Domestic Fluff - Established Relationship - Early Relationship - Dinner Date - Friends to Lovers
790 words
except the [two] of us, half-tipsy with the wonder
of being alive, and wholly enveloped in love.
On a night when Phoenix has already lost track of the number of times he's cooked dinner for Miles Edgeworth, he stands at the stove and reflects on the winding path they took to get here.
The dull thump of the glasses and plates that Miles is setting on the table forms a quiet melody behind Phoenix's back. Within a spare few months, he's learned by heart where Phoenix keeps his dishes and which set of chopsticks he prefers to use, which kitchen pots have loose handles and which glasses are chipped on the rim. He knows the taste of his household's miso soup, and Phoenix knows which vegetables to avoid putting in his plate. They've been meeting for dinner for years, ducking into ramen joints or ordering takeout to Miles's lavish apartment, but Phoenix can't shake the feeling that it's only now that they've truly started eating together.
He splashes another few drops of mirin into the pot of simmering beef that he's tending to and stirs it around lazily. The first time he'd invited Miles over for a dinner date, he'd worried that the simple, slapped-together cooking he'd forced himself to learn when he adopted Trucy wouldn't stack up to the fine restaurant fare Miles has been used to all his life–-but where Miles has left dishes of foie gras unfinished and bowls of ramen full nearly to the rim with leftover broth, he's cleaned off every single dish that Phoenix has ever served him down to the swirls of sauce on the plate. Phoenix had imagined so many hurdles for them as they ventured into this new chapter of life hand in hand, and precious few had ever actually materialized. After all of the toil and strife they've gone through to get here, he still can't seem to believe that being loved by Miles Edgeworth can be so easy.
The kitchen behind him quiets, and without turning to look, he knows that Miles has stepped up behind him. He curls his arms around Phoenix's waist, draping himself over his back, and leans in to kiss his cheek. It's incredible that throughout all of these years of feverish desire, Phoenix had obsessed so much over the milestones—their first I love you, their first night together, their first trip to his parents' house, their first home together—that he had so often failed to imagine the details. He had never imagined how good Miles's warm, solid body would feel against his back or how his lips would feel touching the corner of his jaw. He hadn't considered how secure he would feel with his waist snug in Miles's arms. He'd been able to perfectly picture the nervous tumble of falling in love, but not the solid safety waiting for him at the bottom.
Their firsts were exciting, but they didn't in any way diminish what came after. If anything, he's even more excited by the prospect of being allowed to have this indefinitely, to have dozens or possibly even hundreds or thousands of these quiet dinners with the love of his life. Watching Trucy grow up should have taught him this, but he'd been too caught up in himself to realize the universality of the lesson. He never was good at paying attention.
"Are you sure that I can't help?" Miles murmurs in his ear. He lightly kisses his cheek again. If he weren't holding him so securely, Phoenix would melt to the floor in bliss right then and there.
He twists his head to kiss Miles properly, lingering just long enough to hear him hum with soft contentment. "I've got it, baby. It's almost ready, anyway." He would tell him to sit down and rest after his long day in court, but he doesn't want Miles to let him go. Miles smiles softly at him and leans his head against his, resting against him as Phoenix keeps tending to their dinner. Phoenix sends a little prayer up to whatever god decided to make Miles Edgeworth secretly crave touch just as badly as Phoenix had always dreamed of giving it to him.
He's been tiptoeing around putting it into words, but it's become unavoidable. This could work. This could really work. Despite how deeply and how long they had both wanted it, they had been so nervous to take this unanimous step out of the well-trod territory of their friendship, abandoning it entirely for new, fragile ground. It had felt like a single misstep outside of what was known and safe might cause everything they had painstakingly built together to come crashing down. It was only once they joined hands and stepped outside together that they realized that this is what they'd been doing together all their lives—taking slow steps forward, crawling towards the light, determined to remain by each others' side no matter what terrain they faced.
The only difference now is that when Phoenix takes his hand, Miles squeezes back.
Charlie: (sitting on the bed in her pajamas with her foot crossed onto her opposite knee)
Charlie: (glances at the door before quickly pulling a fine toothed comb, hoof care kit, and rag out of her bedside drawer) Alright, it's time!
Charlie: (wedges the towel between the toes of her hooves and starts flossing the trapped dirt, lint, and miscellaneous debris out of the crevice)
Charlie: (sighing) Oooooh, yeah. That feels good.
-CREEEEAAAAAAK!!!-
Charlie: (freezes and face falls as she stares at the bedroom door)
Vaggie: (eyes wide as she stares at Charlie's hoof and the small pile of fur, dirt, lint, etc. on the floor)
Charlie: (blushes hotly in embarrassment) It's not what it looks like!!!!
Vaggie: You have hooves?
Charlie: (curls in on herself and tries to tuck her hooves under her thighs) Y-Yeah....
Vaggie: (soft hum of a chuckle) They're adorable.
Charlie: (sits up straight as little hearts float and pop next to her head) Really? You think so?
Vaggie: I mean. I was thrown off at first, but yeah. They're cute. (Glances at the rag still wedged between Charlie's toes and the fine toothed comb in her hand) Do you... want some help with that?
Charlie: (hooves flex and curl) I wouldn't mind... ONLY IF YOU WANT TO!!!
Vaggie: I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't okay with helping, hun. Give me the comb.
Charlie: (brain fried as the word hun plays in her head on repeat) Y-Y-Yeah... sure... here you go.
Gavin/Freelancer sickfic I wrote for @glassbearclock my beloved!
Early early relationship, Freelancer has a cold but is worried that if they cancel on a date with Gavin he won't come back.
tags: sickfic, relationship uncertainties, gavin is a caregiver, light angst
What's Happening?
Freelancer felt like shit. They’d been sucking on throat lozenges like their life depended on it all morning. And it sort of did. At least their sex life did.
Gavin was a daemon, so it wasn’t like they could get him sick, they just had to not be disgusting when he came over tonight.
Fuck, they were so tired, but they dragged themself to the pharmacy and tried to find the strongest cold medicine that wouldn’t completely knock them out. They read the label on another bottle and had to bite off a laugh when it said not to operate heavy machinery. Did Gavin’s dick count? Were they the one operating it? No.
When they noticed someone sneaking a glance at them, they realized they’d laughed aloud. Oh shit, were they acting weird? They felt like a furnace in their hoodie, even though everyone else was wearing big jackets and it was snowing out.
The walk home felt twice as long as ever before. They were so worn out. They had to resist the panicked urge to pop the bottle in that shopping bag and take a few drinks. They needed to get their shit together. They needed to perk up. They had an incubus coming over!
Oh god, what if they couldn’t get it together? What if he realized they were sick? If they weren’t any good tonight, then would he come back again?
They liked Gavin. A lot. And not just for the sex. The sex was amazing, of course. It was the stuff of fantasies that Freelancer had only read and daydreamed about before. Their own brief sexual encounters with other people had been okay, but nothing like this. And Gavin made them feel like they were the deviant, like they were just as prolific and skilled as he was. It felt amazing and empowering and fun. They weren’t ready to give that up, but more than that, so much more than that, they were worried about losing Gavin.
They wanted to believe they were more than just a good meal to him, more than just benefits. They wanted to believe they were friends. But the level of worry they had over not being able to perform tonight was making them realize they really weren’t sure.
And if he didn’t come back, how would they find him? How would they ask how he was doing or if he wanted to hang out?
They were lightheaded by the time they got to their building and leaned heavily against the wall in the elevator. The ding seemed impossibly loud.
Okay. They just had to get to their apartment, chug some of that cold medicine, take a shower, and act like they weren’t ready to sleep for twelve hours.
The elevator dinged and the door rattled open. Freelancer walked down the hall, surprised by how it stretched and wobbled. That can’t be good. They managed to get their keys out and in the door, pushing it open and stumbling in.
“You’re late,” Gavin called from the living room, sounding seductive and guarded like always. “I was starting to think you were standing me up, Deviant. I was about to—Deviant?”
Their knees hit the floor just inside their apartment and they dropped their backpack and the shopping bag, somehow fumbling both in an attempt to hang on to them and to themself while their vision turned too bright and the ground kept sliding under them.
“Deviant?” He was closer. Was that panic in his voice? Shit.
They tried to say they were okay and to apologize, maybe even laugh at how clumsy they were, but everything went dark.
-
Gavin had only gotten there a few minutes before them. He’d actually been late, largely because he was struggling over how eager he was to see them. It wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t be that invested in one of his charges. They came and went. They were there for a good time, a good time he delivered, but he’d always been careful not to get too attached.
So, he’d been intentionally late.
And it hadn’t even mattered because his deviant wasn’t home yet anyway. So he sat on the couch and wondered where they were, if he should leave, if they were over him and onto other things…
And then the door had opened and he’d stayed on the couch, trying not to act overly eager.
And then his deviant had stumbled.
Gavin was there in a flash, standing over them and trying to understand what had happened. Their aura was…strange, and they were breathing fast. They mumbled out a tangle of what he assumed was supposed to be words before their body keeled forward in a dead faint.
Gavin caught them, one hand cupping their head before it could hit the floor. Panic stampeded through him. “Deviant?” he spoke gently, picking them up in his arms and carrying them to the couch. With a thought, he’d closed the front door.
He put them on the couch and their eyes were already fluttering open. “What’s happening?” he almost pleaded, touching their face and neck. They were so hot. This couldn’t be normal for humans. He used magic to search for injuries, for anything he could heal, but there was nothing.
They looked teary, pressing their lips and swallowing hard. They flinched, like that hurt. “Shit… I’m sorry, Gav…” They sat up. He stayed on the coffee table, hands roaming their upper body, afraid they’d tip over again. They coughed and tried to hide it against their arm.
“You’re sick?”
“I’m okay.”
“We should take you to a hospital.”
They smiled a little. “For a cold? No. Seriously, I’m fine.”
“You fainted!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for it!”
They caught one of his hands. They were so warm, but they looked up at him so calmly through those glassy eyes and past those flushed cheeks. “It’s okay, really. I just overdid it, I guess. I probably shouldn’t have gone out.”
“Why did you?”
They deflated, looking down. “I was getting cold medicine. I thought if I could get something to shake the symptoms… you wouldn’t notice.”
He blinked. “I mean, I’m glad you want me that bad, but I’m not sure my dick is actually worth dying for.”
They snorted a laugh and then coughed again, curling an arm over their face. “I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s not... But I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Gavin felt like the world had dropped out from under him. He stared at them. “What?” Disappoint him?
“I know you hang out with me for…” Their aura flinched and twisted, filling with self-doubt and delicate fear. “I didn’t want you to leave or… not come back,” they confessed quietly, shoulders sagging.
Gavin tried to absorb all of that. They had gone out when they were sick to try to get this cold medicine in hopes that he would somehow not notice they were sick so he’d fuck them, not because they wanted to get laid, but because… because they thought that was his only reason for hanging out with them? And why wouldn’t they think that, when he’d definitely always put it that way for himself and for them. But they wanted him to hang out with them… Enough to go through all this effort. Enough to put out when they were definitely not into it. There was a lot about this he hated but the crystal clear center was what almost had him choking up.
Fortunately, his deviant was definitely too sick to notice at the moment.
“I like you,” Gavin said, a little terrified to say it and sort of hoping that fever would keep them from remembering.
They looked up at him, their aura smoothing out with hope. It was beautiful. And it had cost him nothing but the truth. “So… You’ll come back sometime?”
He sighed, pushing some of their hair out of their face. “Oh, deviant… I’m not leaving you like this.”
They blinked and then straightened where they sat. “Y-You want to… I was worried the whole sick thing would be a turn off…”
He laughed darkly. “It’s not, but we’re not going to fuck. You fainted from walking down the hall. What I do with you might kill you right now.”
His deviant chewed their lip, leaning closer. Their weak aura even flared with interest. He smiled. They were incredible. “I don’t think it would… We could try.” They started coughing again, this time rooting around in the pocket of their hoodie, dumping little wrappers before coming out with what looked like a candy. They shoved it in their mouth and sucked.
Gavin ignored the way his dick jumped in his pants. No. Nope. He was not going to take that bait. He snagged one of the wrappers and spread it out, reading it. Medicine.
“We should put you to bed, right? The right way, I mean,” he smirked, floundering a little. What did people do with sick people? “We should get you in your pajamas and into bed and then… water?”
“Yeah, I’ll go to bed… You don’t have to stay, Gavin. I know this isn’t fun—”
“Who says it’s not fun? I’ve never taken care of a human before. Maybe I’ll be good at it…” He smiled. “I’m good at most things I do.”
His deviant smiled. “I believe you.”
He shivered pleasantly and scooped them up. The deviant gasped, throwing arms around his neck in surprise when he picked them up. Somewhere between the living room and their bedroom he vanished their clothes, enjoyed their surprised gasp against his neck and the naked skin in his arms for a split-second, before putting their favorite pajamas on them just as quickly. He settled them on the bed and pulled the covers up over them. He’d never actually pulled the covers up before…
For a second, he stared at them and they stared at him. They were so cute.
What else?
Fluids? That was an illness thing, right? He used magic to make a big glass of water and then considered their sore throat and added a cup of tea.
Deviant smiled, their aura practically shining with happiness despite.
Was it so easy to make all humans happy? Or just his human? He changed into his own comfy sweatpants and crawled in bed with them. “What else do you need?” He pulled their body against his, again surprised by the heat radiating off of them.
“No, that’s great. Thank you. You don’t have to stay.” Their eyelids were heavy.
He stroked their hair the way he knew they liked, of course, usually he did it as a part of aftercare, but care was care, right? “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” they whispered, half-asleep already but the answer coming fast and easy.
“Then I’ll stay.”
They smiled to themself and curled into his chest. He kissed their head. When they were asleep, he magicked their phone from their bag to his hand. He googled colds and what to do. When they woke up, he’d make soup and make sure they drank some of those liquids. It looked like he’d need a thermometer and maybe medicine to reduce a fever if they kept this up. He was going to be a fucking expert when they woke up, but, until then, he stroked their hair and their back and relished the steady pulse of their aura.
Well, okay, he technically didn't snoop. Spilling coffee and accidentally finding what looks like a diary while he cleans it up isn't snooping. And if his eyes happened to read the words on the page, and if those words happen to make his heart skip a beat, well, that's a physical reaction. He can't help it.
She's always been private, keeping her most honest and vulnerable parts of herself close. And he knows that, respects it - most of the time - and over the years, he's learned just how far he can push before she shuts down.
So any glimpse he gets below that hard exterior is like gold. Any time she chooses to share something personal, like watching Temptation Lane with her mom, he soaks it up like a sponge.
What she hasn't shared about very much, though, is last summer. The time between her shooting and returning from her dad's cabin is almost a complete mystery to him. He hasn't earned that layer yet.
When he starts to read the words on the page, notices that the date is right in the middle of her time at her dad's cabin, he starts to close the book. It feels invasive; she'll tell him when she's ready.
But then he sees the ghost of the words on the other side of the page. The writer part of him winces - he hates when that happens - but the rest of him, the part that wants to know absolutely everything about this woman, wins out, and he turns the page.
The date on top is recent.
It's dated two days after she showed up at his door, soaking wet with an apology and love on her lips.
His breath catches in his throat as he reads.
To see you.
To feel you.
It calms me.
It cures me.
They've both shared their love for each other, but this...this seems more special. More intimate.
"Watcha doing?"
He looks up when Kate emerges from her bedroom, running a towel through her damp hair, and he closes the notebook and puts it back on the table. "Spilled coffee," he explains, lifting his almost-empty mug. "Just cleaning it up."
She nods, one brow arched in a way that tells him she knows, or at least suspects, that he isn't telling her everything. But she just closes the distance between them and takes his face in her hands, lifts her mouth to his for a slow, deep kiss. "I love you, you know," she whispers, nudging her nose against his.
Patrick’s face is tucked into David’s neck. David invited Patrick’s hands under his sweater and Patrick had to stop kissing so he could focus. It’s the first time Patrick has his hands on the smooth, warm skin of David’s broad back.
Patrick’s never been vocal. He’s not used to having words threaten to leap out of his mouth. Words like, you’re beautiful, I want you, you feel so good.
It’s just that everything is so new. So new and so good. And David should know. Patrick should tell him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 14/25
Fandom: Glee
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe
Additional Tags: Christmas Compilation, The Great Seblaine Christmas Extravaganza, Fluff and Sweetness, Occasional hurt/comfort, probably, But mostly fluff
Summary:
A collection of Christmas-themed oneshots about Seblaine.
David is grinding against Patrick when he suddenly stops and looks down. Patrick is obviously having second thoughts about making out with a guy. With David, specifically.
“Oh,” David says sadly, immediately pushing himself back from where he had Patrick pinned against the wall.
“David, no. Believe me, I am very onto this. It’s just—”
“Performance anxiety?” David asks hopefully.
“Actually… refractory period.” Patrick blushes furiously. “You looked so sexy when you were restocking the bottom shelf just now that um… I excused myself… to the restroom.
"Oh." David grinned, relief flooding him as Patrick pulls them back together.
I awoke to the mattress shifting and Holmes nudging me with his knee as he eased into my bed. It was a habit of mine to sleep on my side, facing away from the door and looking towards the wall I had my bed pressed against. Holmes attempted to wrap himself around me but ended up hanging partially off of the mattress’s exposed edge. I didn’t know the time, only that it was far too early for whatever he had planned that required him to wake me.
“This bed hasn’t room enough for the both of us,” I grumbled.
“Hmm…” he answered. “I believe you’re quite right. We really should have a double bed brought to the flat someday.” It had not been long since Holmes and I had embarked in our romantic relationship, and he surprised me at the speed in which he was removing his boundaries. Expressing interest in sharing a bed was something I was not expecting to hear from him so soon, and I couldn’t help but smile.
I turned my body to face him and found him fully dressed and ready for the day. He wore an outfit our illustrator had once drawn him wearing, the black suit with the pin-striped trousers. His hair was already slicked back into its signature perfection, and I longed to disrupt it with my fingers similar to the urge a child gets to skip a rock against a lake with an entirely still surface.
I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him closer so his body would lie flat and entirely on the bed. “And how would we explain that to Mrs. Hudson?” I asked as I laid my head upon his chest and closed my eyes.
“It’s charming that you believe she doesn’t know about us. I would be willing to bet she knew before we did.”
I simply hummed in acknowledgment and attempted to resume whatever scenario it was in which I had been dreaming.
“Watson?” Holmes asked as I was nearing sleep again.
I answered only with a groan.
“There’s a client of significant social standing coming within the next hour.”
“Then why are you in my bed?”
“It is far warmer than the sitting room at this hour.”
“Do you intend to bring the client to my bed as well? Or are you waking me to join you and replenish the fire?”
“If you would be so kind. I believe you may enjoy recording the events of this upcoming case for our readers.”
“Certainly. Now, would you be so kind as to allow me five more minutes of rest?” I still had my eyes closed and was facing away from him, but from his sigh, I could safely assume he rolled his eyes at my request.
“Five minutes. No more.” He rose from the bed and went towards the door.
“Perhaps ten,” I said, testing the limits. He only laughed and opened the door.
I called out before he closed it behind him. “Oh, and Holmes?”
He reopened the door a few inches. “Yes, old boy?”
“Don’t come into my bed fully clothed ever again.”
