#I think this is my first Delsin fic 🥹

[ragingdumpsterfire]

Delsin swings his legs back and forth as he looks out on the city sprawled beneath your feet, curiosity and youthful defiance written on his face. He examines the street, gleeful over the lack of DUP patrols in this section of Seattle, a fact he proudly claimed was his work. You didn’t doubt it with the way he easily took up the mantle of “hero”. The two of you frequently came up to this billboard at night to take in the sights and sounds of a quietly bumbling city, sometimes huddled together under a shared coat when the rain softly fell. It was a long standing tradition ever since the two of you met all those years ago, and now you were both quietly taking in the late night, a comforting pause in the conversation.

The lanky figure next to you radiates heat, his shoulder that playfully bumps into yours sending waves of warmth soaking into your skin. Delsin was always like that, your own personal 6’3” ray of sunshine. The only difference now was that he always carried the scent of a day old campfire. You didn’t mind it, the way your clothes smelled like him after you entered your apartment and dropped your jacket. If he had been particularly friendly that day, you smelled like him too.

A burst of icy air comes over the rooftops, chilling you to the core. Without hesitation, and with a trace of familiarity, Delsin wraps a tattooed arm around you, pulling you close to him and enveloping you in that addictive heat. His fingers tenderly grip your shoulder without trepidation, as if they’d always belonged there. He doesn’t notice the way you look up at him, the way your heart beats a little too fast, the way your breath catches in your chest every time he smiles so brightly it could light up a room. The way you have to hold back from playing with the dark strands of hair that tumble over his eyes when he takes off his hat. The way you wonder what he looks like when he first wakes up, sleep still lingering in a tired grin. He doesn’t notice, but he still knows. It’s why he lets his pinky finger entwine with yours when your hands meet. It’s why he brings you up here, off of the city streets of the average citizen and into his world. It’s why he trusts you.

And it’s why, as you turn to gaze into his dark eyes, lips a breath away, he doesn’t pull back.

No, he doesn’t pull back, as his hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers softly tangling in your hair. As his eyes flicker down to your lips.

He doesn’t pull back.

He dives in.