and you may critique?”

Normal stops his swinging motion. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

As soon as Hermie turns toward the mannequin again, the regret starts to hit him. This audience of one is somehow much more pressure on him than the crowds of eyes he’s used to having watch him. His hands hover over the mannequin’s body awkwardly, like a young teen not knowing how to hold their partner at their first dance. He hasn't felt this kind of stage fright in years.

Eventually, his arms settle somewhere along the torso and legs, and, with his breath held, tries this time to just tip the mannequin over and then catch its weight, hoping that that'll make it easier. However, it only ends up starting to pull him down with it, and he lets go before he can go through the even-more-humiliating ordeal of having Normal watch him fall again.

And then Normal laughs. He tries to stifle it with his hand, but it was impossible to miss. Hermie’s cheeks only burn more, as if he’s standing under unbearable stage lights and not just in the dim backstage area.

“Sorry, sorry. I just don't think the mannequin is working for you, man!” He walks over and picks it back up for him. “It and you are too stiff to make it happen!” He looks Hermie over briefly, before chirping, “Here, you gotta do it like this!”

And before Hermie can even protest, he’s being scooped from the floor in one sweeping motion. Normal’s hands, warm though the prince’s clothes, cradle his back and the crooks of his knees. As though he’s nothing more than a pillow resting in his arms.

Even though his hold is steady, Hermie involuntarily swings their arms around the cheerleader’s neck with a very unprincely squeak. The back of his neck is sticky with sweat, but they hang on for dear life anyway.

Normal lets out another giggle, and this time, Hermie can feel it from his chest pressed against their body. He’s so close to them now. Solid. Steady. Warm warm warm–

“Let me down this instant,” the prince demands, feeling suffocated and alarmed as he feels comfortable and safe.

Normal looks down at him (he’s looking down at him for once) with a bright smile. There’s that unbearable stage light. “Of course, your majesty,” he teases in an uncharacteristically smooth voice, and gracefully sets him back down to earth.

As soon as Hermie’s feet land on the floor and Normal’s hands are no longer there for support, they feel their balance falter for the umpteenth time. They try to step away to place some distance between them, but their knees buckle under their own light weight.

But of course, Normal is quick to catch them. An order to unhand him readies itself on Hermie’s tongue, but when the hands draw away just as quickly as they came, he feels the need to lean back into him.

This can't be. He can't be swooning, he’s supposed to be the prince. He’s not supposed to look at Normal, with his dashing smile and very, very capable arms, and feel charmed.

“Once more,” he orders instead. His face feels about as flushed as Normal’s clearly is, and that’s probably becoming more and more evident by the second with how much makeup he’s sweating off, but the show must go on. “With feeling this time.”

Once more, the mascot kid effortlessly sweeps the prince off his feet. Hermie now allows himself to relish in the warmth of his touch, memorizing the way his arms curl around him protectively. To keep in mind for later. To help with his romantic fantasies. As in, to apply when playing as the prince in the play.

Normal then presses the lightest touch of his smiling lips to Hermie’s cheek.

…Hermie may be reconsidering her role now.

#touch prompts #oakworthy #hermie the unworthy #normal oak #dndads fanfiction #dndads fanfic #dndads fic #oakworthy fanfiction #oakworthy fanfic #oakworthy fic #my fic

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queen-scribbles · 4 months

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oooh 👀 mayhaps guide or wound for adam/aj

How 'bout both? with an added [11. laying their hand on the other’s neck] from touch prompts for @haledamage (post-book 3, and I'm trying not to feel guilty it took me like 8 months to fill😅) ---

"You are injured."

"So're you." It came out reflexively, even if the sharp red gash was already starting to close by the time she laid a hand on his neck to frame to wound so she could examine it. "Comes with the job, yeah?"

Adam pulled a slow breath and they both ignored the tremor when he exhaled it. "You will not heal as I do, Abigail." He swallowed hard, jaw tight on more he refused to say, and gently grasped her wrist to move her hand from his neck. His thumb made a light circle over her pulse point--thrumming madly, she was sure--before he shifted his grip to lead her a short way to the side.

AJ followed readily once she picked out his goal--a sawn off stump large, flat, and clean enough for them to sit on. "I'm still gonna worry when y' get hurt, Adam." She missed the warmth of his hand when he let go, bit her lip as if that could hide it. "Call it human nature."

His lips twitched in a maybe-almost-smile. "I feel it is more your nature than a general human state." He hesitated, something flickering in the green of his eyes, then held out a hand. "Let me see."

It was a request more than an order, but AJ made no protest as she held out her arm for him to examine.

Adam's grip was, once again, gentle as he cradled her wrist, gaze and thumb tracing the angry red line that cut from the outside of her forearm around to the inside, just below her wrist. It was barely more than a deep scratch, small potatoes next to most of what she'd weathered, but it was bleeding. Adam pulled a small case from one pocket on his cargo trousers and opted to balance it on his knee as he opened it rather than trust the cleanliness of the stump.

AJ arched a curious brow even as they both wrinkled their noses at the biting scent of alcohol when he tore open one of the small packets within. She had to grit her teeth against the sting of the sterilizing cloth, even with the care Adam gave cleaning the cut.

She wasn't sure if it was the sting or his proximity, laser-focused on tending to her, that had her pulse up.

She studied him in silence as he worked, thoughts and emotions too much a tangle to settle on a topic for small talk. He doesn't care for it anyway. The cut on his neck was completely healed now, drying blood the only evidence it had been there at all.

It wasn't a surprise when Adam ascertained the angle and length of her injury was such adhesive bandages wouldn't cover it well and withdrew the small roll of gauze to wrap it. He finished swiftly, gentle as his touch remained, and rubbed his thumb over the wrapping, as if he wished to transfer some of his healing ability to her through touch alone.

"That should be sufficient until we return to the Warehouse and a doctor can tend it properly," he said abruptly, shaking his head as if to clear some reverie he didn't want. He snapped the case closed and shoved it back in his pocket.

AJ rested a hand on his arm before he could stand and felt him tense. "Thank you, Adam," she said softly. "It hope it wasn't... too much."

He shook his head, scanning the surroundings--"for threats" he'd say if she brought it up--rather than meet her eye. "It... was not more than I could endure. Though I appreciate your concern." Something gentled about his posture. "And it should not surprise me from you."

Her heart fluttered at the softness to his voice. "I wouldn't want it t' be a struggle when you're helpin' me, yeah?"

"It is not," Adam said, finally turning to look at her. His gaze was so sincere it made her chest go tight. "And even if it is... it's worth it."

Oh. She couldn't get even the single syllable our her dry throat. This is really counterproductive to the 'not letting me fall in love with you' thing. She swallowed, lightly running her fingers over where his injury had been. "Thank you," she repeated, and leaned in to kiss his cheek as she let her hand drop.

"Abigail..." He caught her hand for a moment before letting it fall. "You are welcome." He pushed to his feet. "We should continue on. The sooner we finish and get back, the sooner you can have that properly treated."

With a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm herself, AJ also stood. She only made it a few steps in silence before curiosity got the better of her. "I did have a wonder, Adam..."

"Which is?"

She curled a loose lock of hair around her finger and tugged on it. "If all of ya heal fast enough t' not need it, why're ya carryin' a first aid kit?"

Adam stopped, turned to face her. "It is always wise to be prepared. And I look out for my agents." He reached out, thumb ghosting along her jaw, his eyes determined and so, so sad it made her want to weep. "Whatever form that takes."

I will not allow you to fall in love with me.

He pivoted to resume their route and it took several long moments before AJ could breathe through the heartache of his words and unstick her feet to follow. It was, she supposed, human nature to want what you couldn't have.

What if, in this one thing, I don't want lookin' after?

What if we don't break?

#queens fic #abigail jenings #adam du mortain #aj/adam au #nonverbal prompts #eyes emoji prompts #touch prompts #the way they drive me insane🙃

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scarletslippers · 11 months

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For the ask prompts: nace with hand holding while driving and hand kisses? Thank you thank you! 💛

Happy premiere week!!!

I've been wanting to write a little something around this BTS picture from Kennedy but never got around to it. Someone shared it again and here I am. Read on AO3

Hand holding #34 - holding hands while driving, and Kissing #2 - hand kisses

“What do you think, Ace?”

“Hmm?” Ace startles, embarrassed at being caught not giving this conversation his full attention.

Nancy tilts her head quizzically, mouth opening to repeat herself but Bess jumps in to save his ass.

“Nick’s theory about some of the injuries being caused mechanically. Does that line up with what you observed in the autopsy?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. That makes sense.”

“That’s good to hear. Because that means that—”

Ace zones out again as Nick expounds on his theory. Nancy is fully absorbed, eyes lit with mystery, her hand tucked under her chin to prop it up. Say what you want about Icarus Hall’s spooky lighting, but she does look beautiful in it.

Surreptitiously lifting his phone, he peeks the camera just high enough over the edge of the table to capture the moment. Ace manages to snap the picture just before being interrupted by an elbow in his ribs from Bess.

“What are you doing?” she hisses. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry,” he whispers back, trying to quickly tuck his phone out of sight.

“Are you taking pictures of Nancy?”

Read the rest

#idk they're cute #nace #nace fanfiction #nancy drew cw #the established nace agenda #nancy and ace #my fic #touch prompts

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tiredassmage · 1 year

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24 for tyr and theron 👁👁

Alkdsfnldsfnl thank you, I feel like it's been FAR too long since I wrote about these absolute idiots.

They got a bit obnoxious with one another over this (one of Tyr's favorite things to do to him, tbh), so fair warning that they got suggestive, but this scene itself doesn't include more than the wordplay. : P (They're primarily obnoxious towards the end under the cut, but... Tyr's a bit of a menace to him, lol.)

[touch prompts: (24) whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin]

Theron Shan found the Commander not quite exactly on his first try (and it was only because the Alliance base had several conference areas that also ranked rather high on his list of suspicions), but certainly just about where he’d expect him: bent over a datapad with a slight frown of concentration set across his lips and pulling his brows together at the center.

And he couldn’t help but smile as he propped a shoulder in the doorway and crossed one foot with the other comfortably. He couldn’t exactly argue that he was a sight to watch in the midst of his work.

“Hey you.”

Tyr glanced over his shoulder to offer him a half-smile, but what passed for a greeting didn’t entirely dispel the glint of concentration. “Come to offer me the pleasure of your company?” he teased nonetheless.

Well… Theron cleared his throat.

And that, of course, pulled Tyr’s attention away from his work enough to fix Theron in a very pointed gaze as a slightly pleased smirk threatened to slip across his lips.

Theron huffed. “Okay,” he said, waving a hand with a half-hearted scowl, “Not fair, first of all.”

Tyr hummed and casually shrugged a shoulder before his eyes drifted back to his work. “What is it they say in… oh, all the… overblown dramatics of the holofilms..?”

Theron rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door, easing over to his lover and draping both arms around his waist, chin propping against his shoulder. “All’s fair in love and war, huh?”

Tyr’s smile widened a touch. “Something like that.” He signed off on whatever he’d had pulled on his datapad and started to send it off - an approval of deployment plans or allocation of supplies or any of about a million and one other things that kept the Alliance running. “You’re not here about work.”

“No,” Theron gave. “Not directly, anyway.”

Tyr quirked a brow, but didn’t stop his work as Theron nuzzled against the crook of his neck. Not, at least, until his lips brushed against his jaw. The reward was subtle - just an almost imperceptible sigh and the closing of his eyes. Tyr had always been mercilessly difficult to undo - just as attractive as it was occasionally infuriating, if Theron was going to be honest.

“Figured it’s been a while since we set aside a night for us,” he mused. Theron leaned in a bit more and dropped his voice to a whisper, “You can spare me the time, can’t you, Commander?”

Tyr snapped off whatever message he’d composed on the datapad before he twisted in Theron’s arms and then spun them entirely, pinning Theron between the table and himself, one arm on either side.

The Commander smirked triumphantly back at him, far too pleased with the light yelp of surprise.

Damn him.

But he had no good protest for Tyr pressing a kiss to his lips. Theron’s arms instinctively looped back around him, hands hooking comfortably in Tyr’s back pockets.

“You make a convincing argument, Agent Shan,” the former Cipher mused. “If a bit hypocritical.”

Theron pouted. “Okay, like either of us can talk.” He struggled to keep a relatively stern gaze under Tyr’s… distracting- “Look.”

“One hour. I promised Aygo I’d stop in and see some of the newer recruits.” Tyr tugged on his jacket, pulling him into a deeper kiss that ended with a faint nip on the lips. “I expect you to be punctual, Shan.”

Tyr swiped his datapad off the table as Theron narrowed his eyes. From anyone else, he’d complain about being shot back decades to- Nevermind.

He rolled his eyes. “Might I suggest the same for you, Commander.”

Tyr tossed him one last smirk as he headed for the door. “I love you, too.”

#answered #swtor #swtor fanfiction #ch: tyr #theron shan #imperial agent x theron shan #in which theron is far too easy to fluster and tyr absolutely delights in this fact tbh #they aren't constantly obnoxious but stars when they are #touch prompts #dot words #swtor fanfic

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captainderyn · 10 months

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"In Joy" kiss for Raenor/Wulfwryn, please

The Midsummer festival gave me the perfect idea for this prompt :D

This is pure fluff lol, I'd love to add onto it and write out their whole experience at the royal wedding, if I find myself having the time.

Raenor/Wulfwryn

---

No amount of cold water from the pitcher in front of her or sweet floral-scented summer breeze could soothe Wulfwryn's frazzled nerves.

She took another deep drink of water, flapping the collar of her black guard tunic to let air brush her sweaty skin. Though the weather was blessedly mild for summer in the White City, she'd rode and run enough around each level that she thought she'd melt.

"Captain...?" she groaned at the tentative voice of one of her young guards, pressing her hand to her eyes.

"I don't wish to hear another request." she said.

When she peaked through her fingers, the youngest guard in her company shifted from foot to foot, eyes wide with indecision.

"But Captain-"

"Ah, no more." Though she was messing with him, mostly, her guard looked close enough to distress that she softened with a chuckle, "What is it?"

"King Elessar sends summons for you. He was quite insistent that we track you down."

She carded through the incidents of the last several hours in her mind, trying to find one that she hadn't already handled. Crisis with the decorations, food, flowers, and ale had all been averted. She'd redirected the wedding planners from the mischievous misguidance of the hobbits. She'd even relayed to her dear friend the murmurs of discontent his marriage to lady Arwen that had spread through the Splintered Shield.

Her confusion must have flitted across her face, as her guard amended, "From his words, it is nothing bad. He actually insisted it was something you would be most pleased about."

Well, what she'd be most pleased about would be a long break and even longer nap out of the bustle of wedding preparations and guard duty. But unless Aragorn and Arwen married in secret--which she would not put past her friend, if his adjustment to kinghood showed any trends--she did not foresee that happening.

As she pulled herself to her feet, swinging back her heavy black cloak so it wouldn't snag on the chair, her muscles ached and protested. Why could her people's predecessors have build a less upward inclined city?

"Aye, well if Elessar says it then it must be so." She said lightly, still snagging on her king's 'new' name. She'd known him by so many now, she'd be lucky to ever keep then straight, "Do try to get some rest in my stead, your shift should be over."

Her guard sketched a bow to her, though it was wholly unnecessary and he flushed at her pointed look, "I will Cap...Wulfwryn. There's a horse waiting at the stables to take you to the Tower."

"Wulfwryn!" Aragorn waved her off as she went to settle to a knee in front of him. Though it earned her a good-natured glower, she still ducked into a quick bow, "I have wonderful news for you."

The joy written across his face could not solely be attributed to the end of the war. In the stretch between Sauron's fall to the encroaching wedding, she'd seen the weary, brooding look she'd come to know him with many times.

No, the closer to Arwen's arrival they were, the more weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. A spark alighted brighter in his eyes with each passing day and there was more bounce in his step. For his smile to be so bright...it lit a beacon of excitement in Wulfwryn's own heart.

While her king's happiness was something she would give anything for, if his bride-to-be was riding into Gondor then that meant her own love would not be far behind.

She cocked her head, smile already tugging at the corners of her mouth, "Did you summon me here to tell me of the elven company's arrival, my lord?"

With so many of his advisors watching, judging every move the new king made, there was only so much they could blur the line between friends and a king and the captain of his guard. Aragorn's dropping of her title had already caught one grimacing glance.

"I want you to greet the company." Aragorn smiled, more open and beaming than she'd ever seen it, "Welcome by betrothed and her wedding party to the White City, as one who is considered elven-friend."

She bowed her head as her heart skipped and danced with joy in her chest, "It will be done."

Aragorn stepped closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial level, "And do give my regards to Raenor. The guard will not need your services the rest of today or tomorrow, welcome him to your city and make up for lost time my friend."

"Tomorrow is the wedding, should I not be standing guard on such an important day?" she asked, brows knitting.

She should have been ruffled by the way Aragorn waved her concern away, should have insisted his safety be paramount to her own desires. Though the desire to take his offer without question was tantalizing. It'd been too long since she'd last seen Raenor.

"The other guards will have no trouble keeping rowdy party guests in line. You are an honored guest tomorrow, Wulfwryn, as both a friend and a pivotal part of the war." Aragorn set a long look on her, "Now go to the gates, where the elves await."

She'd always learned not to argue with her rightful king, and this was not a battle she would pick. With one last bow for good measure, to his chagrin, she turned on her heel and hurried from the Tower.

The ride from the topmost level of the city to the gate was agonizing, unable to nudge her horse into more than a meandering trot as she wove through packs of guests, got stuck behind supply wagons, and dodged children and hounds running amuck.

Though it was the most alive she'd seen Minis Tirith since the end of the war, she still grit her teeth against the frustration roiling her her blood.

Finally reaching the gate did not ease her ire. The party from Rivendell amassed in the courtyard, a gentle glow emanating all around them.

She scanned the numerous faces, failing to find the one she wanted. Were she not in uniform, she might've stomped and thrown her arms about like a young child. Finding Raenor would be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack!

Reigning in her irritation as much as she could, easier as Elrohir and Elladan greeted her with smiles and friendly words, she still looked at each elf that walked back and listened with half an ear to the brothers' joy and sorrow over their sister's wedding.

By the time she finally reached Elrond, she tried dearly to fully listen to the father's conflicted words. She'd resigned herself to never finding Raenor until the party filtered towards the guest houses. Perhaps tonight he would find her in her modest stone home within the city walls.

"Wulfwryn!" Her name echoed from deeper within the crowd and she snapped back to focus. A wave of movement, elves swaying back and forth in fine, rippling silk, rolled from the back of the caravan towards her.

"Goheno nin! Vanya, mechin! Wulfwryn!"

She looked to Elrond, wincing, even as she heard the apologies and pleas rushing closer, "My apologies, my lord Elrond, I-"

But the lord of Rivendell simply offered a bittersweet smile, following her darting looks to where Raenor finally broke free from the crowd, out of breath and flustered.

"He has long wished to be reunited with you, I will not stand in the way of that."

Before Wulfwryn could parse through enough of Elrond's underlying emotion to respond, for she knew all he'd done for Raenor in the centuries past, she was swept from her feet.

She squealed in delight as Raenor's familiar arms hoisted her up, spinning her round and round with a joyous, "Meldanya!"

Through giddy laughter she wrapped her around around his neck, fingers tangling in the long waves of his hair. Her feet found the ground again and she waved on her feet, gripping him tighter.

She couldn't even get out a greeting before his hands were cupping her jaw, tugging her up into one kiss, then another. His hands were warm against her skin, his musician's callouses rough.

Her laughter bubbled out of her, freely given, as her hands fumbled up to find his wrists as he peppered her lips, then each corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, with kisses.

"I've missed you." She got out finally, pressing herself tightly to Raenor and wrapping her arms around his middle. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as out of breath as she was, his heart hammering an excited beat beneath his fine, blue silk tunic as she pressed her cheek to his chest, "I'm so glad you finally made it, my love."

Pulling her even closer, Raenor pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, "I have dreamt every day since I left to be back here with you."

He swayed them back and forth, a joy so pure and unfiltered pouring forth from him that it was infectious, "And I do not plan to leave again, meldanya. Not without you by my side."

She titled her head back to look up at him, eyebrows pulling together, but he simply ducked his head down to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear, "I shall tell you later."

Though curiosity wracked her, and though she wondered if that were the reason behind Elrond's bittersweet look towards them, she pressed up onto her toes and captured Raenor's lips in another kiss, gathering the collar of his tunic in her greedy hands.

There was little worth questioning too hard in this moment.

Goheno nin: Sorry

Vanya, mechin: Move, please!

Meldanya: My beloved/my love

#captainderyn writes #touch prompts #lotro #lotro fanfic #oc: Raenor #oc: Wulfwryn #otp: sing to me softly #I love them so much PLEASE Raenor's reaction is making me emotional and I wrote it ;--;#he's so excited to tell Wulfwryn that he plans to stay in Gondor with her!!#my comfort ship for REAL coming back to writing them is always so easy

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cabezadeperro · 2 years

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Kesett 8. (shielding the other one with their body)

hi anon!

rebel era, kind-of established relationship, 560w, G.

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Cal doesn’t wait to knock before stepping through the door. The bunk is shrouded in shadows except for the small luma fixed on the wall, and the harsh, white light of the Mantis’s corridor floods it without mercy.

In the bed, Boba groans and tries to turn away. He’s too weak to do anything but flop uselessly on the narrow cot, and Cal mutters an apology. He steps inside and palms the door closed once again with his elbow.

His hands are full. Gauze, bandages, bacta. Antibiotics, something for the burns, something for the pain. A water pouch, still cool from the conservator, and a small bowl of Greez’s special porridge, warm and not too thick.

He leaves everything on the small shelf by the bunks, and then he takes a seat on the edge of the opposite bed, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

Boba’s watching him with dark, fever-bright eyes. Cal feels his fingers twitch: he wants to touch him, but—but.

He’s not that sure Boba will let him.

So he saved Cal’s life. So his armour isn’t real beskar. So the flames ate through the fabric of his flightsuit and into the skin of his side. So he almost died, and he almost died for Cal, though Cal has learned to expect nothing and less from him. Cal thought Boba hated his guts, despite the sex and the kisses.

He swallows. He has barely slept in—days. He can’t.

Every time he closes his eyes he sees it again, the picture crisp and clear and like it’s happening again: the pain in his side from the blaster shot, and then Boba, heavy and unmoving where he rested over Cal’s body, the flames making the mud hiss.

Cal had to take it all off with the Force. Everything but Boba’s beskar helmet was too hot to touch.

Cal clears his throat.

“I need to change your bandages,” he says. Boba grunts.

He can feel Merrin and Cere reaching out to him, their minds brushing against his. He turns away, back to Boba.

Cal can’t read him. He’s open, but there’s just too much, too fast. It doesn’t show on his face.

He lets Cal help him sit up, the warm skin of his torso still sticky with sweat and blood and bacta, but he won’t look Cal in the eye, his own eyes flat and his lips pressed tight, and Cal doesn’t know why he expected something different.

He changes Boba’s bandages, the silence ballooning, growing denser and colder, and he wishes he could just—ask.

When he’s finished, Cal stays there, sitting on the edge of Boba’s bunk, Boba quiet and stiff and staring bullishly at the dark. Cal sighs. He reaches for his hand, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Boba’s hands are rough, his nails bitten to the quick, the knuckles scarred over. There’s dirt in the creases of his palm, and when Cal brings it to his mouth he can smell blaster oil and Force knows what else. He places a kiss there, careful and as soft as he knows how to make it, though this is not how it goes, this is not how they’re supposed to work—Boba exhales, loud and exhausted.

Cal lets him tug his hand away. He turns to look at Boba: Boba’s already staring at him, dark eyes bright.

#kesett #calboba #cal kestis #boba fett #touch prompts #maría writes

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squeeneyart · 1 year

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9 or 45 from the kisses section with BITS jmart if you want! :D

[Image Description: Two digital greyscale drawings of Jonathan Sims, a short, thin dark-skinned man with short cropped light hair and various scars wearing a dark sweater over a collared shirt, and Martin Blackwood, a taller, fat, light-skinned man with long light hair and glasses wearing a white button up collared shirt. Both are slightly damp as if they were in the rain.

Top left: They stand facing each other, Martin looking down in surprise and Jon looking up with a sincere smile.

Jon: Look, however you feel about me now, I'm just glad you-

Bottom right: Martin is slightly bent over and has pulled Jon into a kiss, gripping him by the upper arm and the back of the neck. Jon's hands are on Martin's chest/shoulder area and back.

End ID]

prompts were first kisses or relieved kisses which let's be real can just be smashed together for them. thanks for the prompts!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #anon ask #touch prompts

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evermeet · 2 months

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12 or 20 for the prompts 🤍

12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

Gale was still asleep, chest rising and falling slowly as he lay beside her. Tavira had rolled onto her stomach, arms folded beneath her chin as she watched him breathe. It was the only time there was no crease between his brow -- weightless in dreams, without the pressures of the waking world. Tavira propped herself up onto her elbows and scooted closer to him, suddenly feeling the morning chill around them. The tents were nice, but they didn't keep much of the weather out, not when it counted. As her body touched his, he stirred slightly and let out a sigh, but did not open his eyes. "Good morning," he said softly, his voice low from sleep. "Are you cold?" "I'll be fine, go back to sleep," Tavira reached up, brushing a tress of hair behind the wizard's ear. "It's not yet dawn." "Mm. Come here, then." Gale turned onto his side towards Tavira and pulled her closer to him until her back was pressed into his chest. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder blade and squeezed her tight for a moment as she wriggled closer to him. In return, she kissed his hand and laced her fingers with his. "Better?" He asked, twining his legs with hers. "Better." Tavira sighed, and settled against him as sleep returned.

#ask'24 #inafieldofdaisies #touch prompts #otp: i could wow you #oc: tavira stormweave #mine*#mine*words #mine*bg3 #no read more bc it's shorter #and im lazy #ty for the prompt bb

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hermanunworthy · 5 months

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Hi, there, Siren, hope you're doing well! If you're still taking dndads ship requests, how about maybe 35 for Cheerkicks/Oakli (not entirely sure on the name here, but. Link and Normal. You get it), please? Feeling in a silly rarepair mood today hehe 💚💚💚

Bullet Holes and Acne Scars (and Other Wounds to Heal)

35. kissing their bruises and scars

from the touch prompts list!

I WAITED A MONTH TO START ON THIS HELP 😭 trust me though ive been so excited about this one, oakicks makes me ill /pos (and also im glad i waited bc i got to use the latest episode as context for this scene!)

cw: violence (including gun violence), blood and injury

also on ao3!

Normal never would’ve taken Lincoln as a fighter, at first.

Ever since they were young, Lincoln has been timid, uptight, the type to go rigid if you get too close to him. Or maybe that’s just in Normal’s case. They’re working on it, though. He thinks. He hopes.

He never would've thought that the sweet kid he used to see kicking rocks in the corner or a soccer ball on a field would one day be kicking FBI agents and military soldiers on the battlefield. With the force of a beast.

Normal thinks he understands, now, why Lincoln’s dads tried to shelter their son so much.

But he also thinks he understands, as he’s too distracted looking at Lincoln to succeed at the spell he’s currently casting, the way he feels. He may not understand what it’s like to be unconditionally loved by his parents (something that arouses a deeply-rooted feeling of envy in him towards his friend, but that’s another thing he’s working on), but he understands what it’s like to feel pressured by his parents. And he thinks, in their own loving way, Lincoln’s dads have pressured him too much. And this is his release. His rebellion. Like a caged animal set free.

And Normal does believe he deserves this. However. It also concerns him greatly.

Because the paladin is moving so quickly, so aggressively, and the cleric is barely able to even keep an eye on him but it sounds like he's breathing heavily and at one point he thinks he catches a glimmer of something in his eye. And it all keeps distracting him from helping out in the battle himself.

Normal just narrowly avoids another incoming attack. Focus, Normal, fucking focus! He shakes his head, his heart pounding irregularly in his chest, trying to pay attention to anything other than Lincoln, Lincoln, is Lincoln okay—

“Norm!” Scary’s voice calls from a ways away, blasting a fireball directly into a man’s face. “Taylor could use your help!”

“No, I—!” Taylor immediately snaps back from where he stands off, holding a soldier back with their weapons clashed. “Uh, I mean… Yeah! Normie! We need you!”

Normal leaps straight into action, fueled by his friends’ words and ready to defend them, but realizes while he’s charging his spell just what’s going on. Something burns within him, something that has settled deep within his veins and has been repeatedly threatening to burst through these days. Do you really need my help, or do you just want to feel better about being such a dick to me lately?

His spell fizzles out in failure again, and he clutches his head and growls to himself. Lincoln, get out of my damn head!

“Norm— Augh!” Scary, in her distraction, takes a blunt melee attack to the head, knocking her down.

Taylor swivels around with a slash to his opponent to face Scary’s assailant. “What the hell?!” He jabs his sword toward the FBI agent. “Normal! What’s with the weaksauce spells?”

The blood is roaring in Normal’s ears so loudly that he can't even hear himself stuttering. He dizzily looks between Scary on the ground, Taylor standing off against the agent, and Lincoln, off in the distance, surrounded by soldiers. He's paralyzed. His lungs feel compressed tightly in his chest, and not even the strong emotion shooting through his blood is enough to awaken any magic.

Scary, thank the metaphorical heavens and not the godawful place they all visited earlier, manages to make it back onto her feet, but not without great effort. “You're—” She coughs. “You're good, Norm, you're good.”

The squeezing feeling in Normal’s chest somehow worsens. Stop it, don't say that. Why am I even here? I'm no help at all!

He stumbles backwards, and his back bumps into somebody. Before he can turn around to face them, a pair of burly arms are slung around his neck. Already short of breath, the cleric is easy to choke out, and his hands fly up to scratch at their sleeves. Panicking, he looks to Taylor, the closest nearby person, and cries out, “Help!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Taylor drops what he’s doing and, like a true hero, blindly sprints over to slice the back of Normal’s attacker. The arms release him from the chokehold, and he falls to the ground, heaving for air.

But he isn't able to recover for long, because somebody is yanking him back up by his collar. He braces himself this time, but finds himself face-to-face with Taylor. His expression is twisted in anger, the way he looked at him the last time they argued.

“What the fuck was that, dude?! You can't even use a spell to help me, but you can use me to help you?” He shoves him, nearly toppling him back to the ground.

He… I used a Command on Taylor, didn't I? He didn't even realize. It was just instinct, of course he wouldn't just use his friend like that…

You only ever want to help yourself, a familiar voice scolds him in his head.

“Taylor, quit it, he’s already been…!” Scary is beginning to argue with him now, but Normal can't even pay attention to that anymore.

Lincoln is now fighting Agent Shmegan.

The man is trying to resist his attacks, shielding his body with his arms and trying to talk to him, but the paladin will not let up. “Kid, if you could just— You're making this harder than it needs to be, we just want—”

“I don't care what you want!” Lincoln roars, the first words Normal has heard him say during this entire fight. “I'm not going to listen to you anymore! I hate you adults! Fuck you!” He kicks him again, and again, and he's starting to lose his momentum with each swing but he refuses to give up. “Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Normal knows Lincoln has a history with this man, but he also can tell that this is not just about him and Taylor’s kidnapping.

“Li-Wilson— Please just get a hold of yourself and your friends—” Schmegan orders through grunts of pain. Normal knows Lincoln has been training hard to perfect his soccer kicks, so that can't feel good to take.

“Shut up! That’s Mr. Kicks to you!” The soccer player utilizes a swift kick to the crotch as emphasis.

While the FBI agent is finally doubled over in pain, unable to make any more demands, Lincoln’s body heaves with effort. He looks like he’s preparing another kick, but he’s cut short when a loud gunshot fires out, and he stumbles backwards.

“Link!” Normal shrieks, his body finally allowing him to move again, and he dives over to where his friend has fallen. As he gets close, it becomes apparent to him that Lincoln is crying, and he’s crying hard.

“Sir, let's get out of here.” Another agent, holding the gun used to shoot Lincoln, rushes over to Shmegan’s aid, helping him to lean on his shoulder and escort him back to their helicopter. “Freeman kept us from capturing the King, but we have him and his buddies as hostages for later. We need to retreat for now.”

Shmegan’s face contorts in pain and anger. “That better include Wilson. I have some words for that man about his son.”

The other agent chuckles wryly. “Oh, yes, sir. He’s been incapacitated since the fight began.” He looks down at where Lincoln sits, with no sense of remorse. “Seems we’re not the only ones disturbed by that kid’s violence.”

Normal is crouched by Lincoln��s side, trembling just as bad as he is. “Link, it’s Normal. Normal’s here.” God, that must be the least comforting thing he could hear right now. He must be the last person he wants to help him.

Normal’s hands are on Lincoln’s hands. Lincoln’s hands are on his knee. Lincoln’s blood is on his hands, on his knee, on his clothes, on the ground…

“Dad,” Lincoln sobs weakly. “Dad.”

All of Lincoln’s fight has left him. Now he’s just a scared, powerless little kid.

And so is Normal, now that he’s drained of magic. He can't cast any more spells. He used the last one to help himself. He can't heal his friend. And dear god, Lincoln’s still crying for his dad. But Grant has been captured. And so have the rest of their dads, it sounds.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

He presses down harder on the wound, but he can't tell if it’s even helping to stop the bleeding, or if it’s just him trying to squeeze Lincoln’s hands to help himself calm down. God fucking damn it, I'm so selfish, even as my friend is sitting here with an actual bullet wound… Can’t do shit for him…

He dares to look back up at Lincoln’s face, and finds it even worse to look at than all the blood. His eyes are scrunched up, leaking a river of tears down his face, his lips quivering with each shaking breath. It reminds him of when he got to see this boy as a baby, and how he promised him that it was going to be alright. He has to make this alright again, if it’s the last thing he does.

With one hand still pressing against his knee, Normal uses the other one to carefully lean forward and stroke his cheek again, wiping away some of his tears.

Lincoln opens his eyes, and when they meet Normal’s it’s clear that they are bloodshot and unfocused. “D-Dad…” he still whimpers. “Help…”

It hurts, knowing that he doesn't want Normal, but he tries to put himself in his shoes. What would I want from my dad, if I were him?

He knows Grant wouldn't know any healing spells. But he does know that he was very tender and affectionate with his son. He seems like he’s very gentle in how he cares for him, like he feels like his own dad has the potential to be.

He knows what he wanted his dad to do for him when he got hurt when he was younger. Grant seems like the type to care unconditionally, though. So, unlike his own dad, he ignores the disturbing and gross nature of this situation, and with all the love (and lack of magic) in his heart, he presses his lips lovingly against Lincoln’s knee as if it was simply the scraped knee of a child.

Lincoln gasps at the feeling, and Normal instantly regrets it, feeling like an utter idiot, He has an literal hole in his knee, I can't just kiss it better, this must be hurting him so bad—

“Normal,” Lincoln chokes at last. He grabs one of his friend’s hands and squeezes it with enough strength to break him. “Normal.”

The cleric lets out a squeak from the strong grip, but watches as a golden light begins to slowly, slowly glow from underneath the paladin’s other hand, which is still on his knee. He’s casting Lay on Hands on himself. Oh, Normal didn't even think about the fact that Lincoln hasn't been using any magic, so he probably could've…

But no, Lincoln wasn't able to help himself before, was he? It wasn't until Normal kissed him that that something in his eyes cleared, like a fog being lifted. Did Normal actually help? Or is he just being selfish, just taking credit for something that had nothing to do with—

“Thank you, Normal,” Lincoln breathes. The words he’s been wanting to hear all this time. Normal’s heart squeezes at the sound.

“Did you…” Normal’s own voice feels thick in his throat, and he realized just then that he has tears dripping down his face as well. “Did you even realize what you were doing? How hard you were fighting?”

More tears begin to roll down Lincoln’s cheeks. “It… There was no pain… At first… Only anger…”

He squeezes his friend’s hand back, but it’s not nearly as strong. Not as strong as Lincoln, never. “I was so worried, it felt like losing you…”

Lincoln’s face crumples again, and Normal can hardly bear to look at it. “Normal…”

His eyes wander over Lincoln’s body, realizing that there are other spots of blood not just from the gunshot. All sorts of cuts and bruises, all of which look very painful, but Lincoln hasn't acknowledged any of them. That “zone” that he seems to get into, that rush of adrenaline, that thrill of violence, must be a very, very dangerous place for him to be in. He never wants to lose his friend to that darkness again.

So he shows him the light. He leans in close to each wound, trailing the gentlest of kisses over the dark spots on his legs and the nasty gashes on his arms, never once shying away from the blood or the hair or the sweat or the filth because it's all normal to him, and even though he knows it's selfish to give Lincoln what he wants for himself, he wants to love Lincoln like he’s perfectly new.

“Normal,” is all Lincoln can say now, through his continued crying. “Normal, Normal…” The way he’s whimpering his name, like a prayer upon his lips, only fuels him further, the way it feels to have replenished magic surging through his veins.

It isn't until he gets tugged away by his hair that he realizes he should probably stop. But Lincoln's hand doesn’t move from the back of his head, and when he looks up at him, Lincoln just stares back, his pupils wide. “Normal,” he whispers again.

Lincoln’s gaze is roaming over his face, and especially over the blood drying on his mouth. Normal can taste it, he realizes self-consciously.

“How can you still be so nice to me?” His eyes shine with a horrible, heart-wrenching guilt, a guilt that Normal can feel himself as he fights the overwhelming need to kiss the one little cut that he missed, the one he’s been avoiding, because he knows it would be too selfish of him.

The one on his lip.

“I'm… so sorry.” Lincoln’s fingers loosen in his hair, but Normal still leans his head into his hand before he can decide to let go entirely. “For how I've… I've been so…”

“It's okay, Link,” Normal murmurs, even though he doesn't know if it's true. It’s just hard to focus on the long-term pain this boy has caused him when said boy is caressing the back of his neck so delicately that it makes him melt.

“No. You're my friend. You're my husband.” The certainty with which he says it brings Normal a shiver. “I need to make it up to you.”

This time, Lincoln is the one leaning forward. Normal freezes up, his face flushing red as his husband’s lips land on his cheek.

But Normal doesn't understand. He doesn't need healing, he doesn't have any scars. Not on the outside, anyway.

Is he… kissing my tears away?

Another kiss. And another. Each touch of his lips to his face leaves him with a feeling of warmth and light. Lincoln even reaches with his bloody hands to brush the sweaty hair sticking to Normal’s skin out of the way, and begins to leave kisses on his forehead as well.

Oh. He’s kissing his acne scars.

More tears run down where Lincoln has kissed. Nobody has ever… He's always been told that he's gross, that his acne is a problem, something to be ashamed of. He has spent countless hours staring at himself in the mirror, popping pimples and picking at scabs (despite his sister’s warnings), wondering why he has to look like this and if anyone could ever love him like this. His parents would never do something like this for him.

But Lincoln is. Lincoln, the one he’s been trying to win over for years. Lincoln, the kid he always wanted to play with but wasn't allowed to. Lincoln, the friend who always seemed to shut him down no matter how hard he tried to love him. That same guy is here, sitting on the ground in literal Hell, a bullet in his knee and blood on his clothes, his fingers curling in his greasy hair and his lips kissing his pockmarked face.

“I'm sorry,” Lincoln whispers tearfully against his skin. “Thank you for… for being my friend. For being you.”

As he pulls back, Normal pushes forward, resting his forehead against Lincoln’s. “I love you,” he sighs, selfishly but honestly. He hopes it brings Lincoln as much catharsis as it does him.

Lincoln glances up from where his eyes sat downcast at the blood on the ground, to stare into his husband’s eyes. His hand on Normal’s neck drifts to his jaw. Eyes still glittering sadly, he offers a smile, but the stretching of his lips opens his cut and makes him wince away in pain.

Normal reaches forward with a careful hand, and catches Lincoln’s chin. He really hopes this isn't going too far, too fast, too bold, like he always seems to be going without realizing it. “Let me…?” He can't even finish the question, can't bear another rejection.

But Lincoln beats him to it, kisses him first, kisses him better. Cradles him with such love and care that you’d think he’s the one being nursed back to health.

And it is undoubtedly healing. Something Normal has needed for a long time. Something that tastes like blood and grime and filth, something that tastes so normal and familiar that it feels like coming home. Feels like being blessed by an angel visiting Hell.

After all, Normal always thought Lincoln was more of a lover than a fighter.

#oakicks #cheerkicks #normal oak #lincoln li wilson #dndads #dndads fanfic #dndads fic #my fic #touch prompts

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queen-scribbles · 3 months

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oooh how about 9 and/or 11 for AJ? your choice if she's with Nate or Adam ;3

9. listening to the other's heartbeat [AJ/Nate] (11 is here with Adam) This is somewhere post-book 3 and definitely pushes toward spicy.

---

It was good, in their line of work, to take peaceful moments when you could get them.

And it didn't get much more peaceful than this one, right here. Abigail smiled, half asleep, as she ran her fingers through Nate's hair. Usually when they cuddled she wound up using him as a pillow, but the reverse was equally grand, she had to admit. The comfortable weight of his head on her chest, arms loosely around her waist, breathing deep and steady like he was about to fall asleep...

She gave a small, contented sigh and traced her fingers along the shell of his ear, down his jaw, then resumed running her fingers through his hair. Lazy, repetitive strokes, nails just grazing his scalp.

Nate made a sound almost like her cat used to upon finding a particularly glorious sunbeam. "I don't think I'll be moving all day..." he mumbled, tipping his head to brush kiss against her chest, just above the neckline of her cami.

Abigail bit her lip, toes curling. "Me, neither. Good thing we have it off, yeah?"

"Mm." He brushed another kiss, light as butterfly wings, just next to the first. "What are you thinking about, ya rouhi?"

"A few things." She hummed as a third kiss followed. "That this is so perfect I'm almost worried I'm dreamin'..."

"Don't say that, we'll wake up," Nate laughed softly.

He matching laugh cut off as the fourth kiss fell in line with the hollow of her throat, her fingers clenching. "...how much I love your hair, it's so soft, and it looks grand grown out..."

He chuckled and continued feathering kisses against her skin. "Noted."

"...an' if you're tryin' t' kiss all m'freckles, it might take a bit longer than an eternity, yeah?"

"For you, AJ, I have that time and more." He reached the far edge of her neckline and shifted slightly higher to start working his way back across with languid kisses to her collarbone punctuating the rest of his words. "And I am a very... patient... man."

"Nate..." Abigail exhaled a shuddering breath and bit her lip, heart hammering in her chest. "Your- Your turn, a chuisle." She ran her fingers through his hair. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"You," Nate replied without hesitation, lifting his head to meet her gaze. The flitters of sunlight turned his brown eyes almost golden and she didn't think she'd seen a more beautiful sight. "How happy I am with you. Content. Settled."

She smiled and reached to smooth a lock of hair hanging in his eyes. "Y' definitely seemed 'bout ready to drift off a moment ago."

"Your heartbeat makes a very soothing lullaby, Abigail." Smug mischief filled his eyes and he dipped his head to kiss the hollow of her throat. "Usually."

Abigail bit her lip harder, arching slightly as her fingers slid through his hair to clench at the nape. "Are you tryin' to fluster me, Agent Sewell?"

Nate chuckled against her skin and she was sure the effect on her heartbeat would deepen that smug look of his. "Now, Agent Jenings, why on earth would I do something like that?"

Her breath caught as he started kissing up her throat. "I... I can think of a few reasons--" A gasping whine when he reached the corner of her jaw. "Nate..."

He lifted his head, giving her a dazzling faux-innocent smile. "Yes, Abigail?"

She didn't so much nudge as yank him in for a kiss by the hand clenched in his hair.

Nate hummed in equal want, equal need as he leaned into it. One arm pressed against the bed, the other hand cradling her jaw, thumb brushing gentle arcs on her cheek.

Abigail's free hand roamed, clutching handfuls of his t-shirt, his arm, before pushing against the mattress to lever herself up until Nate caught on and let her roll them to reversed positions.

Her hair hung in a fiery curtain around them when she finally pulled back. "I love you."

"And I love you," Nate murmured, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear, but leaving the other as a divider from the world.

She leaned close to whisper, "How's my heartbeat now, a chuisle?"

"Intoxicating," he breathed, the single word hitching with challenge, with want, with something deeper. His fingers teased under the hem of her top, sending a shiver up her back.

"Yeah?" Abigail murmured, pressing a kiss just in front of his ear. With her hand braced on his chest in their new position, she could feel the equally madcap rush of his heart, and had to agree with him. It was a heady feeling, knowing you could do that to someone.

"Am I wrong?" His teasing was still slightly breathless as he toyed with her curls.

"Far from it." She kissed the corner of his jaw, felt his heart skip a beat, and it was her turn to smile smugly as she kissed down his jawline. One consequence of vampire superhealing was she couldn't give him hickeys like he occasionally littered across her skin, which was horribly unfair but didn't stop her from trying. She detoured to kiss the juncture of his jaw and neck.

"Ya rouhi-" The words cut off on a gasp. "AJ."

She lifted her head and gave him a faux-innocent smile of her own. "Yes, Nate?"

He stared at her for a moment, lips parted as if about to speak, then pulled her in for a deep, crushing kiss and rolled them back to their original position. "You are a marvel." Kissed her again. "A wonder." Kissed the hollow of her throat, her fingers back in his hair. "Everything." Kissed right at the neckline of her cami and she'd suddenly never wanted to remove an article of clothing more.

A far cry from the peaceful languor of a few minutes ago, but you wouldn't hear her complaining, not in a million years.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Nate slid up the lower edge of her shirt to kiss her stomach.

Abigail whined, arching into it as he ran his mouth along the edge of her ribcage, feathering kissed over her freckles. "Nate-!"

She dragged him up into another kiss; desperate, fierce, even as, by unspoken accord, they each pulled at the other's shirt. They broke the kiss for only a moment to discard the garments before Nate's fingers were tangled in her hair and Abigail's were clutching the back of his neck, drawing each other in for more--

And more, and more, until she was clinging to him and shaking like a leaf in a storm, mouth open in a near-silent cry of his name while he tried--and failed--to muffle his of hers against her neck.

They all but melted back into the pillows, a heap of contentment, panting breaths, and pounding hearts.

Nate gave a breathless laugh." Well, that was..."

"Grand," Abigail finished, slipping one hand between her chin and his chest. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," he said with a wide smile, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "And now, I think we get to the resting part of our plan that was so delightfully" --he ran his fingers down and back up her spine with a touch so light it made her shiver--"interrupted."

"Also grand," she murmured. He did make a wonderful pillow and she could feel herself drifting. She kissed the center of his chest and settled with his heartbeat in her ear.

As it slowed, she had to agree with his earlier sentiment--that did make a very soothing lullaby.

#queens fic #touch prompts #nate sewell #abigail jenings #twc #aj/nate #otp: smiling always

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