tags/warnings: fluff, mild angst, established relationship, soft daryl, alexandria era (no specific season), swearing, mild suggestive language, typical canon violence, no use of y/n
word count: 3.0k
summary: Daryl had fought walkers, gone to war, and almost starved to death countless times but asking you to marry him was the real apocalypse.
a/n: basically daryl just wants to call you his wife lol that's it. also, we're in daryl's insecure little head the whole way through this one guys... good luck and enjoy!
》 masterlist
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It took Daryl almost two whole years to realize he was in love with you.
You’d been around each other since the beginning, moving from camp to camp, never staying long enough to call anywhere home. The world didn’t give much room for that. But when you finally made it to the safe walls of Alexandria – something in him settled. That’s where he got close to you, closer than he ever thought he could be with anyone. Close enough to realize one quiet night that what he felt for you wasn’t just friendship or family anymore. It was something more. Something he couldn’t ignore. He was damn glad you felt the same way.
It took Daryl exactly two weeks to realize you and him were officially a thing.
After that first kiss, things just kept happening. You started crashing in his bed sometimes, cooking together, doing basically everything together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you talked about what it meant – didn’t seem like you had to. You were his, and he was yours. That was enough.
Until someone brought it up one night at a family dinner. You both got so flustered trying to answer that the poor guy gave up and changed the subject. Later that night, you’d gone home and had the most awkward talk of your lives, finally deciding you were, in fact, in a relationship. As ridiculous as it sounded to both of you – considering neither of you “did” relationships, and Daryl never had – that’s how it happened.
It took Daryl another three months to realize he wanted to marry you.
He heard Rick introduce you as his girlfriend to a newcomer one day and felt something weird in his chest. The first few times someone called you his girlfriend or partner, he’d felt his whole body warm – embarrassed, flustered, proud – he couldn’t tell. But this time was different. Still warm, but not in a good way. There was an irrational frustration bubbling up inside him. It just wasn’t enough. “Girlfriend” suddenly didn’t sound right. What he felt for you went way beyond that.
“Marry her already,” Carol joked one day, half-laughing.
Daryl only scoffed and brushed it off. Marry? That was absurd. If someone had told him two years ago he’d be thinking about marrying anybody, he’d have laughed his ass off. Marriage wasn’t in the cards for someone like him – hell, a relationship wasn’t supposed to be. But then again, he was in one. With you. So maybe absurd wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
He managed to shove those thoughts aside for a while. Until it happened again.
“Daryl and his partner…” Michonne said it this time, talking to someone from another community Daryl didn’t recognize. You were right next to him, so he looked over, trying to see if the word “partner” bugged you the way it did him. You didn’t even flinch. So he told himself he was being ridiculous and took a small step closer to you – just in case whoever she was talking to didn’t get what “partner” really meant.
Shit. He was doing it again. Overthinking.
The word just felt too vague. What if the guy didn’t realize “partner” meant you – the person Daryl would kill for, die for, and everything in between? Why the hell did he care anyway? When did Daryl Dixon ever care what people thought? But he guessed it was because it was you. And he fucking adored you. He needed everyone to see that even if neither of you were big on PDA.
“You okay?” your voice broke through his thoughts. You’d placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with those soft, knowing eyes. You always seemed to catch him thinking too hard.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his hand finding yours. He gave you a look that said don’t worry. You stared at each other for a moment before you started to pull your hand away. Daryl almost let you but then he reached for it again. This time, he held on. The look you gave him said everything. You were smiling, cheeks flushed, and he felt that warmth again, the good kind.
Carol’s words came back to him then. Marry her already.
Looking at you now, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Maybe the idea wasn’t so ridiculous. Maybe he could see himself marrying you. Calling you his wife-
He looked away before you could notice the way that thought made him all jittery. But he could see it – you and him. Forever.
So yes. Daryl was going to marry you.
Daryl felt a certain kind of peace after making up his mind about it but only for a short while, because then came the question: what now? What was next? Did he have to go about it the traditional way? Get down on one knee and just ask? The thought alone made him cringe.
No. That wasn’t him. And it wasn’t you either.
But still, what the hell was he supposed to do? He realized he was missing one crucial thing in the whole equation – a ring. No, two. He needed one for himself too, right? Fuck. He was terrible at this.
Finding the perfect rings was a pain in the ass.
Daryl’s head was completely blank. He didn’t know shit about romantic gestures before you and not that he knew any better now, clearly. So later that night, when you were fast asleep next to him, head tucked into the crook of his neck, he lifted your left hand carefully and studied your ring finger. Then he pulled a small piece of thread from his pocket – he’d been keeping it there just for this – and quietly measured it.
He searched every possible source, thinking maybe he’d stumble upon one in some abandoned jewelry store, except there weren’t any left within a hundred-mile radius of Alexandria, as he found out the hard way. He almost wished he’d realized his feelings for you earlier, back when there were still stores to raid. Maybe he could’ve grabbed one of those cheap rings from the counter near the cashier in Atlanta.
He even considered Glenn’s old method – taking a ring from a walker on the Prison fence. It was smart. Daryl thought about it a million times, even went out looking for a few days before giving up. Not because he didn’t want to but because it didn’t feel right. Even though he knew you wouldn’t care where it came from, he wanted it to be something special. Something just for you.
That’s when it hit him: he could have it made.
So, the next time he was visiting Maggie at Hilltop, he wandered off to the blacksmith and asked Earl for a favor. The man looked confused at first, like he thought he’d misheard. Then realization hit, and the big grin spread across his face made Daryl want to bury himself right then and there. It was embarrassing as hell.
But it was worth it.
Daryl stayed the night at the Hilltop, claiming he was “too tired” to go back to Alexandria (really, Earl had said it’d take him a full day to finish the job). When Daryl saw the pair of simple silver bands the next morning, his chest warmed. First from excitement because he was finally going to do it, and then from pure mortification because he was finally going to do it.
Shit. What if you didn’t like the idea? Daryl was so clouded by his own wants that he forgot to consider yours completely. Sure, you’d told him once that you’d stay with him forever, said it like it was obvious, but some small, scared part of him still thought it might all fall apart one day. He could take on a few dozens walkers, fight those Saviors fuckers twice over, survive five more apocalypses – but asking you to marry him? That scared the hell out of him.
So he did what a coward would do. He didn’t ask. Not yet. He just kept the rings in his pocket – waiting for the day he’d miraculously grow a pair of balls and do it.
The day it finally happened, you and Daryl had gone out with a few others – Rick, Michonne, and a couple more – to survey the area near the broken bridge that had once connected the communities. If the bridge were still there, travel would’ve been easier, shorter; now, it was all roundabout roads. Rick had split people into pairs to cover different sections, and naturally, Daryl went with you.
That had been three weeks ago.
You were mid-conversation when a gunshot rang out. Both of you froze, scanning the area. Then another shot. And another. Heart racing, you and Daryl ran toward the sound, spotting an old shed along the way. But as you approached, the unmistakable groans of walkers filled the air. A herd. Big. Surrounding the area.
Without a word, Daryl grabbed your arm and pulled you back the way you’d come only to find more walkers, drawn by the earlier shots, blocking your path. The rapid firing had slowed to single, measured shots, and all you could do was hope it wasn’t because whoever was shooting had run out of ammo or was already being torn apart.
Before you could protest or think, Daryl shoved you toward the shed. Closer inspection revealed it wasn’t just a shed. The inside had clearly been lived in despite the crumbling exterior.
Once safe inside, Daryl moved one of the last heavy pieces of furniture against the door, blocking every entrance. He turned to you and asked if you were okay. You nodded and returned the question. He gave a short, curt nod, then sat down beside you, glancing through a small hole in the window one last time.
“I hope they’re okay,” you murmured after a long silence.
Daryl looked at you and thought he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place on your face. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Mmhm,” you nodded again, restless. After sitting there for what felt like forever, you stood and moved from one hole to another, assessing the situation.
Daryl studied you silently and came to a realization that you were definitely planning something, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.
He didn’t. In fact, he hated your plan. It was stupid.
“We can wait it out,” he growled.
“Daryl, they could be dead right now for all we know. We have to do something!”
Normally, he’d already be out there, stabbing his way toward Rick and Michonne. But you were here, and your safety came first. He couldn’t risk both of you going out until it was safer. He sure as hell wasn’t leaving and abandoning you in this rusted, crumbling box either.
“Just cover me. Your bow is quieter. I know I can make it to that car and distract them long enough-”
“Nah.”
“Daryl.” He didn’t look at you. You sighed and paced a little before announcing, “I’ll check the back.”
But Daryl was too slow. The next thing he knew, you were shouting outside – of course you had slipped out – luring the walkers away from the front. He bolted, moving whatever had been blocking the door, and ran into the fray, forced to follow your plan. Together, you successfully outran the herd.
Daryl opened his mouth to scold you then but Rick came running up, shouting his name, Michonne and the others behind him.
“Are you two okay?” Rick yelled.
Daryl, still catching his breath, asked, “What the hell happened?”
Rick explained that the herd had come out of nowhere and everything had gone to shit from there.
After everyone caught their breath, Michonne decided it was best to come back out later; they only had a few hours until sunset. Daryl told the others to head home and pulled you aside somewhere safe, away from any wandering walkers. Michonne had asked if you were both okay, and after seeing the looks on your faces, she didn’t press. It was obvious: you needed to talk.
“We can talk at home, you know?” you said, averting your gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt.
Once Daryl was sure the others were far enough away, he walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. You let out a surprised gasp but hugged him back. He’d thought about yelling at you, letting his anger out for making him worry and almost getting yourself killed. It would’ve been easier to be a dick, but he didn’t want to. All that mattered was that you were okay. He buried his forehead against your shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I had to,” you said softly, feeling the tremble in his hands resting on your back.
“Ya didn’t have to.”
Pressed together, Daryl thought back to the moment he saw you running into the herd and his heart dropping. That was the instant he realized he couldn’t wait any longer. After days and nights obsessing over how and when to ask you, the timing didn’t matter. Not anymore.
Marry her already.
Carol’s words had been echoing in his head for weeks, and somewhere along the way, they’d started to sound like his own.
Fuck it. He was going to do it now.
Daryl pulled back from you slightly, reaching into his jeans pocket – and froze. Only one band. One ring. He tried not to panic as your hand reached for his face so affectionately. Shit.
He pulled back completely, scanning the forest floor for the missing ring.
“Daryl?” your voice made him even more nervous. He could only pray that the ring left in his pocket was yours, if it wasn’t then he could only hope that the next trip to Hilltop wouldn’t make you suspicious. He squinted at the ground, tracing his own footprints, considering going back to the shed when your voice made him turn around.
“Looking for this?” The glint in your hand was unmistakably the ring he’d been frantically searching for, and it made him feel like a complete idiot.
“It fell when you were moving the shelves back in the shed,” you said matter-of-factly. Daryl almost forgot how to breathe.
“I didn’t wanna say anything then because…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to admit the truth – the part about being scared, never imagining yourself marrying anyone, but with Daryl, none of that mattered anymore. You stepped closer, eyes glassy. “Is this what I think-”
“Yeah.” The word left his throat like a whisper. This was it. He had to do it now. He pulled the other identical ring from his pocket. You gasped, and he couldn’t tell if it was shock, joy, or “what the hell are you doing?” But Daryl didn’t care. He had to say it.
“I had Earl make ‘em a few weeks ago. I ain’t good at this. I-” He paused as your other hand touched his arm, your voice softly calling his name, and he continued. “You’re it for me. If ya think this is-”
“Yes,” your voice was shaky. You smiled at his confused face before continuing, “Yes, I’ll fucking marry you. Daryl.”
Awkward silence hung between you as you processed everything, until you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him. Daryl kissed you back immediately, unconsciously letting go of the crossbow in his hand.
You broke off the kiss and looked down at the rings in your and Daryl’s hands. Your cheeks were visibly pink, and he was sure his were the same. You both slipped the rings onto each other’s left ring fingers, your hands naturally finding each other again after, fingers laced tight.
“Oh my god. Do we have to, like, have a wedding or something?” you asked, half joking, half serious.
Your lighthearted question echoed one of Daryl’s thousand silent thoughts about the whole thing since he’d decided to do it. He didn’t know what to say. Personally, the idea of standing in front of everyone while Father Gabriel said his name out loud made him want to crawl into a hole and die. But if you wanted it, if that’s what made you happy, he’d do it. Anything for you. Anything.
“Do ya wanna…?” he asked carefully.
“Hell no. I’d rather die.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Besides, this is all I need.” You lifted your intertwined hands, the rings glinting softly in the fading light. “I love you, Daryl Dixon. That’s all I need.”
Daryl felt his whole body go warm again. The good kind of warm. The best kind. He didn’t even have to think before muttering, “I love you too.” And then, after staring at your radiant smile for what felt like an eternity, he felt the need to add, “So fucking much.”
The kiss that followed started out soft and turned hungrier when your hands found each other again. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, matching yours beat for beat. He kissed you like he’d been waiting forever and held you close like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
When you finally broke apart, both out of breath, you stayed there for a moment – foreheads touching, breathing each other in, the world outside going silent for once. You whispered against his lips, a small grin tugging at yours, “We better fucking get home. Now.”
Later that night, as you both lay tangled in his bed, Daryl was overcome with a sense of joy and something he didn’t even know how to name. A part of him cursed himself for not doing it sooner, for ever doubting your affection, for being too much of a pathetic loser to do it more romantically – not immediately after almost getting mauled by the damn walkers and losing one of the rings in the process. What the hell?
And now he’d have to deal with people coming up to congratulate him later, all the fussing, the explaining. Though, he decided he didn’t give a fuck anymore.
He was just glad it finally happened. Glad that, somehow, everything led to this moment – you, beside him, wearing that ring he thought he’d never find. And he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, every bit of it, because now you were officially his forever.
You were his wife.
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if you enjoyed my writing pls leave a like to show me some love! feedbacks are always appreciated♡
Hi, I don't know if you've written for Bruce yet but could you do a polar opposites fic with him? Like his girl is the scary mean one in the relationship and he's the soft spoken one who is the only one who can calm her down.
Hothead
Bruce Banner x Fem!Reader
[A/N] I haven't written for Bruce yet, this is my first Bruce request! ❤️ I loved this request, this version of reader was so fun to write 🥰 Thanks my lovely, hope you enjoy this one 😘
Admittedly, people were surprised when Bruce started dating you. Especially your fellow Avengers. Over the years they’d all taken care to keep a calm environment when Bruce was around – for obvious reasons. Tony occasionally pushed the boundaries because of course he did but otherwise people were always careful around him. Bruce hated it but what could he do? He understood their hesitance, their worry. He just wished he could be treated like the rest of the team rather than something fragile.
That was why you’d been such a breath of fresh air.
You’d joined the Avengers the week previously. Against your will and you weren’t shy about telling people that fact. You had the power of pyrokinesis, able to create and manipulate fire. It was something you’d struggled to control for the majority of your life until things had finally come to a head and you’d been faced with two options – serve time in a federal, secure facility or join the Avengers.
“That Tony Stark! How do you stand him?” You’d burst into Bruce’s lab, pacing up and down “He’s so fucking patronising! Just because he’s rich he thinks he can talk to people however he wants. Ugh!”
You’d felt your hands warming up, a telltale sign your powers were activating without your input, and you’d taken a deep breath – you’d found over the years that the usual anger management techniques didn’t work for you. You’d always had a problem with your temper, ever since you were a kid. There was the infamous incident in kindergarten when you’d tackled that girl to the ground and pulled her pigtails because she’d said the hat you were wearing was ugly. At first it hadn’t been a problem. You were just a normal albeit angry kid. Until the day your powers had activated for the first time.
Bruce hadn’t officially met you yet – he’d heard about the new girl with the literal fiery temper and had been warned to stay away until you were more settled, until your power was under control. Whenever that would be. He’d watched you clenching your fists and not wanting a fire in his lab, he’d reached over and put his hand on your arm “Hey. The breathing’s irritating I know but the box method works sometimes. Inhale for three, hold for three and then release for three.”
You’d glanced at him and then followed his instructions, keeping your gaze on him. Bruce had smiled “There we go. Working, right?”
You’d nodded, unclenching your fists – the breathing had helped but what had helped even more was his hand on your arm, grounding you. In the past people had ran for cover when your temper got the better of you but clearly Bruce knew a thing or two about anger. He hadn’t been scared of you. You’d taken another deep breath “What else helps?”
“Writing my thoughts down in the evening. I like Science, that helps. Absorbing myself in my hobbies.” Bruce had studied you “What did Tony do to wind you up then?”
You’d gone off on a rant, telling him all about your latest issue with Tony – the two of you hadn’t instantly clicked. It wasn’t like you’d chosen to be an Avenger and you’d found Tony to have too much of a hero complex. His patronising tone during training hadn’t helped either. You’d accidentally caused a fire every day that week “I’m still learning though!” You’d burst angrily “It’s not like I like losing control! He’s acting like I’m doing it on purpose. Aren’t you guys meant to be teaching me this stuff? He doesn’t have a fucking clue what it’s like.”
Bruce knew how that felt though. It hadn’t taken him long to ask you out.
Going on actual dates proved difficult for you both because of your powers so he’d arranged a picnic for you both on the roof of the compound. It had gone well but you were frustrated again about how training had gone that day “I worked with Natasha.” You’d told him “It was okay, she’s okay. She was showing me self-defence, fighting skills, I don’t know, whatever. I was struggling to understand this one move she was showing me so I started to get angry. She sprang back like I was going to explode; Steve was already grabbing the fire blanket for God’s sake.”
You’d sighed heavily, looking out at the night sky “How do you put up with it? With everyone treating you like you’re a bomb waiting to explode?”
Bruce had shrugged “I can’t honestly say I wouldn’t be the same. People are… Frightened of what they can’t control. What they can’t predict.”
“Are you scared of me?”
Bruce had laughed and shaken his head “No… No, I’m not.”
You’d looked at him and admitted quietly “I scare myself sometimes.”
“I know what you mean. I scare myself too.”
It had been so nice to talk openly with someone who had truly understood him. After your fifth date you’d made it official and Bruce became your boyfriend. He’d told the Avengers about it and had just about managed to swallow down his irritation when they’d all shared concerned looks with each other. Steve had been the one to gently suggest it might not be the best idea. He'd brushed off their concerns.
Bruce was quickly falling in love with you. You were funny and smart, and really pretty. But what Bruce loved the most about you was that you weren’t afraid to get angry not just in front of him but at him too “You said we were gonna meet at seven, why are you still farting around in the lab at half past?” You’d roared at him, getting even more annoyed when he’d simply smiled in response. He’d had to whisk you out of the lab quickly before you lost control of your power again.
Your training continued and whenever you felt your temper rising they began to send Bruce to calm you down. Anyone else telling you to take deep breaths or to hit the punching bag only sent you into a further rage. But Bruce? Gently putting his hand on your shoulder was all you needed to start calming down. His voice always remained soft, his thumb stroking over your skin as you took the infuriating deep breaths.
People began to treat Bruce differently after that – less like he was going to explode at any given moment; his reputation had shifted in people’s eyes. He was the soft-spoken, calm one, the reliable one, the only one who could calm your fiery temper. Overtime people became less wary around you too – it became a running joke that if you were starting to lose your temper they’d have to call for Bruce “Off she goes.” Tony would tease “Better call the green one.”
One night you’re spending the night in Bruce’s room, his fingers stroking through your hair when you mumble “Do you think I’ll ever stop being angry?”
“I don’t know. What makes you so angry?” Bruce asks quietly, his fingers moving to run up and down your arm.
“I don’t really know. I’ve always had a strong sense of justice I guess.” You reply “I don’t like bullying. Or people who think they’re better than other people.” You hesitate “I guess if I didn’t care so much I wouldn’t be so angry.”
“If you didn’t care so much you couldn’t be an Avenger.” Bruce smiles “Not that you wanted to.”
“Don’t, I was so mouthy when I got here.” You cover your face with your hands “I had the wrong idea. I’d seen all the devastation; I thought you guys didn’t care. I was wrong.”
“Act first; think second, that’s your motto.” Bruce teases, his arm going around your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
“I really don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Keep the anger at bay. Keep… You know at bay.”
“Well, I don’t always. Sometimes it gets the better of me.” Bruce admits quietly “I just try my best though. Because what’s the alternative? I lose my temper; the other guy comes out and destroys a city. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t know how to control my temper though. And that means the fire comes.” You turn to face him, pressing your face to his chest “I set my childhood home on fire. I can’t even remember now what made me so angry but I just saw red and before I even knew what was happening the place was up in flames. My parents were lucky to get out alive. My baby sister was in her crib, she could’ve…” You cut yourself off, swallowing the lump in your throat “They never told on me. About the powers. Told me to try and control them but they didn’t trust me in the house after that. Never left me with my sister alone, even when we were older.”
“If they didn’t let you in the house, where did you-”
“We moved out of the city and they bought me a trailer. I lived in the backyard by myself. They barely had anything to do with me. We don’t speak these days.”
“How did the government find out about your powers?”
“I lost it at work, you know, my old job. We had this client, he was making a claim. It was a fair one; it was in his paperwork, he should’ve got it… They screwed him on a technicality. I’d tried to argue on his behalf but was told to not get involved. My boss had this horrible, smug look on his face. He had so much money, this guy didn’t, and I just… Lost it.” You take a deep breath “Everyone made it out except for my boss. My powers had finally killed someone. I’m very lucky I didn’t go to prison.”
Bruce presses a kiss to the top of your head “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was and you know it.”
“You didn’t ask for these powers. And how were you meant to learn to control them if you’d been told since you were a kid to suppress them?” Bruce kisses your forehead “You know what? I don’t think the trick is to stop being angry. Don’t stop being angry at the injustices in the world. You just gotta learn to live with that anger.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yep. I’m angry too… All the time. You can’t let it control you though. Easier said than done, trust me I know.” Bruce leans his forehead against yours “I’m here though. And you’re gonna get a handle on your powers. You’re getting better every day.”
You meet his gaze, wishing you could share his confidence. But the look in his eyes does make you feel better. He completely trusts you – trusts that you’ll get your powers under control, that you’ll learn to keep your temper under wraps, to stop flying off the handle. That you won’t hurt him. Maybe you can become someone to be proud of, rather than someone to be feared. Maybe. But until then, you have Bruce. Your calm in the storm. The first person in the world who hadn’t run for cover when your powers had been activated. You kiss him and then lie back against the pillow, finally feeling calm.
I was totally inspired by this TikTok here, which I have always thought looked like Leon anyway. It got a little away from me haha becoming a mix of that, Leon being an awesome supportive boyfriend, and first I love yous. I had fun with this and I'm still cackling at drunk!Chris.
Enjoy!
RE2!Leon Kennedy X GN Reader
Fluff, no use of y/n, set in a world where nothing bad happened because I just want Leon to be happy, one use of a curse word
Summary: Basically the cover your boyfriend in stickers meme
You had been fond of stickers since you were a child. Your parents often had to hide Band-Aids and confiscate sticker sheets from you growing up. All your notebooks from kindergarten through college were covered in stickers of whatever you were interested in at the time. Holo foil and anything glittery were always a favorite no matter your age. Now that you were an adult, that didn't change. There were less things you owned that could be covered in them without it causing damage, but any paper product, notebook, or folder still sparkled with shiny stickers.
Leon knew this about you and had always found it adorable. He'd first noticed before you were dating, when you had handed him a report from a folder in your hand. The folder itself was covered in flower stickers, some with glitter, some matte, all photo realistic blooming flowers in a rainbow of colors.
"I like your folder," he had said.
Your face had burst into various shades of red as you stammered a thank you. Your hobby was seen as childish at best, so you had been absolutely stunned when the handsome new rookie had complemented it.
Now that you had been dating for some time, Leon not only knew about it but fed into your obsession. Sometimes after a shift, Leon would come home with a sheet of brand new stickers.
"I saw these and thought you would like them," he would say.
And you did, every single time.
Your recent favorite had been self-adhesive gemstones. You'd come home practically bouncing the first time you had found some.
"How cool!" Leon said, "I like those the best." He pointed to the oval sapphires.
"They match your eyes," you said. You then carefully peel one off the plastic and placed it on the mole on the right side of his nose. His eyes widened slightly then he laughed.
"I guess it's definitely a beauty mark now," he said. You'd laughed as well. He had kept on the gem sticker until his shower that evening. It was then that you knew you loved Leon Kennedy.
It was a Saturday evening, maybe a week later. Leon walks into the bathroom.
"You think this is too fancy for getting drinks with Chris and everyone?" he says. He spins around to show off his outfit. You rake your eyes over his form, not bothering to hide your desire. Leon sees your small smirk and roaming gaze. His cheeks grow slightly pink but he quips out,
"Like what you see?"
"Always," you say, placing a light kiss on his cheek. You trail little kisses down his neck. You feel him shiver under your lips. When you reach the mole on his neck, you pull back then plop a little gem sticker on it.
"Perfect!" you say.
Leon blinks at you, stunned from the now lack of closeness. He glances in the mirror to see what you have placed on him. He laughs.
"Making me more beautiful?" he asks.
"Like I need to," you say.
He doesn't take it off. Throughout the evening, it peeks just under the collar of his leather jacket, a gentle blue gleam that matches his eyes in the dim, smokey bar.
Jill notices first, staring at it a full ten seconds before glancing at you. She smiles and tips her glass at you. Claire notices a short time later. She leans in close to the two of you and says,
"Quite the beauty mark you got there, pretty boy."
At this Chris turns and laughs into his drink.
"Thank you, it matches my eyes," Leon says, raising his chin. The gem gleams as much as his smile. You feel that your heart may just burst from the overwhelm of joy and love you feel.
You all stay at the bar a few more hours, getting steadily more buzzed. It's around midnight when Jill stands and says,
"Time to wrap it up, kids."
"I am literally older than you," Chris slurs as the rest of you mutter out a defeated, 'awwwwww'.
"And yet, I still act the most mature," she says as she helps him out of his seat.
While everyone is pleasantly tipsy, you are definitely drunk. The edges of your vision are a bit bleary and slightly askew. You are very aware that you are drunk, but have reached that point where you don't really care and your filter is loosened. Leon supports you as the group walks out of the bar. You are staring up at him, your face hurting from how much you're smiling.
"You're so pretty, Leon. I love your eyes. And your chin," you poke him there as you say this.
"So are you, gorgeous," he says.
"I got something for you," you say and lurch forward. Leon stops you from tumbling onto the ground as you rummage through your shoulder bag. You pop back up, making the world spin, but it's fine. You take a gem sticker from the paper and loudly say, "BOOP!" as you put it on his chin.
"Thank you, I love it," he says with a soft smile, like all he sees in the world is you.
You start to tear up, your feelings are so palpable.
"You're the best boyfriend ever you deserve them all!"
You continue to peel and stick gemstones all over his cheeks, forehead, chin, and neck listing off how wonderful each part of him is. You barely notice that you are walking, you are so caught up in your all important task of covering your boyfriend with every sticker you currently have (which is four sheets). Leon is grinning the entire time as he steadily grows more and more shiny. Claire steals a few and puts them on herself and her brother, who is too busy debating Jill about something work related to notice. Jill gently takes a sheet and places some on her cheeks, like dimples, before joining Claire in bedazzling Chris, unbeknownst to him.
You all stop at an intersection in downtown, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green. At the same moment a single car rolls up, blasting annoyingly loud music. A man is in the driver's seat, nearest you all, with a woman in the passenger seat. He glances over before giving a loud guffaw.
"Look at these pussies!" he yells. The woman whacks him across the chest.
"It looks cute! I think its fun!" she yells the last part as she leans across him out the window. Leon glances down at you and takes one of the full sheets of stickers from your hand before running over to the car.
"I was told only the best boyfriends wear them!" he hollers as he hands them to the woman. She's laughing now with a gleam in her eye. The light turns green and you can hear arguing over the loud music as they speed away. Jill and Claire high-five Leon. Chris is now realizing how covered he is in gemstones. You hold out your hands to Leon. He comes over and places his head in your hands.
Pope and Cherry couldn’t get enough of each other. That much had been made obvious by the unrelenting passes of touch that only ever lingered on the other, stuck in an orbit that magnetized their bodies closer and closer without even meaning to. His brothers had often joked in the feeble few minutes of them being apart that they might fuse together if they weren’t careful, Pope only hummed, mused, unsure if he would be entirely against the idea. Pope would consider himself tame, though his family surely wouldn’t.
He kept his touches pg for the most part, always above the clothes, soothing the smooth curve of her hip, tawny sliver of skin peeking from her tiny shorts, a hand on her soft knee, the warm scent of her shoulder as he tucked his head to the soft slope between her neck. He’d press a kiss here and there, under the wiry mess of curls sticking to the dampness of her neck in the summer heat, fingers pinching her thigh when she giggled and wriggled in his lap. Even then he was tame, despite the bloom of arousal that seeped through his chest at the soft lilt of her story telling, some customer at work, fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt mindlessly, a habit she could never help. No, he was tame, Cherry on the other hand was a problem.
In the beginning she would almost never be the one to initiate touch. If she did, it took a great amount of consideration before doing so. Slipping her hand into his was a challenge, fingers anxiously twitching before slowly lacing her pinky with his, until the rest of her fingers curled into his. She was so timid, sweet and unsure, always overthinking what was appropriate. It was nothing like that now.
Andrew considers it might be his fault. All the times he had encouraged her, “I just wasn’t sure if you were okay with me touching you like that,” she’d murmur, and Pope would look at her incredulously, “I always want you to touch me.” So really, he’s the one to blame for his own predicament.
They had only been watching a movie. Her feet perched in his lap as she always had them, Andrews hands soothing soft circles on the inside of her calf, his family a wall away having a discussion neither of them particularly cared for. Her red painted toes wiggled disinterested in the movie, while his gaze trained on the television. She pressed her heel softly to the inside of Pope's thick thigh, thumb nail bitten between her teeth as she trailed her toes up the ridged seam. Pope's gaze flitted over to her, brown pretty eyes watching him intently, toes dancing along the inside of his thigh, sly grin curling the corners of her lips, “What?” she mouthed, shrugging softly. Her foot nearly pressed to the restrained outline of his cock when his grip circled her ankle, a soft gasp leaving her lips as he leaned over her legs, “You really think they won’t hear if we get up to something?” he murmured softly, low enough to mask his words behind Craigs boisterous voice. “Just wanna play with you, Andy,” Cherry hummed.
Pope shook his head, turning his face away when she scooted closer, legs off his lap to slide into his side, “Can I touch you? Please,” her soft lips grazed his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there, “Just a little bit.” Pope can hardly breathe when her soft hand pushes over the growing bulge in his pants, palming the outline of him enough to make his hips stutter, “Bet I could make you cum just like this,” “Don’t.” “You don’t think so?” she breathes, nipping his shoulder as her palm presses harder to where the tip of him presses against the inside of his thigh under the thick denim, “You’re so sensitive. Bet you’re almost there already.” Her hand grips the shape of him and Popes eyes squeeze shut, thighs tensing, almost shaking, "Fuck. Do that again."
reader is a social worker at ptmc. and her and robby, for about a year, up until this point have maintained both a professional and a personal relationship. but amidst chaos and grief, anger slips through the cracks and people get hurt.
content warnings:
suicide mentions, grief, slight mean!robby, but more of him just being a stubborn old man. alcohol and drugs. so so much angst. not medically correct at all (for the most part)
Let's ignore the fact that I've been gone for longer than a whole month-
Also, I love Cho. You have no idea how much I love him
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「Content Warning: Mild NSFW/Suggestive, description of saliva and it gets gross, Cho is sassy, gender of reader is not specified」
I've been facing a burnout and I could've worked on this more, but I'm just too exhausted and I'm worried if end up posting this in another month. So I hope you all will enjoy this even if it's not 100% <3
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"Press harder, Cho..." you muttered, mouth agape, your gaze drifting from one side of the room to the other in repetitive swirls. First to the left, then to the right, up and down, over and over again like on a rollercoaster that flips your stomach upside down and makes the remains of your lunch ride up your throat to give you another taste of what already slid down once... You kept batting your eyelashes, trying to win a losing fight against the growing fog in your mind that buzzed behind your eyes, inviting you into a fuzzy and warm blanket of darkness and silence.
"I press harder and I'm rushing you to the ER with a broken spine," Cho stated, his delivery so sandpaper dry that your ears felt as if a cat gave them one big and harsh, uncomfortable lick that threatened to tear the skin off.
And yet, his arms - sweaty and sticky post workout - tightened around your body, reminding you of snakes coiling around their prey and then flexing their muscles tighter and tighter until the poor little thing has no room to breathe. Oh what a way to be put to eternal slumber... to be loved and held so tight that everything else just leaves your body along with your last breath...
Feeling the sensation of the added pressure on your ribcage, - the pressure that pushed the air out of your lungs and made a soft pop leave your spine - you whined through your open mouth: "hhhh..." and the bliss-born saliva that's been gathering in your mouth ever since Cho took ahold of you - letting you plop and drop dead onto his chest - now freely slid out and pooled on top of the Korean man's chest, soaking right into his fresh out of the dryer shirt. That shirt smelled strongly of roses laundry detergent - the smell you began to recognize as home.
"That's the stuff, Cho..." you mouthed against the man's wet chest, a lisp hissing through your teeth due to half of your face being buried in Cho and creating a fleshly little pancake out of your squished cheek. Your cheeks were warm like pancakes too - like pancakes fresh out of the pan, and your drool was that sweet, stretching Maple syrup.
Then, heavy slurping sound left you as you pulled in some of your drool, the substance sticky and quite solid from the apple juice you've drunk prior to that tiredness filled, cozy moment. Naturally, your drool soaked through your man's shirt and coated his skin underneath, mixing the stickiness of his sweat with the stickiness of your saliva, but Cho didn't recoil or loosen his grip - he stayed as he was, solid wall of toned muscles underneath a blanket of squish.
And now, with your lips and mouth moist again, you pleaded in a single, weak breath: "Press harder, Cho...". "You're gross." Cho stated matter-of-factly, no hesitation, no sugarcoating, "And weird." but still, he made no move to shove you off or release you. Instead, the snakes that his arms were only coiled further around you, his sweat making your shirt cling to his skin and his movements tugging it along until your skin was revealed in some places.
In response, you breathed out: "Uh-uh" in satisfaction, barely registering your man's words as your eyelids began to droop from pure bliss and comfort at being held by your lover, guarded like the hoard of gold of a fire-breathing dragon from western fairytales. Come to think of it, Cho was like a western myth dragon - well, he was furnace warm like one at least. But, no matter of whether or not you were actually processing his words, Cho murmured: "You're unapologetically yourself. That's exactly why I'm dating you. Never change.".
"But the same can't be said about me. I need to get changed..." He stated, voice cold as ice and yet oh so burning hot - just like when your body is outside during snowstorm, freezing and suddenly it falls into deep hypothermia and your limbs begin tingling in that soothing, slumber welcoming way that promises that everything will be okay once you finally allow for yourself to just close your eyes.
"You turned my shirt into my middle school lab project..." the disgust was evident in his tone, but it was that disgust that carried deep affection, similar to how one looks at tiny puppy that rolled around in dirt and now needs good old bath. "Except that at least didn't threaten to merge with my skin and create a brand new slobby variant of lupus,".
"You're... funny...." you muttered, eyelids shutting closed with a short snore bubbling at the back of your throat. And Cho's fit and firm arms shifted for a moment, gripping you under your armpits to pull your entire body weight - without breaking sweat - just a little bit up, so that your head rested right under his chin. You whined at the loss of pressure, dissatisfied: "Cho...". "Shush," but then, his arms found their way around your waist and back once more, curling around you and squeezing hard to pull you back to sense of safety.
"At least one of us has to be funny." the CBI agent murmured against the crown of your head, his lips lightly tugging at a few loose strands of your hair as he did so, making your brows furrow, "I'm not missing out on completely free party cake because you're a buzzkill," and then he gently planted a brief kiss there, his lips meeting your skin like soft petals landing in water. His huge, calloused hand then moved and squeezed your shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise - but his touch was too controlled to really hurt: "Sleep, you little menace,".
"... o... kay..." was the last thing the Korean man's ears were caressed by before you fully melted into Cho's hold, your body fitting so perfectly in his arms that it almost seemed as if you truly were sculpted just for each other - like a mug and a handle, created and existing separately at first but then getting attached to one another and never existing without the other since.
Your breathing slowed and the sleepy fog in your mind fully enveloped you. You knew you were safe and sound, and loved...
