#the thunder beneath his ribs

[bakerstmel]

Fall Favorite Fic Festival, Entry 3

I’m not putting any pressure on myself to post these daily, just as the spirit moves. In case you’ve been keeping score or something.

This entry includes my absolute favorite love declaration of all time in any media of any kind anywhere. It also gives me an excuse to talk about narrative distance, so a double win for me!

the thunder beneath his ribs, by darcylindbergh

Darcylindbergh writes lyrically, as in their works are word music. They play with language to great effect, and as someone who pathetically paws at that kind of thing from time to time, I have the greatest respect for their efforts.

(This one got long, so I'm getting all fancy and installing a cut. The love declaration is at the bottom of the post.)

I'm talking about this kind of thing, the opening paragraph (blue text is darcylindbergh throughout this post):

The slap of feet echoes against the pavement, nearly drowned out by the crash of thunder and heavy rainfall. Neon lights glint off wet concrete, turn the night into a kaleidoscopic circus of noise and heat and confusion, and John twists into it, gets lost in it, running fast, breathing hard, elbows in, focus.

And just like that, we are running, and we are in the rain, and more than that, we are running in the city in the rain, and more than that, we are in John's head like we have a regular table there. We are agitated, anxious, scared- we know John is a veteran, and if we don't, that's about to become clear in other ways-and it's all via rhythm and word choice.

You can do that sort of thing directly, and it can also work:

It was a thousand year rain, the kind of rain London hadn't seen since six months prior. John had always thought of rain as cold, growing up in the council flats, but this was hot, steamy, the kind of rain that felt like a hiss, like a slap, like a bullet. It was hard to breathe in rain like this, hard to keep his terror under control, but it didn't matter; he had to keep moving, keep running, keep up.

That's just me screwing around, but I hope you can see the difference--Darcy leans into the rhythm of the running, TWISTS into it, GETS LOST in it, running FAST, breathing HARD. It's elevated language. This can cause issues, in that artistry can feel more formal. I would argue that's likely intentional here, because darcylindbergh is a master of narrative distance. In this case, we are swept along in this steamy rain, physically close to the characters and in John's head but lacking the full access pass. Part of this is that John is fully in this moment and not thinking about anything else, and Darcy is using the rhythm of this language to tell us that without having to tell us that. This kind of attention to detail allows a good writer to craft a world in 5,700 words and have it ring true.

Anyone who talks writing with me ends up hearing a rant about POV. First person, third person, third person close, it all has to do with how much we know. Right? And I feel as though it's pretty standard in fic to write a close third, since fic is above all a character driven genre, but in general, the best writing swoops in and out. You pull back and get the lay of the land, dive in to feel the tension and see the eye twitches, and then pull back up to learn the history of why the land matters in the first place. Like so:

Around them, London carries on, oblivious: the rush of steam from cheap late-night restaurants, the splash of cabs through puddles growing in the streets, the smell of soaked skips and dirty bodies infiltrating the labyrinthine alleys Sherlock leads them through.

A bit later:

John had walked these streets once and thought nothing of it. He’d been to the pubs and the post offices, the Tescos and the Bootses, in the backs of cabs and on the Tube, and scarcely gave it any consideration.

Now he’s constantly looking over his shoulder, skin crawling and mind prickling with the possibility of being watched or followed. Dangerous has lost its slick attraction.

If this were a screenplay, and that was camera direction, we'd start from an overhead shot and then draw in down a city street, Baker Street maybe, with the tube station and that Boots right there by Marylebone, and then settle on John's anxious face as he glances behind him. Likely, then, we'd pull back a bit to show John behind Sherlock, closing the distance, getting ready for what happens next.

OK, I know no one is reading all this. I've gone a bit meta-mad. I just like writing that makes me smarter, and this fic does that. Even after all this time, the breadth and quality of the writing of this fandom in general just knocks me out.

Anyway, I promised a love declaration.

"I’m going to love you now,” John says. “I’m going to love you the way I’ve tried not to since the very beginning. I’m going to love with you every single cell of me and every single breath, and I will follow you until you tell me to stop and then wait for you to come back, and when I die I’m going to die with your name imprinted on my very bones with how much and how hard and how long I’ve loved you.”

Across the pillows, Sherlock blinks. He takes a tiny breath that doesn’t seem to make it past his lips and blinks again.

Then he takes John’s hands in his own and studies them, as though looking for some proof written in John’s lifelines, and he presses a kiss down into John’s palm. “Okay,” he breathes, damp and warm. He kisses John’s other palm. “Okay.”

And you know what's crazy? Those aren't even the best lines in this fucking thing. This is the best line:

Sherlock offers John his cuffs.

I mean, for fuck's sake (in the best possible way).

[lymtw]

Toji calling you over to his place because there's gonna be a storm and he wants you to weather it with him. If it gets too bad, you can't travel to each other, so you might as well shelter together before you lose the option to do so.

He didn't greet you in a fluffy manner, but when does he? Usually, when you greet him with a hug, it'll start out normal and then his hand goes down south towards your ass, where he'll squeeze until you break the embrace.

You expected him to be handsy and up in your space because he really can't last five minutes without touching you, but it was as if he was being powered by the storm. You were pushed to the edge of the couch by him, his body wedged between your legs as he ambushed your lips with his own. His hands firmly grounded your hips to the couch cushions as if he were silently telling you not to move. Most of the lights in his apartment were off, just a lamp illuminating the scene of you and him on the couch and occasional lightning strikes that would cast light on your face. It was pouring outside, the sound of heavy rain and thunder filling your ears.

"What would you have done alone?" He plays with the hem of your hoodie, picturing the body beneath it.

"Nothing, Toji. Absolutely nothing. And you?" You tilt your head, allowing him to kiss your neck. One of your hands settles on the back of his neck, the other makes a mess out of his hair.

"Mm..." he groans at the feeling of you scratching his scalp. "I would've beat my dick to the thought of you and those pretty pictures you send me all the time. 'M glad you're here so I can fuck you instead."

You giggle, digging your heels into the cushions as he keeps smothering you with kisses. His crushing weight is completely welcomed by you as you attempt to bring him even closer.

"This my sweater?" His hands use their privilege on your body, going under the sweater to run up and down your waist. The warmth elicits goosebumps from you, and you can't help but writhe in his hold.

"You said I could hold onto it until you remembered to take it back, and I sure as hell am holding onto it."

His gaze pins you down, lips curling at your playful sass. He knows the obsessive thoughts that go behind sharing his clothes with you. You take his sweaters and he tells you to "hold onto them until he remembers to take them back" but that's just his code for 'think of me when you get off to the scent of my cologne'. He only takes the sweater back once your perfume overpowers his cologne, and it's then his turn to fantasize about you.

"That's good, doll. It smells like you, now." He presses his face against your chest, inhaling your scent deeply. "Mhm, that's my girl."

You giggle, brushing down strands of his hair with your fingers. You swear you felt something poke you down there while Toji face was pressed into you.

He pushes the bottom of your sweater up, over your midriff, until he sees the bottom of your bra. He kisses up your stomach, sucking a couple marks above your belly button and on your ribs before reaching your bra.

"Fuck, I love that you go shirtless sometimes when you wear my hoodies."

You laugh. "Yeah, my boobs are constant victims to your manhandling."

You play with his hair as he continues to explore your skin, littering more marks on it as he works his way up to removing your bra.

"They call me, baby. Who am I not to answer?" He pushes up the cups of your bra, watching intently as your breasts are exposed. "So soft and pretty, could keep my mouth on them all day if you'd let me."

He squishes the underside of your right boob, mesmerized by its malleability. His lips latch onto your nipple, sucking on the soft skin while his hand paws at the other one. You sigh, wishing you could press your thighs together.

"Fuck," he groans. "So soft, princess. I wanna ruin you."

You look down at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "Who's gonna stop you, baby? Me?" You take in his lustful gaze before finishing. "Absolutely not."

You sacrificed yourself to Toji. Your words got to him in a way you didn't think they would, but because of them, he was thrusting in and out of you mercilessly. He enjoyed watching your breasts bounce with every snap of his hips into yours.

"Fuck... fuck, mama," he almost whimpers. "You did this to yourself," he pants. "Was gonna fuck you... all nice and slow this time," he chuckles, breathlessly. "But, you won't ever let me be romantic, so fuck that." His nails dig into your hips when you start arching you back off the mattress.

"Oh my- Toji, Toji, fuck!" You claw at the couch cushion, your fingers shaking as you quickly lose grip.

You see another lightning strike behind Toji, through the window. You have two amazing views combined into one, tonight.

Toji wraps your legs around his waist to keep that strict rhythm in his thrusts. He leans forward, his forearms beside your head like a cage. "Why're you crying? Pretty girl's gonna cum? 'S that what's happening?"

You nod, gasping at his precision inside you. He's abusing his ability to find your sweet spot, torturing you with every roll of his hips. You hold back a sob, your heels digging into his lower back. Toji catches your tears with his lips, savoring the slight saltiness on his tongue. "Who else is gonna fuck you to tears like this?," he mutters into your jaw. "Huh? Who else?" He huffs against your cheek.

You let out a high pitched cry, your abdomen quivering against Toji's. "O-Only... you, T-Toji. Just, you...!"

"Uh-huh. Good girl." His nose drags down your cheek, leading his lips to your neck. "Absolutely no one else," he says before attaching his lips to your delicate skin. He knows you bruise easily so he uses this to his advantage.

"A-Ah... o-ow, Toji," your nails claw at his shoulder blades. You shudder at the sharp pain in your neck and collarbone.

"Hold still, just a couple more." His hips continue rolling into you, slower as he focuses on leaving hickeys on you skin.

"F-Fuck..." you inhale sharply when you feel his teeth on your shoulder.

"Mine," he mumbles beneath your ear. "These..." he presses on the bite mark and the litter of fresh marks on your skin, making you wince, "prove that you are mine."

He straightens his posture but keeps his gaze lowered to meet your dazed expression. Your brows are pinched, and though your eyes are lidded, he can make out tiny hearts in the slivers of your eyes that remain.

"Toji?" you moan.

"Yeah?" He groans, feeling your cunt clench around him.

"Can I," you shudder at the intensity of his green eyes focusing on you, "wanna cum."

He laughs. "How did that go from being a question to being a statement? Try again, doll face."

Your thighs quiver around his hips as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again. "U-Uh... Um..." your eyes roll back for a second. "Fuck, can I cum? Please?" It came out sounding desperate. There was a slight whine in your voice.

"Keep going."

"Toji, please? Please, make me cum. Please."

Your begging was working him towards his own peak, which is why he pushed for more from you.

"How badly do you want it, because to me it doesn't really sound like you want to cum. Convince me, mama."

You felt like tearing out your hair. You were going insane with this solid rhythm of his, holding you inches away from am earth shattering orgasm. Just a little more and you'll be tossed into a pleasurable void.

"Toji, please. Pretty please. Please, I need you to make me cum."

His hips pick up the pace the more you beg, his rapid breathing now audible to you.

"Please... daddy?" You plead, meekly.

That was it. That was enough to get whatever you wanted from Toji. His eyes widened, and for a split second, his soul was in your grasp. You willingly gave it back with twinkling eyes, and in return he made you cum so hard that you thought your spine would snap from how hard you arched off his bed. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing it up as you cried his name out until it didn't sound like a real word anymore.

You felt Toji tremble against you, his hips pulling back before rocking back into you, languidly. All you could hear were little shaky breaths near your ear before feeling his warmth spew inside you. You could hear his strangled groans becoming soft moans as he slowed down.

"F-Fuck, fuck, Toji," you shuddered, tensing up at the sensitivity you felt in your cunt even when he slowed down. He groans, leaving a kiss behind on your shoulder before leaning back to look at you. His dazed expression mirrored your own. He leaned forward one more time to kiss you. It was lazy and sloppy, saliva coating your lips more and more each time they brushed his.

Toji released you, sliding his cock out to see the result of such an amazing fuck. He whistles, impressed by the sight of his cum dripping out of your pussy and onto the couch.

"God, really, Toji?" You can't suppress the smile forming on your lips.

"What? You look stunning, darling. Can feel my dick getting hard again." His hand finds your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb.

"Wait, give me two minutes. Still sensitive." You smile sheepishly.

"Take your time. You're stuck with me 'til the storm passes, anyway."

You smile. "Shouldn't be too long."

"That's cute. You're trynna be gone by tomorrow?" He hisses with fake sympathy, like he's about to break bad news to you. "Tough luck, doll. Forecast says the storm should last the next four days."

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[peachesofteal]

The Crypt anthology

“You dropped this.”

You whirl on a dime, legs twisting together and rolling you off balance at the last second, the stranger’s hand shooting out to try to steady you before you catch yourself. “Alright little love?” Powder blue eyes hold you tight, some sort of virose thrall bearing down into your temples, rooting around in the matter between your ears.

“I’m fine.” You manage, but the words lack conviction. Long fingers dig in the soft spirals of your brain, looking for something, picking and pulling.

“Lookin’ a bit peckish there, sure you’re alright?” All you can manage is a nod, one foot sliding behind the other, placing you firmly out of reach.

“I’m fine.” The two words are all you can manage, still trying to escape the trance, the dark tug behind your ribs. Long silence plays out, and with a closer look, you register him fully. Tall. Broad. Shoulders wide enough to close in around you, green jacket faded into sun parched moss. It wouldn’t button around his chest, the waffle henley beneath doing you no favors by the way it tapers to his belt, a strong jaw cloaked by a swath of beard and moustache.

Older than you, stronger than you, an astral man amidst a city of depravity.

Step closer.

A storm cracks outside, thunder rattling the windows, your vision tunneling inside the market, people doing their shopping ebbing around you, a rock in water, stalls and their goods fading into the distance.

The only thing you can see is this stranger and his bright blue eyes. “Thanks,” you croak, knuckles tense on the strap of your bag, net of spilled oranges now safely tucked inside the canvas. When did that happen? Your smile is forced, seasick though the ground is solid beneath you, and when the eye contact breaks to flicker over your shoulder, you jolt back to your sense, and turn away.

The blue eyes stay with you all the way home, into your flat, through the night. You think about them as you cook yourself dinner, as you pour yourself a too generous glass of wine. You feel them as you curl up on the couch, malignant presence lingering just outside your window.

It’s only once you undress and slip under your blankets that you finally feel a semblance of peace, as if the gaze has moved on, the undying focus abated in a sliver of moonlight.

Your dreams are filled with blood.

An oil slick across an ocean, too vast to know where it ends and begins, you fight to keep your head above water, legs kicking frivolously in the dark, terror tight around your throat, horror lurking on the outside of your mind. Thalassophobia renders you almost useless, the panic just enough to keep the drowning at bay.

Can you die in a dream?

A hand appears from nowhere, and you cling to it, wailing and gasping until you’re pulled ashore, laid flat on your back against black stone sand.

“Alright little love?” Him. The same eyes peer down, shining like the sun, chasing away the darkness settled in around you. He stuns you.

“Y-yeah.” He’s close enough cigar smoke permeates your air, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like a lifejacket. It takes a moment, a second of realization-

You’re covered in blood. Hands, feet, forearms, face. It coats your lips, iron and earth in your nose, soaked all the way to your lungs. Heavier than tar, slicked to your windpipe, drowning your beating heart in ichor.

“Oh god, oh my god, what- what is this, what is this-“ You’ve never heard your own voice at this pitch, shrill, piercing, the sound of someone crying, the sound of someone freefalling.

That can’t be you, can it?

“Easy now.” He holds you by the shoulders. The sun and moon cycle overhead, light and darkness rotating, disorienting you further, a whimper crawling from your throat. “Shhh, I know, I know,” he rubs your temple, thumb stained ruby red, and then lifts it to his mouth, lips curled into a devilish smile, “knew you’d be perfect f’me.” The ground begins to shake, the sky splitting apart, white tendrils snaking across the sea to your ankles, and he frown, disappointment lingering in the lines of his face. The rough scrape of his beard presses to your cheek with a kiss, and he nestles a coin into the palm of your hand, the dream turning opaque before disappearing completely, your eyes opening to ceiling of your bedroom.

Just a dream, you remind yourself throughout the day. Just a dream, though it’s nearly impossible to keep your mind from wandering, remembering, tasting the salt of the ichor like it’s still fresh on your tongue.

“Hey!” Your coworker snaps her fingers, alarm flashing across her face. “Are you okay? You look… sick.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Maybe you should call it a day. Seriously, you look like death.” Your agreement is weak as she practically shoves you out the door. “Go home and take a nap or something.”

“Hello again.” Your heart jolts, battering against your bones in a frantic beat. “No need to be scared.” You blink. “I’m John… from the market yesterday? You dropped your oranges?”

“John.” Your tongue ties around his name, and though its polite to give yours, you can’t force it out. His brow furrows.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Good sense and manners appear, spurred on by years of chastising by your mother, and you grimace.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m a bit under the weather.” He looms ahead of you, blocking a portion of the sidewalk.

“Headed home then?” You nod. “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.” He gives you a sharp look, the dispel to an argument, razored, jagged teeth closing in around your attempt at a refusal, and pulls at your wrist, thumb holding steady over your pulse point, heart rate slowing from a panic to a lull.

Your head hangs, and you slump, exhaustion tugging your limbs down towards the ground. The path doesn’t split before you, no way to choose one way or another, hedgerows too tall to peer over, lost and unable to discern the way. Your hands find your pockets, and brush across something unfamiliar and cool.

A coin.

Darkness closes in around you-

And the word goes black.

You wake in a bed.

Not your bed.

It’s big, wide enough your legs and arms spread out with touching the edge of the mattress. The sheets are fine, cotton you could never afford, threads delicate, spun silk. Luxury. A far cry from your one-bedroom flat.

“There you are.” Time jolts, bringing you into the present with startling speed, a hand clasping over your mouth before you can release a scream. “No need for that.”

“John?” You mumble into his palm. Your head is natant, woozy with the rocking, feet scrambling on a ship far away, desperate to hold tight to a rail, a lifeline, a moment of balance in a violent storm. “I’m gonna be sick.”

There’s a haunting, familiar taste on your lips and you lick them over and over, the tip of an iceberg, a memory just barely visible above placid water. You grasp at it, tug yourself closer, swallow the nostalgia until it rears its head-

Blood.

Horror wraps an unforgiving fist around your throat.

“What-“

“Welcome home.” What? Your feet tangle in the sheets, a net around your ankles. His big, warm hand flattens over your chest, blue gaze honing in, the predator ready to devour his prey. “Can hear your heart, little love.”

“This isn’t my h-home.”

“It is now.” He’s casual, leaning by your hip, now stroking deft fingers over your ribs. “This is my home, and now it’s yours too. You don’t need to worry, you’ll be well cared for.” The cold green sick feeling surges, and you roll over to the side of the mattress, spewing the contents of your stomach onto polished hardwood floors.

It’s not bile, or water, or even food.

It’s red. Dark red, dripping off your lips like rain, flooding the grooves beneath you. He rubs your back like you’re a child who needs soothing, grip tight on your arm when you try to rip away.

“It won’t always be like this,” he coos, clucking his tongue in sympathy, “the taste is difficult to get used to.”

“The taste of what?”

“Blood.”

[comatosebunny09]

light as a feather | sylus

summary: your lashes dance. you screw your eyes shut, offering him your wrists. “gonna tie me up?” he hums, entertaining the idea in his mind. “tempting. but not tonight, sweetheart.” you flinch when something cold, crisp, and silken grazes your cheek. sylus chuckles, the sound akin to distant thunder rolling over the horizon. “i won’t hurt you. i promise.” genre(s): romance, erotica warning(s): female reader, gendered terms, silliness, blindfolds, sensation play, praise, pet names, profanity, sylus may or may not be in his demon form throughout now playing: layin’ low - hyolyn

“Do you trust me?” he asks one night on a whim.

You set your book aside, straightening on the settee in the center of his study. “You know I do.”

Why is that even a question?

He smirks, a softness to his eyes as he takes your hand, acquainting his lips with each of your knuckles. He wordlessly draws you from the loveseat. Bewildered, you follow, lead through the stilled, winding corridors of his manor towards a room you’re all too familiar with.

“Nap time?” you jest with a humored look, bouncing on his bed.

“Hmm. Not quite.” There’s a tease in the low rumble of his voice. A promise of something more. You feel like a teenager, a hot rush of adrenaline spuming through your extremities.

He turns his back to you, rifling through his dresser. You maneuver this way and that, trying to get a look over his burly shoulder at what he’s up to.

In an a-ha moment, he finds what he seeks. Returns to you, aura bleeding bad intentions whilst he briskly shoves something into his pocket. Your breath hitches when he zeros in, and he pitches himself forward, caging you between his arms to murmur against the outskirts of your ear.

“Close your eyes.” You’re dizzy from the sound of it. From the heat he exudes, the heady scent he carries. Your mind colors with possibilities. Blinking drunkenly, you obey.

Your lashes dance. You screw your eyes shut, baring both wrists to him. Does he plan to subdue you? “Gonna tie me up?”

He hums, entertaining the idea in his mind. “Mmm. Tempting, but not tonight, sweetheart.”

You flinch when something cold, crisp, and silken grazes your cheek. Sylus chuckles, the noise akin to distant thunder rolling over the horizon. “Won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You nod, and he slips something over your eyes. Ties it over your ears, behind your head. The knot is secure yet loose enough to tear off if need be.

“Lie back,” he instructs, smoothing the flat sides of his fingers along the jutting bones of your wrist. You could get used to being ordered around like this.

Your lips twitching with a smile, you acquiesce, falling onto the cloud-like, lush comforter adorning his bed. You prickle with anticipation, your breath held at the crest of your ribs.

Give a little start when cold, idle finger pads slip beneath the hem of your blouse, touching the molten skin of your belly. You’re caught between a gasp and a laugh. Clench the comforter to ground you, your body reacting to the exploratory glide of his palm.

He chuckles again, dark like red velvet and smooth like whiskey. Voice abrasive as he bunches your blouse up beneath the swell of your tits. “Relax,” he soothes, and you shudder whilst his digits venture southward torturously slow.

He curls a thick hand around your thigh. Squeezes until flesh craters between his fingers, and he hums with a quieted satisfaction.

He’s by your ear again, dragging distended lips along the shell, nosing along the space behind. Fingers tip-toe up the inner trajectory of your thigh, smoothing along the plump, honeysuckle skin just shy of where your panties lie.

“What’s your safe word?” he husks.

Your breath catches, hips rucking up off the bed to chase the feeling of his palm on you. “Mary Poppins.”

Sylus snorts, nipping your earlobe in retaliation. “Too many syllables. You sure you’ll be able to get that out in time?”

A bout of vertigo crashes into you. You pulse. Laugh breathlessly, excited. Burn hot. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He taps your thigh once, twice. Mulls over your answer, and suddenly, his warmth no longer cradles you. You whine like a brat when he leaves your side. Pant, every nerve in your body exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

He doesn’t leave you cold and wanton for long.

Something fluffy touches your skin, replacing the gentle stir of his fingers. You giggle, the sensation akin to tickle bugs crawling over your stomach.

Did he conjure one of his feathers just to tease you?

He chuckles alongside you, dragging it up the ripple of your ribcage. “How does it feel?” he queries, mouthing along the angle of your jaw. Nips your neck, breathes hot against your carotid.

“G-good. Real good.”

“Mmmm. Good girl. Stay still. Yes, just like that.”

He makes several expeditions over your body, paying special attention to the space shy of the line of your bra. When you’re thoroughly teased and gasping for air—sighing his name so pretty, arching your back for more—he drags the feather further south.

Encourages your legs to widen by smoothing it over your inner thighs, and you shudder when it grazes the seat of your panties.

He releases an appraising sound. Throat clicks, and he exhales slowly. Shakily. He does it again, dragging the feather along your slit, and your hips leave the mattress in pursuit of that sparkling feeling again.

“Like that?” he purrs low in his throat, thoroughly entranced.

You nod, hot in the face, reaching blindly across the bed for something of his to hold onto. He smiles into your ear, setting a steady pace with the feather against your slick pussy. And it’s embarrassing how quickly you fall apart. How your panties darken with gossamer beads of slick, and he hasn’t even done his worst.

Toss your head side to side, desperately clinging to him. Whispering his name like a broken mantra, undulating your hips like the lazy drag of a tide against a fucking feather.

“Sylus,” you breathe, not sure what you’re begging for. “Sylus, please.”

“Want me to stop?” he croons, not once relinquishing his pace. Agonizingly slow, the tip of the quill agitating your swollen clit.

You shake your head, your lip swollen and tucked between your teeth. He takes your cue, tugging your blouse the rest of the way towards your neck. Your bra follows, and you exhale slow when sweltering lips close around a pebbled nipple.

He throbs through the thick layers of his clothes, twitching against your hip, begging to be set free. His focus is on you, however, and he laves at your nipple, sending pleasant tingles throughout your body, crashing into your center.

“Fuck, Sy. I’m gonna-I’m gonna—”

“Cum?” he breathes against your tit, the sticky, wet sound of his lips suckling on your nipple making your pussy clench. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Please. Need you to.”

You pant, pushed near that slurry edge. Home in on that feeling brewing between your legs. On the sensation of the feather bumping your clit, the pitch of his voice, his ragged breaths intermingling with yours.

He’s in your ear again. Hot, muttering a litany of praise. “Pretty girl. So, so good for me. Let it go. Give it to me, sweetheart.”

And you do just that.

Your back arches, eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold. A cry lodged in your throat, and the world slides into white. Tremors of satisfaction tear through you. Ripple from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your fingers tingle. Ears ring.

You laugh all breathless as you come down, shuddering. Overstimulated whilst Sylus continues to ease the feather up and down the milky mess of your cunt.

“Delicious,” he hums, angling your face towards him with tender fingers beneath your chin. Draws you into a languid kiss, milking vulgar sounds from betwixt your lips.

masterlist | banner by @cafekitsune.

[dumbbitchgalore]

Old man!Price wants his birdie to fly away 🕊

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Moans and groans are emitted from the confines of your shared bedroom.

A room reserved for love, loyalty and lust between the two souls once again entrap all emotions of togetherness. A sense of closeness between two entities that one would have though to be impossible.

The neatness of the space now poisoned with the frangrance of sex and passion with not so much of an ounce of adoration to be found in the crevaces of the place. Clothes hastely thrown on the floor without much care, the bedsheets wrinkled losing it's prefectness.

She laid there sprawled across the mattress, her hair tousled, her lipstick smudged as its once pristine application now mirror onto John's face.

Salacious touches exhanged, their voice brittle and breathy. Contaminating the serenity of the grand vacinity, their vile performance manifesting within every perimetre.

John looks into her eyes, searching for a semblance of his little birdie within them. However, all he found was an amorous desire spilling out of her spirit for him, a momentary pleasure. He knew this well, the reason why he chose her to warm his bed. His face scrunches up with lust, release and condemnation.

She warmed his bed too well, the cotton beneath them felt like the scorching vehemence of hell donning on the pair. Despite such sentiments, his pace never faltered. Ramming into her like the bastard that he was, in heat and with a simple thought in his mind; he needed to finish this before the affects of his viagra came to an end.

His momento hastened as he goal was in sight. Littering her jaw with short, fleeting kisses, he buries his face between her breasts. Her greddy heart thundering against her ribs at it echoed against John's ear.

With one last thrust, his nympholepsy came undone as the familiar feeling returns once again. He pulls himself out of her and rests next to the woman before taking off his condom and throwing it to the side neglectfully.

In these moments, his mind would finally come to a close. The loudness of his counscious dying down dilatorily but today, his mind was very much so talkative. Without taking a single breath, it spoke and spoke and spoke, its heart not being content with the words it said.

The woman next to him smiles softly reaching out to caress his cheek.

"Damn, did you really take viagra?" She questions, unable to understand why someone who exudes the opulance of virility needed such a drug.

He grunts in response, affirming her inquiry and simply closes his eyes trying to tune out the voices that plague his being.

On the other side of the room, footsteps are heard approching near but John does not make fuss to hide his undignified state. Rather, he allows for the the hinges of the door to creak open.

Her eyes widen at the scene in front of her. Is the truly reality or did her vision betray her?

She steps into the desolate sleeping quarters, taking in the pungent smell of adultery that she thought was impossible to conjure. Tear well, blurring her sight as she tries to convince herself that what she is seeing is untrue.

John simply stares at the intruder before sighing heavily and laying back down into the bed.

"Can't you see I'm busy here, Birdie? Why don't you come back later when my friend here is gone, hm?" He says without an ounce of regret visible, as his heart tore to pieces.

Surely this will at last make her leave and find someone better than him, yes?

[girl-next-door-writes]

Landslide

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: After a brutal mission leaves you battered and bruised, Loki’s protective side flares up as he confronts Tony for putting you at risk. Amidst the tension, Loki’s fear of losing you surfaces, and he reminds you just how much you mean to him.

Word Count: 1327 words

A/N: My wonderful and dear friend @iwillbeinmynest sent me this request an age ago. I am sorry it took me so long, but hopefully you will enjoy it.

The Quinjet hummed beneath you, an unsettling contrast to the agony throbbing through your entire body. Every breath ached, your ribs protesting with sharp stabs, and your knuckles were raw from the fight. You stared at the ceiling, forcing yourself to stay conscious as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving nothing but exhaustion and pain.

You had won. Barely. The mission had taken more out of you than expected, but you’d managed to hold your ground, even as the odds stacked up against you. It had been messy, and you’d paid for it with every punch and kick that landed. Tony’s voice crackled over the comms, congratulating you on a job well done, but you could only muster a weak grunt in response.

The jet’s landing gears extended with a metallic thud, and the familiar lights of the Avengers Compound loomed outside the small window. You exhaled shakily, preparing yourself for the walk down the ramp. It would be fine, you told yourself. Just make it to the med bay, get patched up, and then you could collapse in your room and sleep for a week.

But as soon as the ramp hissed open, you saw him. Loki stood at the base of the ramp, his face bright smile morphing into deep frown the moment he laid eyes on you. In an instant, he was there, his hands gently but urgently running over your shoulders, neck and face, his piercing gaze scanning over your bruises and cuts with a mixture of fury and concern.

“Who did this?” His voice was sharp, but you could hear the tremor beneath it. He was on edge, trying to mask his fear for you.

You winced as he tilted your chin up to inspect a particularly nasty cut near your eye. “It’s nothing, Loki. I’m fine.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “You are not fine,” he hissed, his touch a mix of tenderness and barely restrained rage. “Tell me who did this.”

Before you could even begin to form a response, Tony sauntered over from the other side of the hangar, tossing a helmet onto a nearby table. “Good work out there, kid. Mission accomplished. You’ll heal up quick, don’t worry.” He smirked, clearly satisfied with how things had gone.

Loki’s attention snapped to Tony, his gaze darkening to a storm. “This—this is your doing, Stark?” His voice was low, menacing. “You sent them into that chaos alone?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Loki. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s pump the brakes there, Reindeer Games. They volunteered for the mission, and they handled it. The kid’s tougher tougher than they look. And we were a team out there.”

“They should not have had to ‘handle’ anything that will result in- in… THIS!” Loki’s voice thundered through the hangar, startling some of the nearby staff. He took a step towards Tony, his whole frame vibrating with anger. “You were in charge. You let this happen.”

You reached out to grip Loki’s arm, but the movement pulled painfully at your side. “Loki, it wasn’t his fault. I—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Loki interrupted, his gaze boring into Tony with an intensity that made even the billionaire genius seem momentarily at a loss for words. “You’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love. You—”

“We’re a team,” Tony cut in, his tone growing more serious. “We all take hits sometimes. You know that.”

“Not like this.” Loki’s voice was a low growl now, almost feral. “They—” He stopped himself, his expression twisting with a pain that seemed to echo in your own chest. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “They’re important… to me.” he said, more quietly now, but no less fiercely.

Tony’s expression softened slightly. He gave a small nod toward you. “Then make sure they’re okay, okay? I’m not the enemy here.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the hangar echoing with an awkward silence.

Loki watched him go, his fists still clenched at his sides. You reached up again, this time with more resolve, and tugged on his sleeve. “Loki. It’s over. I’m fine. Really.”

But he wasn’t listening. Not fully. His hands moved back to your face, his fingers lightly brushing over your cheek, and then slid down to your arm where a nasty bruise was forming. “You need to lie down,” he said, almost to himself, as if trying to control the frantic pace of his thoughts. “The healers should look at you immediately. That bruise—”

“I’ve had worse,” you murmured, offering him a small, strained smile. “Come on. Let’s just get inside.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you walked. Each step jarred your aching limbs, but you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest at the way his touch lingered, his fingers gently pressing into your side as if reassuring himself that you were still there, still alive.

As you reached the med bay, you slumped onto one of the beds, stifling a groan as your ribs protested the movement. Loki hovered over you, not willing to take a step back until the medical staff came to start their assessment.

He paced as they worked, restless and anxious. Every time you winced or drew a sharp breath, his eyes darted back to you, narrowing with an unreadable emotion. When the healers finally stepped away, having done all they could for the moment, he was at your side again, taking your hand in his and pressing it to his chest.

“You shouldn’t scare me like that,” he whispered, his voice thick with something that bordered on desperation.

You squeezed his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Loki. I just—” You hesitated, glancing at him through tired eyes. “I just did what I had to do.”

“That’s what frightens me,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You always do what you think is right, even when it means risking your life. I’ve seen landslides do less damage than you.”

A small laugh escaped you at that, and you leaned your head back against the pillow, exhaustion finally pulling you under. “You’re so dramatic.”

But his expression remained serious, his gaze fixed on you as if committing every bruise and scrape to memory. “It’s not drama,” he murmured. “It’s truth. You mean more to me than you can possibly understand. And seeing you like this… it undoes me.”

His words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, soothing some of the ache that still lingered in your bones. You met his gaze, saw the honesty there—the raw, unguarded emotion that he rarely showed anyone.

“You’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love,” you repeated his earlier words softly. “And that goes for both of us.”

He bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “Indeed, it does,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you again. “But I would ask you, dearest, to not give me so much practice.”

You smiled faintly, your eyelids growing heavy. “I’ll do my best.”

As you drifted into sleep, you felt his hand still wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing gentle circles on your skin. And though you were battered and bruised, you felt a comfort that ran deeper than any healing spell or serum—a reassurance in knowing that, no matter how high the stakes, you would always have him to catch you when the ground shifted beneath your feet.

Loki watched you for a long time, his heart swelling with both relief and fear. He had come too close to losing you today. But as he looked at your peaceful expression, he felt a steely resolve harden within him.

Whatever it took, whatever battles lay ahead, he would keep you safe. He would not let you fall again.

[dissapointu]

Ekko “Your Touch”

(nsfw)

Ekko’s whole body trembled, as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, pulling him into a whirlwind of sensation. His chest rose and fell erratically with each breath, heart hammering wildly against his ribs, as his hips jerked upward, desperate for more. Each involuntary movement of his body seemed out of his control, driven by a primal need that he couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

Your touch was electric, searing through him like lightning. The warmth of your hand on him, steady and gentle, was doing things to his mind that he couldn’t even begin to process. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, swirling like the gears of a broken machine, every attempt to grasp onto a single coherent thread slipping through his fingers.

A low, desperate groan escaped his lips, his throat tight with the effort to keep quiet. But every inch of him screamed for more, for you, for the friction that seemed to drag him closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, nails scraping against the worn material as if it could ground him, but it only made the tension building within him worse.

He was losing control, and in that moment, he didn’t care.

The muscles in his thighs tightened as he arched again, the movements so erratic, so instinctual that he barely recognized the man in the mirror of his mind. Ekko’s pulse pounded in his ears, a constant beat that drowned out everything else. His grip on the edge of the couch faltered, and his hand shot out to clutch the blanket you both had been sharing, tugging it toward him like he was holding onto the last thread of sanity.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight it—to keep from losing himself completely—but the intensity of your touch was overwhelming. The heat in his body was a fire he couldn’t outrun.

“Shhh… please…” His voice was strained, a whisper against the overwhelming swell of desire in his chest. He could barely get the words out, his teeth clenched tightly together in an effort to keep himself from doing something he might regret. His hips twitched again, betraying him. “Please… don’t stop…”

His breath came in uneven gasps as his body shook beneath your touch, his control slipping further with every passing second. The air between you was thick with heat, with urgency, and Ekko knew, deep down, that he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t pull back from.

But even with that knowledge, with his heart thundering in his ears and his entire body quaking, there was only one thing he could focus on: you. The way you made him feel, like every nerve was lit up with your name, like nothing else in the world mattered except for this moment, for what you were doing to him.

And the only thing Ekko knew for sure was that he was completely, utterly lost to it.

[n0tamused]

Hi! Could I request Jiyan, who didn't realise he was in love with his best friend!reader until he almost lost them. The moment he held them unconscious in his arms everything just clicked.

Angst with a happy ending, please.

A/n: sorry this took some time to write! I initially planned to write this as some short drabble/scenario but as you can see, things went out of control lol I do hope you enjoy this :) Also a small note - I initially wrote this with you/yours stuff, but I wanted to experiment this method, so I do apologize if there is some mistakes left here regarding that. Do tell me which one you guys prefer more? You/yours or they/them/she/her.

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, they/them pronouns, blood and injuries, angst but turns to bittersweet at the end, fluff? They both live at the end so we can count it as a happy ending.

Words: 3867

'I can't do this without you'

Holding the weight of a body in his arms never felt heavier before. The gradual added weight on his heart and lungs kept getting heavier and heavier by the moment, he was sure it would make his ribs burst from the pressure. And he wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he looked down he saw his own heart beating outside his very body. (Y/n) was pale, bleeding and giving no response to any action he took. “Please..” His lips muttered, but to what extent his plea stretched out, no one could tell. 

His dragon came crashing through the waves of TDs like a storm, breaking apart their limbs and turning them to ash before he himself emerged from its glowing maw, jumping in front of (Y/n) with spear in hand. Jiyan’s face twisted in a fierce scowl, his sharp eyes hooded beneath his knit brows as he plunged into the remaining monsters that lurked around. But not even after he dealt with them did he achieve the quiet that usually followed a concluded battle. The buzzing in his ears did not stop. His heart beat still thundered between his ears, and the sound only multiplied once his golden eyes landed on the falling body of his dearest companion.

There was no time, he told himself, gathering all the courage and patience he found within himself, gathering them in his arms and fleeing from the charred fields as if fire was threatening to lick up his heel. The buzzing sound was deafening, so akin to silence yet it was everything but. He heard nothing else, but he heard it all. As he pushed his way past the soldiers at the front, eyes wide and staring into the void, trusting only his feet to find the path for him. He needs nothing else but to hurry and scold himself for not being able to go faster.

He carried them into the first medical tent his eyes landed on, the flap of the tent slapping out of place and before his form and before he could process the light slap the material did to his cheek, he was placing them down onto one rolled out mat in the corner. He saw the lips of the medical staff move, but no words reached his ears, and for all he knew he could’ve been barking or whispering at them to do something - to help them. He joined in the efforts, plucking out the gauze and the antiseptics from  the corners of the tent and gathering them next to the mat as one healer already began to cut away their dirty clothes to gain better access to the wound. 

The bare skin glistened with blood, the only shade of theirs that could make Jiyan feel sick to the stomach. Other healers in the tent looked at him in bewilderment as his breathing was yet to calm down, labored and ragged, but his hands held utmost care and precision as he started on the gauze, already keeping steps ahead and waiting until the healer next to him peeled the clothes away. Each layer unfolded like a wet petal, revealing the yawning gash underneath. Jiyan’s golden eyes turned a shade darker under the pressure and the light in the tent, turning a shade of olive instead, sick with worry. Were they gone already? He looks at their face, glimpsing their peaceful expression, dotted with splatters of blood and grime. They’re still bleeding, he notes as his fingers become slick with blood whilst he worked on their wound, there was still a beating heart inside of them, and that meant life. His mind spun prayers on repeat, prayers he thought he had long since forgotten the words of, favoring battle chants over putting his hope into something he couldn’t see or touch. How long till (Y/n) wakes?

Long time has passed until his mind has reeled back around to the present. He was alone now, aside from (Y/n), huddled on a small wooden chair in the opposite corner from which he could see them, patched up and under the light. His hands, once so calm and steady, had begun to shake as realization settled within him. How he could have so easily lost them, with so many words yet to be spoken, hurt more than any wound he sustained. Blood caked on his fingers, falling off into dust as he flexed them into a fist before releasing again. All the worry made him angry, and anger never suited him. It made him think badly, irrationally, and in the silence that followed the medical emergency of their state, all thoughts took root deep within his mind and soul, festering like a neglected cut. (Y/n) shouldn’t have been allowed on the front lines, he should have set them back, or even better - he should have misused his position and sent them home, risking to humiliate them for being sent home for seemingly nothing, other than his selfish need to keep them safe on all accounts. 

Sighing, Jiyan shuddered at his own mind’s skilled ways of wearing him down. It played out his image and character in ways he knew he’d never act. He’d never do those things, but in such a state as he was in, he nearly believed it all. Pressing his forehead into the clean heels of his palms he stared at his own boots until the silence became a soft comforting buzz. Sleep had tried to pull himself down his eyelids, but each time he refused it, eventually finding himself sitting at their side again, instead of the faraway corner. Long hours had passed, and Jiyan felt the camp go to bed with the night settling in the corners of the world. But he couldn’t, it would be a disservice to you if he left you alone, but his duty called - and he internally begged for forgiveness as he stepped out of the tent to check up on all the others, cleaning his hands while he was at it. 

There was blood on his hands.

And it was theirs.

And he’d never be able to wash it away, no matter how hard he scrubbed, or how many times he washed his hands. 

Morning came chill and misty, but Jiyan’s body felt none of it. The cold clung onto him like a second coat, greeting him like an old friend and embracing him as the same. He only hoped the cold did not embrace them too. The night was sleepless for Jiyan, and after he had ensured the safety of others and checked in with his Captains, he had found his way back to the medical tent he left (Y/n) in. 

“There’s a lot for me to say, my dear…friend..” Jiyan’s pale lips formed the last word hesitantly, treating it as an impostor instead of the usual warming endearment in which fashion he used it years ago. The word had long since become strange to him, yet he wished not to risk disrespecting them in this state, heavily considering the fact they may not even share in his sentiments.  “Yet you seem so eager to cut your life short.. “ he sneered lightly, not at them, but rather at himself, blame always within reach to be pulled towards himself by his very hand.

“What would  I do without you..? Who would I be without you?” The world around him seemed to quiet down in silent sympathy.  “You mean so much more than you believe, more than you know.. I’ve wished to tell you, but all you force me to do is scold you and weep over you like some child… like when we were kids…” 

A twitch, and then the fingers of (Y/n)’s hand grasped into a fist, making his eyes widen at the sight he barely glimpsed with his head hanging low, staring at the ground. His golden eyes snapped to their face, seeing the corners of their lips curl downward into a pain filled scowl. 

“(Y/n)!-” he beamed with all the softness his surprise would allow him as he kneeled beside them in one swift swoop. His hand came over their eyes to shield it from the light once he saw how their nose scrunched and brows knit together. Relief filled their eyes as the intrusive light no longer tried to pry them open so cruelly. Dizziness was still huge, feeling as if it split their blood apart, making it as light as clouds, and making them float on top of the mat. 

“What’re you.. rambling about…?” (Y/n) muttered, throat dry and voice coarse and wincing, their face once more ended up in a painful twist. Jiyan didn’t need all his medical knowledge to see they were still out of it, his frown deepening, but his heart raced up to climb into his throat. 

“I was saying how reckless you can be..” he whispered, blinking away the nervousness from his eyes. His other hand hovered over them, refusing to touch them in fear of hurting them. But his eyes drank in everything, looking for any anomalies that he may have not noticed before, although the chance he missed something was astronomically low with how keenly his eyes kept vigil over you throughout the night.  “Are you in pain? Tell me, I’ll help make it better” he told them, shuffling as he loomed over their body. 

(Y/n)’s eyes still refused to open after they fluttered shut, their throat bobbing, but swallowing nothing with how parched it felt. “Water..” They croaked, and suddenly light was kissing their eyelids again as Jiyan moved away in haste to fetch a bottle of water. 

He returned as quickly as he left, swift as the wind and helping them drink with one hand stabilizing their head and the other holding the bottle to their chapped lips, watching them carefully as they languidly took sips to drink. The gloved iron claw on his finger faintly scratched against their scalp, tangled between their hairs. Letting out a small sigh, thirst finally quenched, they finally opened their eyes to see just how disheveled and worried Jiyan looked. 

“Jiyan..” (Y/n) called him, watching as his face both hardened and mellowed at the drop of his name in that worn out tone. Their face looked confused to see him like this, not that they ever doubted he’d worry if they got injured, but the tension within this space felt like a maw of a beast, ready to snap its jaws shut. Something was amiss, something they couldn’t quite place.  The aching throb in their side didn’t subside, but they were able to somewhat ignore it for now, worry poisoning them into thinking of the worst - whatever could be worse than their own life nearly being taken away. The question remained unsaid, but it appeared as if Jiyan didn’t need the verbal communication to respond. 

“Nothing- don’t worry about it.. Please, lay down and tell me how you feel” He urged as he placed his palm onto their sweaty forehead, pushing it back onto the small pillow below. (Y/n) blinked, confused and scared and exhausted as he pawed gently at their skin, only pulling away after he ensured there was no rising heat. 

“I’m.. aching.. that’s all.. and sore all over”

“I believe that to be an understatement, this isn’t some small scratch.. You nearly..” Jiyan looks at the bandages, splotches of red already having bloomed through like little poppies in a faraway field. “I’ll get you something for the pain now… Don’t move.” It was a command, that last part, and left no room for any question or rebuttal as he lifted himself away, painfully severing the moment in favor of searching the place for painkillers and herbs. If there was a way to remain glued to their side and heal them in that way, he wouldn’t have ever left, and that option would have done his heart many favors.

“When will you start listening to orders?” he asked as he walked back to the mat, his hand grasping the gorge shaped pill box his mother gave him, his tone now heralding the lesson he was about to drop on them. His eyes refused to meet theirs as he crouched down again, popping the lid of the gorge open and letting two pills fall into his open palm. 

“Whenever you... decide to be less dense..” (Y/n) responded with a small cough that rippled the pain from their wound, and wincing they forced themselves to stay still. He did not take sweetly to the jest, his eyes focusing on them like a target, a beloved one at that.

“You should have called out.. I was there, I could have helped you out. You didn’t need to get hurt, and all because of your faulty sense of independence” Jiyan kept going, urgency for them to understand his side coloring his voice. He helped them sit slowly, apologizing for making them move in a husky and quiet tone, apologizing for making them sit and be here and be in pain, swallowing the big tasteless pills. 

Keeping their silence, (Y/n) looks down, guilt seeping through their veins and weary body which seemed to know no rest now. 

Sore and worried and dizzy and ever forgetful in this half slumbering state they could only grasp at the thin strings of consciousness as Jiyan loomed over them like a hawk, restless in his pursuit to help, yet he remained in the dark as to how else to do so. What else could he do except think of healing magic he had no possession of. His teeth grinded together, golden eyes flickering over them and then up to their face, meeting their bleary gaze.

“I’m sorry…”

(Y/n) whispered, one hand over their chest as they took breaths in, slow and weak, but good - they were not the shallow breaths you took when he was racing back to the medics and other healers with them in his arms. This was better.

Jiyan’s heart stuttered at the low tone that broke under the pressure he had placed upon them, unwilling yet it was no less necessary if he wished to have them understand. Too many times he had sat down with them, told them to be careful, to follow protocol and all the talked about strategies, to value the teammates at their sides, yet it all seemed for naught. What did those conversations mean, they could not heal you now and make you whole again. 

A shaky sigh drops from Jiyan, pulling all the weight from his shoulders and making him sag in his spot, head hanging low and heavy. What was he supposed to say?  He had words too many to share.

“It’s… fine.. What’s done is done, and we can’t change what happened.. It’s alright..”

“You’re mad at me..”

Of course he is. Grief has never bitten him so hard as in the moment he saw them stagger in the field, it made his stomach churn and his sides tickle as if wind passed through the hollows between his ribs. And he grieved as if he lost them while patching you up, so much so it poisoned him and made him mad, angry. 

“I.. I am not mad at you.. ” ‘I love you, why can’t you see?’ - a part of him wanted to say.

Blinking at him, tears bubbled up to their lash line, listening to him huff, unknowing of the inner turmoil he struggled through, the answer to close yet so far, holding you in suspense. Like a word about to be spoken.

“Why can’t you just listen to orders.. You throw yourself into danger as if you have lives to spare” Jiyan began, finding their eyes in a stern glare which mellowed out quickly. “You are not valued only as a soldier to be thrown across the board but as a human, someone’s companion.. (Y/n)..”

There’s a plea in his tone, and another in his eyes, and his fingers itch with the need to hold onto them, to let the venom of his grief seep into them too, to make them see, understand. It’s like a beast he’s hardly keeping at bay. When was the last time he felt so strongly about someone? Anyone? And to the point he’s shedding his general persona to give way to a man desperate to keep the few people he holds dear alive. Jiyan couldn’t name anyone.

“I understand that, but Jiyan.. how many nights have we spent talking about the day of peace? When there’s going to be no wars to fight? I know-” A cough interrupts them, but Jiyan does not jump at that opportunity to cut them off and scold them - he waits. “..I know it’s a childish dream, a hope, but peace is achievable. And if it means getting battered and bruised and hurt along the way, then so be it  - the road to peace is not paved in a bed of flowers..” (Y/n) frowns, nearly pouting, and in some absentminded state, their hand flails in the air in search of his, a purchase he gladly grants without a thought. 

Shaky fingers curl around his gloved ones, a tinge smaller, and more fragile than his own with the state now. They lack the grip they usually possess, yet they grasp and hold and he holds back, squeezing a bit tighter. God knows, he shares their view, their childish hope, but he can’t agree with it, not now.  “(Y/n).. Peace will mean little if you’re dead to see it..” It’s a whisper, as fragile as the wings of a hatchling, and as soft as the summer breeze. 

“That all will mean nothing to me either, it won’t be peace if you’re not with me to see it..” he added, his other hand grasping over their own, thumbing at their soft skin. He swallows thickly, hoping to wish away the tears that threaten to come up to his eyes.  “I lo-... I love …you…” 

Realization is slow to settle, but he sees it in their face, their eyes that fail to blink as they take him in, deciphering his words one by one, failing, at first, to understand their weight from the usual affections they shared before. Parting their lips, they fail to respond, their eyes flickering to the surroundings before they return to him, and it was as if all air had been knocked out of their lungs.  The meaning is written all over him, communicated through all ways but verbal and it was enough. They were children together, growing up and exploring the world, plucking strange berries from nature and sharing them together, they grew up together.

Now they are grown, and (Y/n) focuses on the thought that has appeared in their mind countless times before - growing old together. It was just out of reach, and it was not guaranteed and their actions on the battlefield nearly made it certain that the future would not embrace them together. Trying to blink the tears away, they look at Jiyan, apologetic and ashamed, but where they wished to seek forgiveness was unneeded, as Jiyan had already forgiven it, no matter the hurt. 

“I love you too-” The words were accompanied by a stray tear wetting their cheek. 

Hushed breaths and shuffling of clothes flutter, and in a blur, Jiyan had pulled himself ever closer, sitting at their side and ever so carefully drawing them to his chest. His movements are slow and calculated even in the face of such strong emotion, too fearful to hurt them. 

He lets them rest their face into the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed as they both simply hold onto one another, and it was in that moment he felt them squeeze him back, full of blooming life and energy. His fingertips itched for a stronger embrace but he controlled himself. 

“I love you..” he repeated, even more quiet and directly beside their ear. “Please.. listen to me.. I only wish to keep you safe.. alive most of all.. Understand me..” They nod their head against him, their fingers clawing at his back with a little more strength, holding on as if he was a ghost ready to vanish.  “You’re my candlelight leading me through the darkness.. I can’t do it without you..”

“Oh, Jiyan..” They crack their voice over his name, eyes seeing a mosaic of colors through tears ready to be shed. “I only wish to help you.. Under all this armor and uniform, I can see you struggling too.. How can I not become a little desperate when I see all my other attempts to help you have failed?” They sigh, their breath tickling the skin underneath this chin and he shudders to think of this mutual tug-of-war. They can’t win, neither can. 

“You leave my struggles to me.. I do not withhold them for no reason, but I see that has done me, us, more harm than good..” He says but fails to make another sentence, knowing he’d rather not burden them with his own worries, and he’d much rather hear of their own. 

“Just.. promise me this” he begins, pulling away and making them face to face. “You will not jump to take any more blows for me, in no amounts at all. I’m the one that should guard you, and not the other way around” He is firm in his case, and even if (Y/n) had the strength to argue, they wouldn’t. This was final.

Closing your eyes and giving a little bow of their head, they profess their agreement to his words without a word of their own. And sinking back into his embrace felt like sinking into a bed of feathers, soft, warm and welcoming. “Fine..”

“We’ll talk more about this once you’ve healed..” Jiyan muttered, his lips ghosting their brow and feeling them nod against him again. His hand rubs up and down their back, and his lips land on their cheek, lingering there in a gentle expression of his love that knew no bounds.

The flickering light and the sudden silence made his mind wander, and his body began to rock back and forth slowly, hoping to ease you into slumber. He wondered how it would feel to hold them again, when they were healed and not even a scar remained of their injury; how it would feel to kiss their brow and hold their cheek in his palm, to see those lights stare back at him from within their eyes, full of mirth and devoid of pain; he thinks how comforting it would feel to feel you flush against him each morning, holding your warm body close and tucking them under the covers when they shift in their sleep… So many images run through his mind, and he prays he gets to see them materialize in reality. 

For now he was fine with holding them, serving their needs until war reeled its ugly head again, and he had to leave once more. For his people and (Y/n) he’d grow great miles to achieve peace, even if it meant losing his own peace. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Word count: 708

Pairing: Lando Norris x diver!reader

Summary: Two fierce rival drivers, Y/n and Lando Norris, find their intense competition on the track evolving into something deeper.

______________________________________________________________

The roar of the Singapore crowd still echoed in Y/n’s ears as she clambered out of her wrecked car. She felt a surge of anger and frustration, her pulse racing with adrenaline as she tore off her helmet, tossing it aside with little care. The final lap had been hers—until that moment when she miscalculated, clipping Lando's car. Now they were both out of the race, and her championship hopes lay in shambles.

She didn’t care about the bruises or the pain in her side; her mind was laser-focused on one thing—Lando. He had every right to be angry, but so was she. She could already see him stalking toward her, his expression thunderous.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Lando’s voice was low, laced with fury. “You could’ve—”

But before he could finish, Y/n staggered, the world around her spinning. She blinked, trying to steady herself. The heat and exhaustion of the race clung to her, but something else was wrong. Her side ached more than it should have. The adrenaline that had been keeping her going was ebbing away, and her vision blurred. She stumbled again, reaching out blindly.

Lando’s hand shot out, catching her just before she collapsed completely.

“Hey—Y/n?” His anger vanished instantly, replaced with concern as he held her steady. She clung to him, trying to focus, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Pain flared up her side, and she gasped, finally realizing how badly she was hurt.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice weak, though even she didn’t believe it.

“No, you’re not,” Lando said, his voice tense as he looked down at her. “You’re bleeding.” His eyes flicked to her side, where blood soaked through her race suit, the fabric darkening beneath his hand.

The pit lane had descended into chaos around them, but Lando didn’t seem to care about anything else. His grip on her tightened, worry etched into his features as he guided her gently to the ground. He kept her propped up against him, his arm supporting her shoulders.

“You need help,” he said urgently, shouting over his shoulder for the medical team.

Y/n winced, finally feeling the sharp, throbbing pain in her ribs. Her breaths came shallow, and she felt herself leaning more heavily into Lando’s chest. “It’s not… that bad,” she protested weakly, though her body betrayed her, trembling as the pain surged.

“You nearly fainted, Y/n,” Lando replied, his voice softer now, yet filled with intensity. “Stop pretending you’re fine.”

Despite everything, she wanted to argue, to push him away and insist she didn’t need his help. But there was a softness in his tone she hadn’t heard before, and the warmth of his arms was oddly comforting.

The medical team finally arrived, and Y/n felt Lando gently hand her over to them, though his hand lingered on her shoulder a moment longer than necessary. As they assessed her injuries, he knelt beside her, watching closely, his anger now a distant memory.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

Y/n blinked up at him, confused. “Why do you even care? I thought you hated me.”

Lando’s gaze softened, his jaw clenched as if struggling with what to say. “I don’t hate you, Y/n. I never have.” He hesitated, his expression vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen before. “You push me. You make me want to be better. And yeah, sometimes you drive me crazy, but… I care.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. Before she could respond, the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, cutting the moment short. Lando stood up, walking alongside as they moved her toward the medical center, his eyes never leaving her.

As they reached the entrance, Y/n grabbed his hand, stopping him. “I didn’t mean to take us both out,” she whispered, guilt and exhaustion weighing heavily on her.

“I know,” Lando replied, his thumb gently brushing against her knuckles. “Just focus on getting better. The championship can wait.”

She gave him a weak smile, her mind spinning—not just from the injury, but from everything he had just said. As she was taken inside, Lando’s words echoed in her mind, shifting everything she thought she knew about their rivalry.

[chosok-amo]

Sukuna that has a big fat crush on his lil bro Yuuji's upperclassmen friend that tutors him🤭💞

SHAPESHIFTED: RYOMEN SUKUNA

she was there, sitting beautifully and started filling the room, it was hard not to notice her glisten, when all the lights in the room— even the moon that peaks from the creek of the window darted like a spotlight on her, ‘your eyes might not be the color of the ocean but I get drown just by taking a secret glance, how do you do that? shapeshited and makes me fall in love with you?’

content warning: fluff, nothing else

sorry it takes me a lot of time to write this, I'm busy working on my thesis right now, and sorry I don't make exactly like your request but I hope you enjoy it 😊

THIS WAS FROM SUKUNA'S POV

UH OH, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

the moon is bright and the day is still young, i was just walking downstairs when i heard my brother's voice alongside a soft, feminine unfamiliar one. i kept my feet moving until i was able to see who the voice belonged to. she is sitting there with her small back facing me, body so tiny i'm afraid her friends had to lose her every time they were walking in the crowd. i keep on looking at her small frame until the brother of mine snaps me out of my own thought.

“sukuna.”

and just like that, she turned around, finally showing me how pretty someone could get with a honey voice like that. and suddenly, our eyes locked and if this is what people tell you about love at first sight i think they're having no idea what they were talking about. it doesn't make my head fuzzy and the world doesn't stop moving and the noise isn't running faded into the background like the movie show, but this? i feel hurt inside my chest like my heart alone wants to run and give it to her by itself.

she stands, showing me the biggest and the brightest someone could ever smile, it's beautiful, it's like a symbol of happiness, she looks happy, she looks like art even. and art was supposed to make you feel something, maybe that could explain why my heart is trembling. a quiet curiosity was planted into my chest, brain and I knew it was only a matter of time before she sunk beneath my bones, nurtured this deep-seated unfamiliarity into love so fierce, yet blithering, carefree and unconcerned, hopefully— that I would question if I had ever been in love before.

my hand becomes one with her, skin to skin as she takes my hand for her to hold— wishing it could stay longer after the void of nothingness hugging my hand back. she introduced herself to me but all I could hear was just the thunder underneath my flesh, underneath my ribs. yuji looking at me weirdly, doesn't get used to the way I reacted, i can feel his brown big eyes practically narrowing at me, but I choose not to pay him attention.

“she's going to tutor me, please don't do anything stupid or make too much noise,” he warned me. i flutter my eyes before catching a sight of him with his eyebrows up to his forehead. I rolled my eyes before waving my hand, and dismissed him off as if it meant nothing— well, It is, indeed. I'm a quiet person, unlike him, I'm not a menace to society. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” in boredom, i said to him and brought my feet to walk away from the living room to go to the kitchen.

i take a pack of cheese out of the fridge and slam it lightly on the counter. put pressure on the counter with my two palms before letting out a sigh. looking at the invisible living room, hoping my eyes suddenly had an x-ray superpower to take a glimpse of her again but to fail. “of course, what the fuck was I thinking?” a mumble under my breath could be heard. dramatically, I put my hand to my chest— hesitation felt in my blood. as I was feeling the thunder in my heart, I wail.

my knee abruptly turns into jelly, no longer having the ability to support my body as I slide down to the floor, back sticking to the wall of the counter. “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— what the fuck?!” I yell in whispered, finger pointing at my heart with narrowed eyes. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, hoping there was some machine error inside of me that's gonna be the cause of whatever was happening inside.

“you like her,” there's a whisper.

I laugh humourless, forcing myself. “yeah, bless her delusional heart,” I scoff while rolling my eyes. I do not like her, in fact, I despise her. her weirdly bright smile does not give me a whole damn zoo, her honeyed voice does not calm my nerves. she's not gonna be something I be thinking about for a whole week. she's just my brother's friend. just looking at her I can tell she's gonna be an annoying person and weird. “right, she must be a bitch,” I mumble, talking gibberish just so I can convince myself.

“she's beautiful, doesn't she?” that whisper again.

I went quiet for a moment, getting pulled by nostalgia back to a moment ago. my red eyes stared at nothingness dreamingly without I realized. the smile she gave kept replaying inside my head like a broken record, “yeah, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” the whisper could be heard, over and over again, hypnotising me to keep thinking about her.

“you like her, don't you?”

“do I?”

the whispered whispering in my ear as I felt a hot wind clouding my ear. and that time I realized that it wasn't my head tricking me, that wasn't some demon or angel like you see in movies whispering to someone. “oh you sure do,” again with the whispering. quickly I snap my neck to the side only to find yuji with his ugly ass face close to me. “what the fuck— Yuji!” he laughed as I jumped in surprise.

he stands straight as he puts both hands inside his pocket. “you look stupid, what are you doing sitting there?” he asks, smiling knowingly while his eyebrows arise. I cleared my throat before shrugging my shoulder, “just chilling,” I mumbled. he just kept looking at me for a while before rolling his eyes. “man, you're so weird when you're in love, so fucking weird,” he sight and walk away. i stand in second, “what the fuck do you mean?” I asked, feeling offended obviously. he just waved his hands nonchalantly without looking back.

“uh oh, am I falling in love?”

OH NO, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

“is that blood?”

she looked up at me blankly, no thought behind those eyes, looking dumbfounded as she battled her eyelashes like she was trying to process the information. “y/n, is that blood?” I asked again. “no?” she answered with another question. I rolled my eyes, “that's not a question you were supposed to answer with another question,” I told her, seeing her white skirt got stained with something red. she pulled her skirt, showing me a quite big scar on her knee, “i fell,” she whimpered as if she was about to cry. her big doe eyes looking at me with quiver lips. I bit my lower lip, trying to contain myself from laughing and cooing at how cute she looked right now.

“wait here.”

I patted her head before going to the kitchen and coming back with a box of first aid kits in hand. I sit myself next to her and pull her closer by her under the knee. “you're so clumsy,” I mumble— treating her wounds. I took a glimpse of her before looking down at her knee. a light chuckle left me without I realized. there she is, eyes shut tightly, one hand covers her mouth while the other one knead with eyebrows narrowed— oh god, she's so cute.

“don't laugh,” she wailed, hitting my shoulder lightly.

again, I laugh, “sorry y/n, you're just too cute— alright, I'm done.”

after, I brought my face to look at her only to find her face changed into bright red as if all of her blood was rushing to her head. “are you okay?” I asked, worried if her wounds might be the cause of her state. “—your face is red, are you feeling hurt?” I asked again. my backhand touched her forehead, “you're burning, should we go to the doctor? I think yuji—”

“you shouldn't say something like that so casually,” she finally opened her mouth but her voice came out nearly whispering. I feel my forehead frown when the confusion consumes me. “huh? what?” she stared at me for a while, and I never knew that ‘for a while’ could bring so many things to my veins. they're doing it again, the hurt in my chest, the adrenaline rushing through my blood. my heart beating so fast it's literally banging on my flesh, so loud I'm afraid she can hear it.

she smiles, “I'm fine.”

I cleared my throat as I looked away for a second before pointing at her skirt. “go change your skirt, it's dirty. yuji might take a while to come home and I refuse to let you ride your stupid bike again after the stunt you pulled,” I said. she's open her mouth, about to protest before I look at her with a stern look, making her change her mind in a split second without me even realising. so without saying anything I went to my room and came back with a black shorts. “thanks,” she mumbled softly as her hand reached the shorts before going to the bathroom. I wait for her to change and sit in the living room, switching the tv on.

for a few minutes, I sat there in silence until she was slowly sitting back at the end of the sofa. my mind went blank with the tv noise as a background sound while pleasing her with a glance one to two— she looked straight to the tv but I know she watched nothing. pretty little hands fiddling with the fabric of my shorts that she's wearing. and maybe that's not gonna stay mine any longer since she looked better in it than me. would it be weird if I wanted her to keep the short? especially when I'm not her boyfriend.

“did yuji know you're here?” I asked, not very fond of the silence that filled the room, also trying not to corrupt my mind with something I shouldn't think about. “yeah, but he hasn't replied yet, but we made a plan a week ago, so yeah..” I nodded. just like that we flew back again to where we were before— silences.

we stay like that for a good minute until I hear soft giggles, making me turn my head to look at where the sound comes from— her. her eyes were already looking at me, “why do you keep looking at me?” she asked. I was stunned, mouth shut as I realized I never looked away from her. “you staring, am I that beautiful for you to keep your eyes on me?” she jokingly said, another fit of soft giggles leave her pretty mouth, making me smile in return. I kept looking for a while then nodded, “yeah, you're that beautiful,” I breathe. and just like that her smile quickly faded into the void and faced the other way. I feel giddy seeing her shy state and this time, my turn to giggle.

“are you shy, y/n?” I asked.

she quickly hid her face with the palms of her hands, looking away. I move closer, “are you shy, y/n?” I asked again, teasingly as I poked her shoulder. a muffled voice of squealing could be heard. she moved her shoulder as I kept on poking her. I hold her wrist and pull it out of her face only for her to stiffen her hands and giggle. “oh come on, let me see that beautiful face of yours,” I laughed a little. she shook her head and again, tried to turn away. I kept on pulling her hands, and the moment I successfully pulled her hands away, it was already too late to realize that our face was an inch away.

her cheeks were crimson red, plump lips were slightly open as her hot breath touched my cheeks. and again, everything starts to blur, noise muffled to the background. I force my lips to put on a tight line for a moment as I look into her eyes to her lips, suddenly having the urge to kiss her. it's not like I don't have the urge to kiss her every time for nearly two months, but this time? I feel like I'm gonna die and regret the way I live for the rest of my life if I don't feel the softness of her lips in mine.

“can I kiss you?” so I asked, whispering.

“yes,” she whispered back.

I never realized a single word can mean so much to me. who knows an agreement from someone can make my heart beat so fast but this time I'm not afraid if she heard the beating, I want her to hear the beating, I want her to know that my heart already belonged to her way before I have the right to, as if it was hers in the first place. my eyes widened after the second I realized, oh no, I'm falling in love.

OH, I'M FALLING IN LOVE

“are you there?” a soft voice from the other side asks.

I let out a sigh, unintentionally making a cloud of smoke in the air while I hugged my body with one hand while the other one pressed the tiny technology in my ear. “physically yes, mentally is debatable,” I told her. shivering got nailed in my body, caused by the cold weather. I chew my lips, hoping it starts to warm soon. soft smile printed on my lips after I hear angelic giggles from the other side, “oh please, don't be party pooper, I'll be there with you in a second,” she said.

I waited a moment before my body got slammed into the tree by something tiny and soft. a hand pulled my neck before the warmness touched my lips. I let out a relief breath as I made a circle around the waist of her. my eyes closed, following the way her lips moved on mine. “that's not fair, y/n, you can't corrupt me with something like that,” I complained after the kisses broke. she smiles, “but you love it.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance before smiling back at her.

she opened her bag and pulled out something pink. my eyebrows instantly lifted as I caught her eyes sparkling. “what is it?” I ask, cautiously. she wrapped my neck with the ‘something pink’ that turns out to be a scarf. “It's cold, you should wear something to keep you warm,” she said, still smiling. “but it's pink,” again, I complained. this time, it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “yeah, and?” she asked, looking confused as if I said something stupid with the oblivion. “i know it is pink,” she chuckled.

“i don't want to wear it, it's pink. I mean, did you even look at me? the tattoo on my face? the red in my eyes?”

she became more confused, “it doesn't match my vibe,” I told her, only for her to roll her eyes. “oh please, you look cute,” she sang happily, fixing the scarf around my neck. “but I don't want to look cute, please take this off,” I argued while trying to take the scarf off. she slap my hand in return, “but I made this for you,” she pouting, eyes almost looking like a dog. I was stunned, eyes wide open with her beautiful reflection in my iris. “you made this?” she nodded, still pouting. I let out a sigh, “fine.” out of thin air, the sparkle that was before lost in her eyes now bolting back, brightening it before I even realised.

under the cold weather, those eyes and all the sparkle made me feel warm. I could wear anything pink, from head to toe, I could do anything just so I could get to see those eyes simmering with the warmth of happiness. her and those eyes, I'm willing to kiss the ground she walked to, each step, if it means her eyes would be on me.

“kuna, come on, walk faster!”

she looked behind her— me, smiling with her hand that was covered with a thick glove waving at me. “be careful, it's slippery,” I told her. she stopped for a moment to hold my hand and softly dragged me to the fun fair. I watched her frame from behind, eyeing the way her body moved, gracefully like art in motion. her cheeks blended with crimson pomegranates as if all of the splendour of winter bent to her will. people say everything was a reflection of lights, and maybe that could explain her, she was the combination of all the prettiest light that exists.

she's beautiful and adorable and warm and everything in between. the first time you meet someone you're not gonna notice the waves of their hair, but the first I meet her I notice each wave, the way she stands, and speak, and smiles, her face becomes something I'll be thinking about next week, and five months ago I don't even know she exists but now i don't know if I'll still exist if she's not here.

she's more beautiful than any flower, she's like gold at the end of a rainbow, she's like a light of sunshine beneath the thunderstorm. just like the old poem said, If I had told the sea about her, what I felt about her, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me. its would have been filled with curiosity about the girl who's been shaking the sky and sea, the cause of my religiously praying when I don't even believe in god.

how does she shapeshifted like this? she becomes something I admire. the things that I usually overlook now become something that I desire. how did she do that? how did she make me fall in love with her?

oh, I'm falling in love.

[chenfleur]

frayed edges

summary. four weeks after the two of you broke up

pairing. sunghoon x y/n genre. exes to ???, college au, just mild yearning word count. 1.0k released. 08.03.2024 author's note. originally this was for ni-ki (hence why it's soccer) but apparently i'm physically incapable of writing yearning without the mc being Yours Truly so here's another hoon piece 😹😹😹 also the way it's written makes it seem like y/n's the one who broke up with him but honestly... it could've been either of them

masterlist

Glistening beads of sweat travel down the sides of Sunghoon’s face as he haphazardly lets the soccer ball drop from his grasp. It thuds softly against the grass beneath him for the hundredth time tonight—each time landing in a slightly different spot, each time getting a few more blades of wet grass and dirt stains stuck onto its once spotless surface. He lets it roll for a few counts before he’s satisfied with where it is, stopping it with the sole of his foot. The night is deathly still, watching him with one eye open. She waits with bated breath and a thundering heart for him to kick the ball into the net again.

The side of Sunghoon’s foot went numb hours ago, but he doesn’t stop—with all the energy he can muster, he brutally kicks the ball. It rips through the air like a gunshot. As soon as he registers the ball hurling into the back of the net and falling limply to the ground, his knees buckle. He falls onto the grass, sprawling out on the prickly expanse. His heartbeat pulses in his fingertips.

He closes his eyes.

Were you asleep?

Sunghoon curses, throwing an arm over his eyes in exasperation.

It isn’t working anymore. 

Distraction—it isn’t working anymore.

For the past month, Sunghoon has been able to deal with the absence of the adrenaline you gave him by finding it in other sources. He’d find it in the burn of amber liquor going down his throat, the freezing cold temperature of Jay’s pool, the way his eyes would go dry when he raced down the highway in the back of Heeseung’s trunk. He’d find it every time he watched the ball shoot into the net and the sharp night air blew against his skin. All he’d need was the will to kick it once, and he’d be unable to stop until his knees gave out beneath him.

Sure, substitutes could never compensate for nuance—Sunghoon doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get rid of the sinking pit in his stomach every time he sees something that reminds him of you—but they make do. For him, that was enough. He’s always been the ‘bigger picture’ type.

But the novelty has worn off, and the ghost of your presence floats around him whenever he has a millisecond of time to spend with his own thoughts. His own conscience is working against him. It can’t ignore the parts of him that are wilting because distraction can’t make up for them. The parts that were rallying against his wishes, his pride—that demanded he fixate on a singular, all-encompassing focal point: you.

A month has passed, and you show no sign of ever making an appearance in Sunghoon’s life again. But instead of obliging by his screaming limbs, he pushes himself onto his elbows, then his palms, ready to repeat the process of kicking the ball over and over again, until the thought of you flickered out like an oil candle in the rain. He’d forget you, just like he’s supposed to.

“I knew you’d never rest on your own.”

The sound of something other than the wind and his own laboured panting excites his ears. Before he can decide whether looking up is a good idea or not, he raises his head.

His breath hitches.

Sunghoon thinks he’s finally reached his tipping point. That the exhaustion has caught up to him and he’s finally gone insane—maybe even died, because seeing you must mean he’s in heaven, right?

You lightly kick him in the side, the point of your shoe barely digging into his rib. “Get up,” you murmur.

Sluggishly, Sunghoon pushes himself to stand. Even while slouching, he towers over you a fair bit. The shadows shrouding your face disappear as you tilt your head up, moonlight drenching your skin. 

“How are you even here?” He asks. It’s a stupid question that stumbles out too quickly—but, in his defense, he’s so exhausted he can barely tell if you’re even real right now, and he’s much too afraid to check.

“I figured you’d be here,” you reply vaguely. You shift from one foot to the other, looking around the area warily. “But I checked your apartment first, just to be sure. Jake said you were at the field.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens imperceptibly. “That doesn’t… really answer my question, Y/N.”

A sigh leaves your lips, before you say almost defeatedly, “I’m here because you’re here. Okay?” 

The next few seconds are a blur. Sunghoon barely processes how you move from a few feet in front of him to suddenly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He can’t even let out a small noise of pain at the way your loose grip is still too much of a strain on his aching body because his heart is lodged in his throat. You’re soft, impossibly so. Soft and warm and shaking. For a moment, Sunghoon wonders if you feel as tense as he feels.

His fists clench and unclench against his sides, the joints of his fingers locking as he fights muscle memory. “I’m sweaty as shit right now,” he barely manages to get out.

“I don’t care.”

Park Sunghoon is a weak, weak man. “You’re gonna care in a few minutes when you realize that I’m not exaggerating,” he mumbles, slowly wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, his forearm nestling in the curve of your back.

“I don’t care,” you repeat firmly. Fingertips lingering on the underside of your jaw, Sunghoon feels your pulse beat six times before you speak again. Your voice is breathy. Sad. “Being alone feels worse right now.”

And maybe it’s because he’s spent the past four weeks doing superficial things to feel superficial feelings, convincing himself he’s fine while his real wounds are thrown aside and left to rot—but something in Sunghoon breaks. A thread that slowly unravels.

He buries his face in the tufts of your silky hair, holding you like not a single day has passed without you in his arms. You miss him, so he lets himself miss you, too.

[philistiniphagottini]

For the event, maybe gender neutral reader and jing yuan with 💋 prompt? 🥺

Thanks for the request. I wrote something short and sweet for our lazy general, I hope you enjoy Anon~

cw. fluff, making out, gender neutral reader

Domestic Bliss

Jing Yuan tasted like cloyingly sweet honey when you pressed your lips against him, lazing in his garden as you crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. The tip of your tongue tingled as you brushed your lips against his once more, a hum of approval rumbling in Jing Yuan’s chest as he welcomed your weight pressing down on him. Large, warm hands curled around your hips to keep you steady, thumbs drawing slow circles into the soft, sliver of skin that peeked out just beneath your shirt. 

You braced your hands on Jing Yuan’s chest as you tilted your head, your plump lips slotting perfectly over his as he kissed you slowly. You swallowed the budding saliva on your tongue, your throat bobbing as a soft moan stirred in your chest. The tips of your fingers tingled as you knot them tighter in his clothes, feeling his thunderous heart beating beneath the palms of your hands as your own beat wildly against your ribs. Your pulse droned in your ears, thick lashes brushing over your warm cheeks when you parted for a brief respite. You immediately dove back in, catching the dozing General by surprise when your lips came crashing down upon his in a passionate flurry. 

A warm chuckle breezed past his lips as he further indulged you, hands slowly creeping up over your sides and arms as he reached for your face. Your skin was searing to the touch as he cupped your cheek in his hand, the other cradling the back of your neck as you huddled your body closer to his. You could feel him smiling into the kiss as the tip of his tongue teased the seam of your lips, quietly asking permission to slip inside. With a soft hum you allowed him to pry apart the bruised skin, wisps of your hair curling around his fingertips as your lips melded together. You could feel his hot breath puffing against your heated skin as his tongue explored the wet cavern of your mouth, languidly prodded at your own tongue with no sense of urgency. 

Your head was starting to feel dizzy as you were slowly deprived of oxygen, a pleasant shiver racing along the curve of your spine as sparks danced behind your closed eyelids. Jing Yuan happily swallowed every pleased noise that crawled out of the back of your throat, your taste simply divine on his tongue as he indulged in you like you were the finest ambrosia. His touch was soft but firm, holding you close and keeping you pressed to him like he never wanted to let go. And he wouldn’t, if you let him. His heart swelled with affection as you brushed your tongue along his in a slow, intimate dance, your body relaxing against his as you both simply lost yourself in the heat of the moment. 

You had to break apart for air, a single string of saliva connected your kiss swollen lips as you pulled away with a heavy gasp. Your eyes fluttered open as you stared up into Jing Yuan’s lidded stare with dazed eyes, lips parted around soft pants as your senses were slow to crawl back to you. You hadn’t realised just how much you had lost yourself and your sense of surroundings when Jing Yuan kissed you like that, like you two were the only ones in the world and nothing else mattered. You smoothed your hands over his uniform, nuzzling your face into the palm of his hand as his thumb pressed into your skin. 

“It’s getting late” you murmured, the warm, afternoon rays of light kissing your skin. 

Jing Yuan hummed in response as he massaged his fingers through your hair, nails scratching pleasantly along your scalp as he gave you a lackadaisical smile. 

“What’s the rush?”

Your breath was warm as you pressed your lips against the pulse in his wrist, feeling it waver under the gentle touch. You took a moment to ponder his question, your head still feeling fuzzy as you were coaxed further under the warm haze of Jing Yuan’s embrace. You struggled to think a coherent thought as they were simply carried away on the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees and made the leaves dance. 

“There’s no rush” you replied after a long moment.

Every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation as a warm chuckle rumbled in Jing Yuan’s chest, the vibrations dancing under your fingertips. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip, watching the swollen skin pucker into a light pout as he gently toyed with the rose tinted shape of your mouth. 

“Then give me another kiss.”

[loganwritesprobably]

See Me

A request from anon for my 200 followers event

Content/Warnings: Crocodile/GN!Reader, pining, pre-slash, Reader is asked on a date, Reader wears Crocodile's clothes, inspired by Someone to you by BANNERS

You’d been working for Sir Crocodile for not far off twelve months now. Almost an entire year. It was potentially the busiest, and strangest job you’d had in your life so far, but you enjoyed it all the same. You worked as an assistant to the warlord, helping management of the casino. All in all, it wasn’t the easiest work, not because of the actual content of it but because of Sir Crocodile himself and what he tended to get himself into. He didn’t only run the casino, you knew that from your own observations, but it wasn’t something that he’d told you directly, and so you didn’t speak about it with him. It was something criminal, you were fairly sure, but that was nothing to do with you. If you didn’t get mixed up in it, you couldn’t get yourself into trouble.

And yet, you knew you were a little too close to being involved in it and losing your plausible deniability, because you wanted to date Crocodile. Yes, you were a complete cliche. You’d started a cushy office job and gotten a little too close to your boss, only to end up with a crush on him. You hated it. And yet, you couldn’t make yourself will the feelings away, or force the fantasies aside when you lay awake at night. He was unattainable, though, and you knew that - so what did the fantasies hurt? He’d never stopped longer than a moment to talk to you, you had no chance of it going anywhere, so it was harmless, right?

Wrong.

It was a warm day, even by Alabastan standards, and you were cooped up in your office as usual. You hadn’t expected the turn in the weather, and so you weren’t quite dressed appropriately, but you would make it work. At least paperwork hardly made you work up a sweat.

Crocodile looked in on you at around midday, and paused in the doorway.

“What are you wearing?” He asked gruffly.

“My.. clothes, sir?” You replied, because what sort of question was that?

After just ten minutes, Crocodile returned, and tossed a large shirt at you.

“It’s much too warm for that.” He said, to elaborate on what he’d meant.

“Oh, yeah it is. I didn’t realise how warm it would be until I left the house this morning, then it was too late to go back and change.” You said with a soft laugh, giving a not quite grimace, but not quite smile. He grunted and regarded you for a moment, then turned away and left the room. Well, alright then. You brushed off the interaction to continue with your work, because the heat didn’t make the pile of work disappear.

“Sir?” You asked, taking it in hand, mostly to get it off the work you were trying to do.

“That should be cooler.” He said, and then was gone. What? You lifted the shirt up, realising it was incredibly large, which would make it Crocodile’s. Fuck. His shirt. You waited a moment to ensure he was gone, then lifted it to your face to take a deep inhale of the scent of Crocodile's cologne and cigars. You loved that smell. You slipped into the closest bathroom to remove your previous clothes and replaced them with his oversized shirt, using your belt from the previous outfit to cinch it at the waist, and then pulled some of the fabric up further to rest overtop of the belt rather than underneath, which reduced the length. Not too bad. You kept on the bottoms you’d been wearing before despite your now lack of belt, because you didn’t think it was entirely appropriate to be in the office without.

You returned to your office, startled by Crocodile's presence in your chair.

“How is it?” He asked as you lifted your hand to rest over your heart, more than startled by his sudden reappearance, making the muscle beat thunderously beneath your ribs.

“Is there anything else I can help you with sir?” You asked, resting your hand on top of your desk just so it had somewhere to be, with your pockets out of reach beneath Crocodile’s shirt.

“I made it work.” You confirmed, placing your shirt from before, now folded, onto a dresser for you to grab later.

“Yes.. you did.” Crocodile murmured, and you stopped in your tracks as if frozen as a result of his words. The way he spoke was almost sensual, and your skin burned in response. You quickly shook your head, then continued your walk toward your desk.

“Would you like to come to dinner with me? Tonight?” He asked, and he looked about as surprised about his own words as you felt. Clearly nobody in the room had been expecting that suggestion.

“That’s very kid, sir. I’d happily take that invitation, if you’d like to do that.” You said, remaining as professional as you could given the situation. How were you supposed to react to an invitation like that from your boss, especially when he himself looked unsure about it?

“I’ll have Robin go pick up something nicer for you to wear, and when your shift ends you can use my bathroom to freshen up and change before we leave.” He said, suddenly far more sure of himself, decisive with clear instructions. He stood from your chair and headed for the door where he lingered for just a moment.

“Do you like Dressrosian food?” He asked, and just nodded when you confirmed before turning to sand and disappearing.

All you’d ever really wanted was for someone to want you, to care about you. Maybe care wasn’t the right word just yet but Crocodile saw you, more than most, and he at least wanted to take you to dinner. Maybe it’d go nowhere, but you wanted to be Crocodile’s and now you had the chance you’d never expected to have.

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[justghoulythingz]

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

[peachesofteal]

Ok but the comic of the fantasy Ghost and Soap got me thinking about Princess Darling 😭

Princess darling who is a war prize for the guys? Who is delivered to them after the sacking of her father’s territory, a last ditch effort for him to save his neck? And they look like this?

18+ MDNI

“Take my daughter.” He wheedles, slick as a snake, eyes wide and desperate as the flick between them and you. “She’s pure.” Your mouth drops open in outrage, heart thundering in your chest loud enough it rattles your ear drums.

“Father-“ The one in the skull mask with a black hood tilts his head at the sound of your voice, towering over you, gloved fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword.

He can’t mean to give you to these men. They’re… so big. And half covered in blood.

“Quiet.” He snaps, silencing your protest. Your eyes find the floor, counting the grooves and ridges of the marble. Your ribs pressurize around your lungs, squeezing, kneading, keeping your breathing too light in your already too tight corset.

“Ye’ve naught been married?” The brown haired one cocks his head with interest, and your knees tremble. You try to look away, escape the burn of his ice blue eyes, intense gaze unwavering as bear down on you, and your cheeks heat beneath the scrutiny.

“P-please. I know she’s older but-“ You want to cry. Scream. You’ve never been married for many reasons. Not that he cares about a single one of them. Not that the health of his daughter, or her feelings, have ever mattered to him.

“That’s enough.” Skull mask says. He looks at his partner, silence louder than a scream. You can only see the one man’s eyes, but they squint for a moment, before relaxing.

And then, he nods.

“We accept.” Your father loosens a sigh, the exhale loud over the echo of your gasp.

“No!” It’s a sputter, desperate and shocked. “No! No, father- you- you can’t!” He can’t. He wouldn’t. Would he? Send you off with these… marauders?

“Be silent.” He whirls, hand darting through the air to grip your upper arm, fingertips sinking into your skin like daggers. The shriek is automatic, half instinct, half muscle memory, and you flinch away, but he doesn’t let go. He digs in, trying to drag you towards the two and you gasp for air, panic cooling your skin and the sweat on the back of your neck.

“Let me g-“ You scream, choke out a half cry, only for it to be stolen from your lips by the swing of a sword.

Blood spurts from your father’s elbow, where it’s been cut clean off, his forearm and hand falling limply away from your body, a ruby red fountain spraying all over your face, your chest, your dress.

Your father howls, hand going to clamp over where his arm is now a bloodied stump. You’re stunned, frozen in time, just watching as he stumbles to his knees, face twisted in anguish.

You’re so distracted, that you don’t even know the blue eyed man has come up behind you, wrapping a thick arm around your waist. You feel his mouth, his breath, ghosting along your ear, warmth tickling your skin as the skull face turns to give him a nod, sword hanging precariously over your father’s bent neck. “Time to go, love. Close those pretty eyes for me now.”

You don’t know why, but you do. You let your eyes slip closed, let this monster scoop you up, let him cradle you to his chest. If you keep your eyes closed, you can just pretend. Pretend this isn’t happening. Pretend it’s not real.

There’s noise in the background, but a big hand covers your ear, pressing you against his leathered armor, right over his heart.

“Good girl, darling.”