#drabble: passion

[skibasyndrome]

Oooh could you try "This was a bad idea." "Then why are you still kissing me?" 👀

Thank you :)

Hi Helen! Thank you so so so much for sending me one of these!!! 💜💜💜 This was a lot of fun <3

Whatever song is playing right now, Simon couldn’t possibly muster the brain capacity to recognize it. He’s gone, nothing else matters, he’s 50% butterflies and 50% wobbly knees. Simon doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Wille crowding him against the wall in the most closed off corner of Felice’s living room they could find. How he ended up with his fingers threaded through Wille’s hair, with his lips moving against Wille’s. But, god, Wille’s kissing him. Wille’s lips are so soft, feel even softer than they look, and whatever Simon has spent the past months imagining doesn’t even compare to the real thing, to having Wille close like this. Closer than they’ve ever been before.

When Simon feels Wille’s tongue gentle nudging against his bottom lip, his breath hitches. No day-dreaming about his best friend could’ve prepared him for the feeling of them deepening their kiss. It’s- everything about it is so very Wille, that Simon feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He’s gentle, he’s soft, but there’s an underlying urgency there, there’s Wille leaning into Simon, Wille cradling the side of Simon’s neck. Wille is kissing him like Wille does all things, with care and attention to detail, but with a determination that Simon has always found unfairly attractive. When Wille pulls away, Simon wants to whine. Thankfully, he seems to muster a last shred of self-respect, keeps his eyes shut firmly to stay in the moment for longer and oh, oh. Wille isn’t leaving. He nuzzles his nose against Simon’s, his breath tickles Simon’s lip and. Well. How is Simon supposed to resist. He tugs Wille closer, blindly finds his lips again, feels his pulse hammering loudly in his ears when he gets another taste of Wille. Just… Wille. And some mint from his chewing gum, and- sweet and fruity like the shots Maddie was handing out earlier. A knot of dread lodges itself between Simon’s ribs. This isn’t- this isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Fuck. Right. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who got impatient and who might’ve just blown his one chance at doing this the right way. He’s fighting his every instinct when he pulls back, immediately misses Wille’s mouth on his. “This was a bad idea." His voice wavers, shaky, unsure. God, he can’t even convince himself. Wille’s hand on his neck stills, and Simon immediately thinks he’s made a mistake.

And because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself, because it’s been too long and because now he might never have the real thing, he lurches forward again. Desperate and needy and acting like he’s gonna find the air that’s suddenly gone from his lungs on Wille’s lips. But this time it’s Wille who stops him, who gently pushes Simon away after a brief touch of their lips. Just far enough for Wille to rest his forehead against Simon’s. "Then why are you still kissing me?" Wille sounds more sober than he’s done all evening, sounds… Simon can’t place the tone, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to cry.  He’s kissed his best friend. His drunk best friend. His drunk best friend who does this. Casually, from time to time. Who he’s seen kissing Maddie and Felice and Nils and who always ends up a giggly, beautiful mess afterwards, only to never kiss them again. Only to go back to being their friend. And now Simon is going to be another friend he’s kissed while drunk at a party and will never kiss again. It takes everything inside of him not to let out a pathetic little noise of frustration. “You’re drunk,” he forces out instead, saying nothing at all. He shakes his head.  “We’re drunk,” he corrects himself and suddenly curses every decision that’s lead him here and curses his earlier self for ever thinking those shots would be a good idea. Maybe without them, he wouldn’t have- All thoughts desert Simon’s brain at once when Wille lifts a hand up to his cheek. Every fingertip is warm and comforting, and yet Simon feels like he’s breaking apart under the touch. But Wille is still close, so close, his breath is everything Simon hears, his cologne everything he smells, and a silly, silly part of him is still clinging to the illusion. “Did you not want to kiss me?”

Something about the way he asks it, nothing but earnestness, is so very Wille that it cracks Simon’s chest right open. He doesn’t think he could lie to Wille, ever, but especially not now. So he nods, accidentally brushing the tip of his nose against Wille’s. “I did,” he breathes. But, because that’s not quite right, he tries again, with his heart beating so fast he thinks he might have to sit down.  “I do. Do wanna kiss you.” For a beat, there’s nothing. Just Simon, suspended in a vacuum, one second from falling to his death. But then he’s back, Wille is back, is somehow closer, is pressing small kisses against Simon’s lips, his nose, his cheek, and Simon can breathe again, sucks in the air that smells like Wille. “Then kiss me again,” Wille says, lips somewhere near Simon’s ear, then on his cheek. “Please.” Simon thinks he can taste the single syllable on his tongue when he pulls Wille in again.

[vampykween]

simon would spend forever reminding you that life is worth living even through all the pain and heartache <3

simon pulls you tighter into his arms and wipes gently at the stray tears on your face. your sobs have quieted into small sniffles and the warmth of simon’s embrace was slowly soothing the ache in your soul.

“‘s not gonna always feel this way my love. if i could take away all the pain you know i would.”

your boyfriend’s words reassure you and you close your eyes tightly and will yourself to believe him. it wasn’t going to always be this hard. you weren’t going to always feel like there was a sadness permeating your essence.

you feel the warmth tips of his fingers stroke your cheek and you open your eyes slowly and blink owlishly at him. staring into his eyes you saw a love so fierce that even after all these years it still shook you to your core. you know simon, know how he doesn’t give very much emotion to much in his life, so you’re honored that he loves you - and that he loves you so wholeheartedly.

your despair was a constant lately, but so was his love. you knew that as long as he was breathing you were always going to be loved. as daunting as that sounded it also made your heart skip a beat.

there was nothing that could compare to being loved by simon riley.

[noctiva]

honestly i think theres just something so yummy abt toby being the kinda bf who would probably get sick at the mere thought of not making it up to u after a big fight…. like wdym ur dependent on me and hate hurting me?? wdym ur begging on ur knees for me o forgive u??? wdym u’d kiss my body up and down promising never again to yell at me??? STAWP MAKING MEE BLLUUSSSHHH 😜

-🐇

bunny anon I think me and u might be mentally linked LMAOAOAOAO YOURE SO RIGHT!!

would literally feel nauseous just bc you’re giving him the silent treatment,, knees turned towards the door as you stare out the window of his truck and its the closest he’s ever been to knowing what being shot feels like

would probably grovel at your feet if it meant you’d stop looking at him like that - like you hate him. Because you can’t actually hate him, right? Lord knows he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you did.

tears in his eyes as he gently brings your palms up to his lips and peppers them with kisses, murmuring out a desperate ‘im so sorry’ between every single one

all but melting when you finally give in, clinging to you like you might just disappear if he doesn’t hold you tight enough. Burying his face in your neck, wetting your skin with tears and spit as he places desperate, sloppy kisses against you.

promising that he didn’t mean a single thing, that he just had a long day. Nosing into your hair as he says that he knows that’s not an excuse anyway.

begging for you to let him make it up to you, with trembling hands circling around your waist. to let him shower you with the love you deserved, patch up all the cracks he made with his undying affection.

[madaqueue]

then beg

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

a/n: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK srry guys idk what came over me when i was writing this (i need him so bad)

you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold out, your teeth biting down into your lower lip so hard you could nearly taste blood.

“c’mon now, sweetheart, just one little word and this’ll all be over,” your boyfriend purrs above you, his black hair cascading over his shoulders and tickling your bare skin.

you shake your head no, grasping onto any remaining pieces of resolve, collecting the shreds of your determination, to last just one more minute - that’s all you need, you try to reassure yourself.

truthfully, you never thought you’d be the one in this position - after all, it was you who originally made the bet with suguru.

you had put up with enough of his teasing, enough of being called ‘needy’ for just wanting to kiss him, and today you decided to stand up for yourself.

when he walked into your apartment, he just looked so perfect in his work clothes, his dress shirt rolled up above his elbows, his bangs falling across his forehead, how could you not want to fuck him on the spot?

“you’re so sweet when you’re all desperate like this,” he chuckles as you paw at his belt before he even has a chance to get his shoes off.

“suguru, i’m not that desperate,” you huff, stepping back and crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

"oh yeah?" he tilts his head in amusement. "you couldn’t even wait ten minutes from when i got home, you needed me to fuck you so bad.”

“yeah. and you know what? i’ll prove it,” you state confidently. “ten minutes. i bet you i can go ten minutes without you fucking me.” 

“you’ve got yourself a deal, angel,” he smirks, slowly waltzing over to you. his hands meet your waist, his touch sending shockwaves through you as his palms kneed the soft flesh of your ass.

“d-deal,” you stammer, conviction beginning to waver as he leans over, placing wet kisses along your neck.

and now, it’s been nine minutes of geto cruelly teasing you, bringing you to the brink of your release before pulling back.

he rubs his cock over your slick folds, the pressure driving you insane as you rut your hips up off the bed, craving anything more he’s willing to give you.

but, of course, he was not going to lose so easily.

“you poor needy thing,” he coos, watching you writhe in agony below him. “i told you, all you have to do is say ‘please’ and i’ll fuck you.”

it was becoming too much, the constant taunting and temptation overwhelming you. your body felt like it was on fire, everywhere he touches igniting new flames.

before you can stop yourself, your lips move on their own.

“please,” you blurt out weakly.

“what was that, princess? couldn’t quite hear you,” he teases, holding a hand up to his ear.

“please, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you babble desperately, “please fuck me, please suguru, please.”

with your eyes tightly shut you can’t see the way he grins, more than happy to give into your demands.

without a moment of hesitation he thrusts into you easily, a moan escaping your lips as you finally get what you had been craving. your warm walls envelop him as your eyes nearly roll back, your pussy beginning to clench around him.

“h-hah,” he whispers, “don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already, i knew you were desperate but fuck.”

his words sound fuzzy, far away; right now, all you can feel is him, the fullness, the stretch, the sweet burning pleasure of his cock inside you. after what felt like an eternity of being denied it, you get suddenly pushed over the edge of your orgasm.

“p-please,” you moan, the words aimlessly tumbling out of your mouth, “please, please.”

your vision goes white as your entire body shakes, racked with wave after wave of ecstasy. broken pleas continue to fill the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore, you just know that you need more.

as you come down from your high, you finally open your eyes to meet suguru’s, a glimmer of desire in his dark irises.

you feel his thumb stroke the tears off your face that you hadn’t realized were falling before he wipes the drool that had pooled at the corner of your open mouth away. he kisses you messily, his tongue easily sliding between your parted lips, his cock still buried inside you.

“you really are needy,” he breathes in awe through a smirk, “but since you asked so nicely, i’ll keep fucking you like the desperate slut you are, how’s that sound?”

blinking up at him through glazed-over eyes, you nod. “please?”

[figisonline]

Do you think Soldier Boy would be into pet/puppy play???

LMAOOOOO maybe i’m projecting bc i want him to call me puppy but i’m gonna say yuppp!!!

i think he’d be all about nicknames, like “puppy” or “bunny” or “kitty” — especially when he’s all soft. his lil puppy girl or baby bunny, yk? and LOTS of head pats!! maybe he’d get a little mean at times and resort to “mutt” ‘n shit like that, especially when he’s pissed off and like during sex !!!!!

[comatosebunny09]

These meetings always drag on for what feels like centuries.

His council drones on about something Astarion can’t be bothered to follow. It’s a bad habit he’s developed as of late, tuning out what he doesn’t deem important. Luckily, one of his advisors will catch him up on the essentials later.

Poor Astarion can’t focus to save his life, too swept up in the delectable aroma filling his lungs and the gentle shift of pressure behind him.

A glance disguised as a cough over his shoulder reveals what he already knows. Of course, it’s your fragrance turning his brain to mush. His stunning, ever-loyal bodyguard, standing in good form behind him. Your gazes meet for the briefest of seconds before you return your attention to the wall, and you quietly clear your throat. 

Astarion hides a youthful grin behind his hand when he turns back. His chest swells triumphantly as he taps his pen against the cherrywood table, feigning interest in this meeting. He’s much too distracted now, reveling in how he’s flustered you again. Always during the most inappropriate moments, wending through your stoic exterior.    

Try as you might to mask your feelings, Astarion can smell how you yearn for him. Smells pheromones wafting off your skin, blood warming your veins, and your ache for him pooling in your stomach. Best of all, he can hear how much you crave him. Your throat bobs with how thickly you swallow. Your breaths are labored, and your heart pumps eagerly to accommodate whatever nerves overhaul your body. 

Astarion fixes his collar with a wistful sigh. He cradles his cheek in his palm as he scribbles in his notebook, engulfed by the maelstrom of his thoughts. Consumed by the thought of you.  

He hasn’t the foggiest why you continue with this game of cat and mouse; why you carry on as if your fingers don’t itch to touch him. As if your lips don’t ache to feel and taste his. Like your heart doesn’t beat a little faster when he’s near. He’s adored you for quite some time now. Reserved a place in his cold, silent heart just for you, the cobwebs brushed away and sunlight slinking in through its cracks.

He hasn’t exactly been subtle with his advances.  

Often, he’ll whisper saccharine words against the shell of your ear when he passes you during his gatherings, a cautious hand smoothing your hair away from your cheek. He’s known to pilfer little glances at you during his meetings, smiling like an enamored fool when you catch him, saturating his mind with endorphins.

He tends to corner you in the safety of his quarters, caging you between his body and whatever wall you find yourself backed into. Breathes hotly against the slope of your shoulder, teasing you until your neck and cheeks explode with heat, and you’re dizzy from the headiness of it all.

Occasionally, his fingers brush against yours whilst walking side-by-side through the quiet hallways of his castle. And sometimes, he entertains the idea of holding your hand, filling the spaces between your fingers with his, and squeezing to let you know what he feels for you is very much real.   

You become such a delightful sight when you scramble for words and skitter away from his affections like you’ve been branded by fire. 

It's a game Astarion likes to play, seeing how far he can push you until your defenses crumble and you succumb to your desires. There’s no one holding a sword to your neck. No one demanding you stave off his advances or embrace them. But he knows that you know he would throw his kingdom to hell for you, craving you more than the air filtering through his lungs.

He shudders at the thought. How violently his passion burns. It’s been far too long since he’s felt like this about anyone.  

The gathering carries on in a muddled blur, filled with the useless prattle of his kingdom’s finest. He’s all but remorseful when it draws to its conclusion.

Astarion stands to bid his councilmen farewell, smiles rehearsed and handshakes firm. He’s found it easier to maintain this façade as long as he promises to reward himself with your presence. He watches through his peripheral as the last of his men trickles out. Patient as the maids scuttle in, clearing the table of water pitchers and glasses dripping condensation.

When he’s sure there is but the two of you left in the council chamber, Astarion heaves a sigh with the drop of his shoulders as if all the world’s weight sloughs off. The snicker you relent to the air behind makes him stiffen. He spins ‘round to regard you with a quirked brow, wiping the amused look from your face.

Rounding his chair, Astarion begins sauntering to you, steps measured and stare predatory.

“Tickled, are you?” drawls your king, swaddling you in all his eccentric, regal air when he stops before you.

He dwarfs you by a few inches, a concept that makes him smirk like the proverbial cat that’s caught the canary. A hand stuffed in his breeches pocket, he tenderly eases a lock of hair behind your ear, purposely grazing the edge of your ear. A shudder is elicited from your person, and Astarion’s smirk grows tenfold as his hand drops listlessly at his side.

You shake out of your trance, fixing your gaze on anything but him. With your hands still clasped at the small of your back, you say, “Not at all, Majesty. You just look like you survived the apocalypse.”

Astarion scoffs, throwing his hand up with a dramatic flair. “With how these idiots carry on, I might as well have.”

Another laugh rumbles in your throat, yet you quickly correct yourself, remembering your decorum.

[bardic-tales]

Wrote this last night.

"Let me help you." His hands moved to the small of her back, and he pulled her closer, pressing her body against his own. He whispered into her ear, his voice a low, soothing purr. “Close your eyes, my sweet Bianca, and allow me to carry you away from all that troubles you. Sleep and dream, and I shall be here to protect you from anything that may threaten your peace. Do you trust me?”

"Always."

Sephiroth couldn't bite back a small, contented purr at her answer. His face still hovered above Bianca's, and his eyes gleamed with a faint, ethereal glow as he continued to hold her close.

“Good. Very good. Rest now. Let me be the sentinel of your dreams. And when you awaken, I will be here still, watching over you with the promise of a new day.” He closed his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on Bianca's forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he rested his head upon hers.

He breathed a sigh as his fingers traced over the curve of Bianca's cheek, a soft smile on his face as he watched her drift to sleep. "I love you, Bianca. Always." His voice was as tender as a caress, a promise that his devotion would remain steadfast throughout the nights yet to come.

As he continued to cradle his consort in his arms, he watched over her with eyes that burned with the intensity of his love and the fierce resolve that had become the defining force of his existence.

[hoejosatoru]

First Christmas with post war Levi, who doesn’t really get the holidays or the outside world’s customs.

“You bring a tree inside the house… and put lights and colorful glass all over it?”

“Yes, it looks nice, you’ll see.”

“And then you pretend and old man broke into your house and left stuff underneath?”

“… well when you put it like that…”

As skeptical as he is, he can’t help but get sucked into your joy. He listened with rapt attention as you pull out delicate little ornament, explaining the sentimental meanings behind them.

He’s just as happy in the kitchen with you as you bake your favorite holiday meals. Levi never thought he could enjoy decorating little gingerbread cookies so much, yet he found himself smiling as he worked. But maybe that was just because you looked so beautiful focused on your own creation.

By the end of the day, he got it. Sitting by the fireplace, the light reflecting off the ornaments, the lights from the tree creating a soft glow in the room as snow fell peacefully outside, Levi understood what was so special about this holiday. As strange as it seemed to him, he loved it.

You smiled softly at him, as if you could read his thoughts. The kiss you pressed to his lips warmed him more than the flames ever could. As you cuddled closer to him, his heart filled with joy. Though the tree had plenty of presents underneath, he couldn’t help but feel he already had everything he needed

[echolocalia]

He then realises with a certain gravity that Arthur Pendragon has not recognised the man in his reflection is a long, long time.

He can actually pinpoint the moment.

He was wandering the halls, just as he was now. He couldn’t have been more than nine summers old.

He remembers looking into the mirror and grinning, a wobbly, gap-toothed grin, he had been unsure of himself, but now he felt like he could fly. He had just unwrapped the bandage from his first ‘battle wound’. Squire trained had started that day, he had nicked himself on a sword.

That was before father actually began to acknowledge his existence and began getting very hurtful in his words.

An older Arthur looks back at him in the mirror, weathered and battle-worn, with too many scars to count, eyes red and face splotchy, he will hear no more of what his father has to say.

[do0zy-artz]

(If you saw this in the tags before I um. I forgot to pause my queue and the wip version posted accidentally. Here's the full one! <3)

The one thing Cleo hates most about the soulbond is sharing emotions. She can deal with the pain, are the rare moment where their thoughts bleed through, but she cannot deal with Martyn’s bloody emtions. Especially when he's around Ren and BigB.

They knew Martyn and Ren had a...thing for each other. Everyone knew that. It was painfully obvious. Cleo had expected to feel some of adoration for Ren, when she found out they were soulmates. What she wasn't expecting was the jealously.

Martyn was jealous of BigB, of all people, for being Ren's soulmate and basically dating him. And having to feel his feelings made that very insufferable.

And because he's being insufferable and making her life worse than he already has, Cleo ends up outside Martyn’s ugly as sin little bastion one day. Around noon she thinks. They knock on the door, and then enter anyways. She hopes this thing is more stable than it looks on the outside.

"Oh great." Martyn says, looking over them. He's leaning against a crafting table, in the middle of shutting it. It seems like Cleo had interrupted his tool crafting, of the iron and sticks on the table indicate anything.

He already sounded annoyed, and she'd just walked in. That had to be a new record. Cleo has to resist rolling her eyes at his tone. A very hard thing to resist indeed. "Why are you here?"

"I can feel your jealous thoughts about BigB and Ren, ya know." Cleo says, getting straight to the point. Their voice is probably a bit snappier than they wanted it to be. Cleo doesn't really care, though. The more sharp her words are, the better.

Martyn raises and eyebrow at her, like he can't give less of a fuck. And, knowing him and his priorities pretaning to her, he probably doesn't. "And?"

"It's annoying to deal with." Cleo snaps, shutting the houses door behind them. They don't want whoever around to hear this. Martyn probably doesn't either. This conversation is bound to get very messy very fast.

"Trust me, your emotions are just as frustrating." Martyn snaps back at her, crossing his arms over his chest. He's on the defense already, it seems. His feelings for Ren must be more of a soft spot than Cleo first realized.

"I'm not the one lamenting over not being paired with Ren." Cleo responds. At least she knows how to keep her emotions in check, unlike a certain somebody.

Martyn snorts, turning back to his chest and crafting table. "You're also lamenting over other things. Over-"

"Shut it." Cleo growls, cutting Martyn off before he can finish that sentence. Apparently, he knows what's best for him, and keeps his mouth shut for a good minute or two. "What I lament about is none of your business. "

"What I mope about is apparently yours." Martyn turns back around to glare at her, something bitter bubbling in his voice. His soulmate doesn't hear it, too wrapped up in her annoyance to care.

(Just like always...)

Cleo thinks she has good reason to be concerned about his, actually, considering moping is all her sorry excuse for a soulmate does. "Yours messes with my cognitive function. My suffering isn't nearly that bad."

"Bullshit." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. (Cleo hates that he is fully correct in calling bullshit on her, she really does.)

"Everything but the last part." Their soulmate has no response to that, only pouting like a child. And well, if Martyn’s not going to say anything, then their little argument is as good as done in their book. If he's not going to say anything, then it's time for her to leave.

Maybe if she gives him some advice before she goes, he'll actually take it.

"Wherever your heads stuck at, it's not healthy." Cleo says, leaning against the ugly crimson wall of Martyn’s house. What they mope about probably isn't healthy, but she's not going to think about that. Martyn's is worse anyways. "You need to move on."

"I know..." Martyn mumbles. He sounds strangely....somber, an emotion Cleo doesn't hear from him often. It's almost strange to hear him sound so sad. "Moving on isn't really easy, ya know."

"Well, you're gonna have too." The zombie gives him one last look, then decides her time is done here. She's had enough of his bullshit for one day, and it's not even noon yet. "And do it before I get sick of you three and decide to kill BigB again."

"Whatever." Martyn huffs, and with that Cleo is gone. She intends to stay gone for as long as the universe (and Martyn’s moping) will let her.

[hayanwulf]

IronStrange:

One of them performs CPR on the other.

Fun fact: a defibrillator can’t actually revive a patient who ‘flatlined’.

Shocking, I know. I guess that’s modern media misrepresentation for you.

PS: At the cost of being a lil hypocritical.. the chance of getting an unshockable cardiac arrest (aka flatline or ‘asystole’) in our scenario, and then also surviving it with CPR, is ridiculously, laughably low. So, Stephen really shouldn’t have survived here, or flatlined in the first place... But hey, the movie itself threw realism out the window, so you can’t tell me shit.

The empty mug comically slipped from his grip, meeting the floor in an ear-deafening shatter.

Tony did not hear it, however, not over the pounding of heartbeat in his ears that immediately followed the almost-heart attack he got at the sight of a literal portal on fire inside his workshop, out of which stumbled his ex-fiance who he had not seen for eight months, hands clutching bloody chest, face drained of color and contorted in pain, steps staggering and making him crash against an equipment.

“The hallucinations are getting crazy,” Tony murmured.

“It’s not a hallucination, Boss,” FRIDAY announced, an urgency to her voice, pulling Tony out of his disbelief-induced state of shock — bless his AI. “Doctor Strange needs immediate medical attention! He’s been stabbed on the chest.”

Tony’s heart only lurched further at the last bit, but he forced his feet to move, shoved all thoughts to the back of his mind, beelining straight for his very mortally injured ex-fiance who was now leaning against god knew what, looking up at Tony with wild, terrified eyes.

“Cardiac Tamponade,” Stephen muttered, his voice weak with a bit of tremble to it, as Tony came to his side to carefully support him. “There’s blood in the pericardial—”

“Shut up!” Tony snapped, felt Stephen flinch against him, and immediately cursed himself for lashing out like that for no reason. He just.. god, this was the first time Tony was seeing Stephen after seven goddamn months, and it was to find him injured — mortally injured — and the first thing Stephen spoke to him was godforsaken diagnosis of how severely close to death he was.

He looked back at the portal once and suppressed a shudder, before shifting his focus back on Stephen to help lead him over to the small infirmary that was built right next to his workshop. “Just.. what the fuck, Stephen?”

Stephen winced, throwing a glance behind his shoulder at the portal, misunderstanding what Tony truly meant. “Sorry, that’s..” He made them pause and waved a hand at the tear in reality behind them.

Tony watched in awe for a moment as the portal quickly shrank and disappeared, remnants of glowing orange dust in the air the only evidence that something had even existed there a moment ago.

“What just—” Tony cut himself off. Not important right now.

He shook his head to dispel all other thoughts and focus solely on Stephen because oh god there was so much blood, Stephen was hurt, Stephen was dying—

“FRIDAY!” He called out, voice wavering with the panic that grew in him with each passing moment as he led Stephen to the adjacent infirmary.

“There is no medical staff at the Compound, Boss..”

“Why!?” Tony asked as his heartbeat spiked at the realization, even though he already knew why.

No one lived in the Compound anymore. All of the staff had been long since dismissed.

As he led Stephen towards the nearest operating table, Tony spared only a brief moment to wonder why, despite there being nobody and nothing in this large establishment, was it that Tony continued to stay here.

He helped Stephen lay flat on the operating table and began to undo.. whatever it was that Stephen was wearing, all the while chanting under his breath, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this..”

“Tony,” Stephen spoke, grabbing hold of Tony’s wrist and looking him in the eye. “You can, I know it.”

Tony helplessly shook his head because he couldn’t. How could Stephen think that he could?

But, god, there was no time, no choices.

Stephen either had him, or nothing.

Tony felt the exact moment Stephen’s grip on his arm grew weak, saw his eyes flicker as he fought to keep them open.

“I trust you..” Stephen said weakly, and then passed out, his hand going limp over Tony’s.

Tony stared for a moment.

“Boss?”

FRIDAY’s voice pulled him out of his daze. He looked up at the heart graphs, then back at Stephen’s limp body, and then back up at the heart graphs to be absolutely extra sure he hadn’t lost Stephen yet. His mind was nothing but panicked haze and adrenaline, and logic fought emotion as he struggled to simply act, to do something because he was losing Stephen right in front of his eyes and oh god he needed to save him—

“FRIDAY, w-what—” He swallowed as his voice wavered, “what do I do?”

“Boss, you are close to having a panic attack—”

“And he’s close to dying, dammit! What do I do!?”

“He needs a pericardiocentesis.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Just get the needle, second shelf from the top.”

FRIDAY guided him through the surprisingly simple, yet downright horrifying procedure of stabbing a needle straight into Stephen’s heart to drain out the blood stuck in his pericardium, decompressing the pressure on his heart. There was a large stab wound on the left side of his chest. The sight of so much blood — of Stephen’s blood — made Tony feel lightheaded, its suffocating metallic scent tangible in his mouth, tasting like copper, all the while his eyes watched the screens of vitals with sharp attention, witnessing as Stephen’s heartbeat grew weaker and weaker, every digit of drop in the heart rate making dread pool heavier in his stomach, making his gut twist sickeningly.

He was holding Stephen’s delicate, precious life in his hands and god, it was terrifying.

How did you do this every single day? Tony silently asked the man lying unconscious in front of him, the back of his eyes stinging as tears formed in them.

If Stephen died now, here, like this, Tony could never forgive himself.

It was those thoughts that roared loud in his mind, in tandem with the beeping of the heart monitor, as he held onto the needle drawing out a nauseating amount of blood.

Even after most of the clogged blood from the walls had been drained out, Stephen’s heart remained weak, his low heart rate not recovering.

And then it happened, just as he pulled out the needle.

Tony’s entire world came to a halt at that sharp, ear-deafening beep of the heart monitor.

“You need to start CPR, now!” FRIDAY spoke up immediately, voice loud and clear over the shrill beep.

“I—the defibrillat—”

“That won’t work, you have to do CPR!”

Tony didn’t question her. He trusted his babygirl, trusted her to help him save Stephen’s life, and moved up to Stephen’s face, tilting his head up, chin held in his hand.

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

He would not lose Stephen. He would not.

Steadying his resolve as he inhaled a deep breath, he pinched Stephen’s nose and then dipped down to seal their mouths together, before blowing into Stephen’s mouth, watching from the corner of his eye as Stephen’s chest rose. He repeated the action, blowing a second rescue breath into Stephen’s mouth, and then quickly moved to his chest.

Taking care to not place his hands over the stab wound currently sealed with nanites, he pushed down forcibly at Stephen’s chest and set up a fast pace, counting the compressions in his head, acutely aware of his speed as well as the relentless beeping of the heart monitor that continued to echo in the background.

After 30 compressions, he repeated the two rescue breaths, and moved to performing compressions again.

Seven.. eight.. nine..

Tony froze when the incessant beeping of heart monitor stopped, to be replaced by a barely there pulse, the graph displaying a weak heart rhythm that was all over the place.

Tony could’ve cried right then. Maybe he did.

“Don’t stop,” FRIDAY’s voice instructed him, and so he didn’t, continuing with the chest compressions.

Two more cycles passed by the time FRIDAY said, “You can shock him now, Boss.”

Tony didn’t waste another second in fetching the defibrillator. He applied the conductive gel over the two paddles before placing one on the right side of Stephen’s sternum and the other below his left nipple — thank the science gods Stephen’s injury didn’t get in the way of their placement — and let FRIDAY decide the appropriate voltage. He pressed down hard on the paddles, steering clear of any other contact to Stephen’s body as the equipment delivered shock.

The heart rhythm graph reacted immediately, and Tony watched in awe as the entire electrical activity was reset and started producing a much healthier, stable rhythm. The pulse reacted to it, quickly gaining strength.

Tony’s knees nearly buckled from the sheer intensity of relief that washed over him, watching Stephen’s heart gain its strength back right in front of his eyes.

Stephen’s eyes flew open with a start and a gasp, and Tony was immediately by his side, the defibrillator abandoned. He panted, eyes glazed and darting wildly at first, until they slowly regained focus. Tony placed a hand on Stephen’s arm, wanting to help him, wanting to give him something to anchor himself to.

But mostly to reassure his own self that Stephen was still here.

“God, that feels weird in the astral plane,” Stephen murmured, his voice a little raspy, before a weak laugh escaped his lips.

“You think this is— wow.” Stephen was laughing. It hadn’t been five minutes since Tony had pulled this man out of the claws of death and now here he was, laughing. Tony felt his body vibrate, his inside burning up with this infuriating mix of anger and.. and.. ugh! He didn’t know.

Never had he felt something so strong, so nauseatingly gut-churning before.

Christ, was this the anger that Stephen felt every time Tony had looked death in the eyes and walked the other way with a victorious smirk on his lips? Was this the exasperation he had always seen in Rhodey’s face when Tony had dismissed his own near-death experiences? Was this the horror Pepper felt every time, as she watched Tony’s gruesome injuries be patched up by Stephen?

“Tony..?” Stephen called out in a small, uncertain voice, causing Tony to turn back to him. Whatever Stephen found there, it made him flinch. Good. After a second, he tentatively added, “I’m.. sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Tony snapped. “You.. you fucking walk out on me without ever telling anything, not even a message, a note, nothing. A-and the next time I see you, you’re walking out of a wormhole with.. with a stab on your chest, bleeding all over my lab. And you’re sorry. You fucking died, Stephen!”

Tony realized that he was visibly shaking now, his breath coming in hitches as thick tears streamed down his face. He sat himself down on the edge of Stephen’s table, wiping both his hands over his entire face, just trying to collect himself. God, it felt like someone was squeezing his heart trying to make it burst.

What would he have done, had Stephen died here today? Because of his inadequacy, because he didn’t know what to do, how to act fast, how to save the life of his fiance?

A shaky hand landed on his arm, making him remove his hands from his face to turn and look down at Stephen.

His ex-fiance had a remorseful look on his face as he interlocked their fingers.

“You did an amazing job, Tony. You saved me.”

Some of Tony’s tense energy melted, and he exhaled a shaky breath with closed eyes.

Stephen was alive. Stephen was here. Because Tony had managed to save him.

“Thank you,” Stephen added after a moment.

Tony opened his eyes and glanced at Stephen from the corner of his eye. “Fuck you.”

He felt it more than heard when Stephen’s chest rumbled with a laugh, and Stephen immediately winced.

Right, the wound must hurt like a bitch.

“Hold on,” Tony said and went to fetch a fresh needle and a vial of painkiller.

A minute later, he unceremoniously dumped the used needle on the appropriate bin as he spoke, “So what’s up with the glowing wormholes and your LARP wizard costume?” He leaned himself against an equipment near Stephen’s table, who was now sitting upright, putting the said LARP costume back on. “Or do we wanna talk about who wanted to roleplay too realistic murder mystery with you? Oh, I have a better idea. How about we start from where the hell did you fuck off to in Nepal?”

Stephen winced, and this time it wasn’t from the physical pain. “I shouldn’t have left you like that?”

“Yeah? Well, good thing that I’m used to being left behind by the people I trust,” Tony spoke, voice laced with venom. A memory flashed in his mind. Blood tainting the white of snow, the feel of metal growing lethally cold all around his body, the dead weight of a dead arc reactor sitting over his chest.

He suppressed a shiver, shoving the memory away.

Stephen, of course, knew nothing of the said memory, and a hint of confusion mixed with hurt flashed over his features. “I.. I’m really sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

Tony blinked, doing a double take of what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Where!?” Tony snapped, not quite able to hide the irritation in his voice.

Stephen bit his lower lip, expression twisting in contemplation, clearly weighing his options about what he wanted to tell Tony. He then sighed and looked up at Tony.

Tony didn’t know what answer he had expected to hear.

‘I moved on.’ ‘I have another life now, one without you.’ ‘Stop trying to follow me.’

But what he got wasn’t something he’d have expected to hear in a thousand years.

“I was learning magic in Nepal.”

It left him staring dumbfounded, simply trying to grasp what he was hearing.

Stephen sighed again, averting his eyes. “You saw the portal, right?”

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling too dry as a new, terrifying kind of realization dawned on him. “Yeah.”

Stephen closed his eyes. “There are.. more like us. Good and bad. And the bad ones are going to try to destroy this world, with magic.” He got off the table then, getting on his feet, and stood a foot away from Tony, looking him in the eyes. “I have to go, Tony.”

Too much. This was all too much. First he watched Stephen stumble out of the goddamn portal, watched him die on the table, resuscitated him.. now he was learning that..

Magic.

Stephen was magic.

He’d been learning magic on Nepal, all this time, while Tony was left fumbling alone trying to gather even the tiniest scrap of information on this man, just enough to know that he was fine, that he was alive.

Tony was left with an odd mix of unadulterated fury and debilitating fear bubbling beneath his skin.

Hesitantly, Stephen reached out and took one of Tony’s hands in his shaky grip, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the back on his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said one last time and let go of Tony’s hand, turning to walk away.

Tony caught his arm before he had fully turned, making him pause and look back at Tony.

“I’m coming too,” Tony declared, letting his determination shine in his tear-streaked eyes.

Stephen slowly shook his head. “There will be magic, Tony.”

Tony spread his arms, summoning Mark XLVII, which flew into the infirmary from his workshop, opened up and quickly wrapped itself around Tony’s body in one quick, flawless motion, only leaving his head uncovered. He could see it in Stephen’s awestruck expression that he was impressed by its smoothness and elegance.

“I’m coming,” Tony repeated, “and that’s final.”

Coming because he would not back down in the face of magic. Coming because he had a duty to this world.

Coming because he would not let Stephen walk into danger all by himself.

Stephen looked at him from one eye to the other, swallowed, and nodded once.

“Close your eyes, I have to open a portal.”

Tony did, trusting Stephen.

[starry-sophrosyne]

... @toadettely @sopping-wet-cat-wizard y'know, april fools is over, BUT...

"No, what am I saying- That's too mean, I can't do that-" "Fufufu~ But I can~"  (｀▽ ´) // "YOU-" (/｀ᗣ ´ )/

(also for reference bc GUESS WHO CAN PEN- XD /hj /lh /silly):

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(TW: blood/gore, death, car crash incident, graphic imagery)

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S&S: There is a world where Brent never meets Eevee. There is a world where he wakes up one morning, yawning as he rubs his eyes. He'd been somewhat exhausted by his gaming session with "Sofist" last night, not that it was unenjoyable. He gets ready for the day as per usual, nothing out of the ordinary. It's all regular, for now, that is. Walking out of his apartment, he raises an eyebrow at the suspicious amount of cars stuck on the local road. Oh well, a crash of some kind? He shrugs and continues walking down the road. Ducking under some construction, he carefully avoids all the prying eyes and workers, taking his shortcut to the cafe. What he sees when he turns the corner, however? Well..

It's graphical, distraught to say the least. He can see the limb of somebody, splayed across the road in a pool of blood. He winces. Damn? They'd been sloppy setting up the perimeter apparently, blocking it from normal eye-witness view, but not from here. Either way, he couldn't make out too much between the ambulance and the police cars stationed in the intersection.

As for the authorities, he can make out them questioning certain people and speaking into their walkie talkies. Their faces are far away but filled with concern as they discuss with each other. Meanwhile, the paramedics tending to the body on the ground, and.. For some reason, he pauses. It's not in any of his good interests to watch this, to get involved with some random traffic incident of an unfortunate civilian, and yet? Something tugs at him, opposing his normal desire to stay out of conflict and general indifference/apathy. He doesn't know why, why this moment specifically?, but it doesn't.. feel.. weird. It's weirdly urging, instead bringing him to stop in his tracks. As he choicely watches the paramedics ready the body bag, he catches a glimpse of the poor man who had faced the consequences.

His hair was curly, coifs of coffee brown tinged with blood. His facial hair was the same color, and his gaze relaxed. His eyes were partially closed in a stereotypical thought of sleeping, with a glint from the sun revealing his hazed over green eyes, devoid of any brightness. What catches Brent's eye immediately, however, is his bright purple coat. Most of it is soaked with crimson gore, now a dark maroon, but even still. It's such a stand out, he can't help but wonder how the man even got hit in the first place.

After a few more seconds, the guided feeling seems to go away, and he turns his head away from the scene. (Unbeknownst to him, he'd been watching for, comparatively, far longer than a few seconds.) Best to move on, for whatever reason he felt compelled to watch EMTs deal with the body, almost as if he was making sure they would properly take care of him. It was weird, but whatever. He didn't have enough time to stay around and see him get sent off, realizing he was late for his shift. Despite his sudden spike of empathy, it was just another day, just with an unfortunate incident. He prayed for the man though, as he finally set foot onto regular sidewalk. May his soul, and whoever he is, rest in peace, for meeting such an untimely end.

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Walking into the cafe, the door closed behind him with the bell's signature jingle. Vern's head shot up, his face twisted with a hint of concern as he rushed over to Brent, who'd barely placed his bag on the desk before Vern grabbed his shoulders, gripping them firmly and causing Brent to jolt a bit out of surprise.

"Brent! Oh my god, you scared me-" "?" "-I saw the crash nearby, and you- came in a few minutes later than you normally do, and- oh god I'd just thought the worst!" Vern could hardly control himself from his ramble, spilling out his emotions, but he paused when he noticed the rather amused look on Brent's face. Brent only chuckled at him, despite the severity of the situation/his anxiety. Vern gave him a dirty look, but let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance relief, glad to know his friend was okay.

As Vern let go of his shoulders, Brent starting unpacking stuff from his bag. Placing his log sheet and charger down in the little table within the break room, Vern asked:

"Why were you late anyways? You normally show up before I even get here. Did something.. actually happen while you were getting here?" He added tentatively.

"..." He paused, his hands tightening around his laptop, contemplating if it was worth it to tell Vern. About the man he'd seen, eyes hazed over in death, body dull and cold, hair stiff with dried blood. It was something in it of its own right, something that he wished he hadn't seen. But at the same time, the death of this random civilian weighed heavier than it should've in his heart. He didn't know why, but still, maybe it was the sight of his eyes; ones that pierced his soul, staring at him even after passing. They were so.. cold. Almost as if they were blaming, in hatred. His blood chilled, thinking about it all, and a heaviness set in the room. Oh. Man, he'd never felt this way before. He'd just witnessed death, hadn't he? How was he acting like this was all okay?

He held in a sigh, settling for a tight exhale as he shook his head, not looking up from his stuff. No, it was best not to trouble his more emotionally affected friend with his.. issues. Were he to tell Vern, he'd likely become more aggrieved than him. Even still, looking up and noticing Vern's still apprehensive gaze, he feigned a small smile; keeping it up even as he looked back down in the black expanses of his duffel bag, now empty. He couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "I'm serious dude, nothing happened. Don't worry about it."

"... Alright, if you say so." The air was thick with tension, the silence being left unbroken. Vern's footsteps were soft as they padded against the tiled floor, the door slowly creaking closed behind him. One last glance behind his shoulder, before he fully shut the door, putting on a smile to greet the guests that had entered the cafe. Meanwhile, the room had become dimmed sightly with the waning sunlight as the light from the cafe dissipated. Brent stared down once more, as if questioning the true morality behind what he'd seen. With a sigh, his shoulder slumped. Sitting down onto the rickety foldable chair, he put his head in his arms, on top of the table. He wasn't ready to go out. Not just yet. Not while the green eyes of someone haunted him. He couldn't just go and pretend everything was okay, even he had no damn idea why the death of some random stranger had messed him up so badly.

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Vern found him struggling to think of positive messages to write atop his orders for the rest of the afternoon. Brent did not come out of the break room for a long time, and even once he did, he was silent as he worked. Nick didn't come in for coffee that day.

[crow-cello]

Adam, after years of being an exorcist, yearns for a domestic lifestyle, just like the days on Earth with his children and Eve but with less strife and difficulty. No, he just wants to relax and care for his children at the comfort of his home, with the breadwinner husband taking care of his needs in the bedroom after the children go to bed in peace.

Adam must've made his fantasies too obvious during one of their meetings, because one day, Lucifer brings it up suggestively after their little talks.

"I know how stressed you must be right now, Adam. Being the head of the Exorcists and being a micro celebrity in Heaven for the winners... Oh, that must be difficult, keeping a facade everyday in your life.

But I can change that for you, you need not do anything drastic in exchange, however. I am a simple man, after all. Think about it, I can give you anything you need with just a snap of my fingers, and you? You just need to sit still, look pretty and take care of our adorable little offsprings while I do all the work.

How does that sound, my little wife?"

Adam hasn't felt so tempted in so long since Eve tried to convince him to eat that forbidden fruit in Eden... But, this time, it was harder to resist.

Adam would drop his entire duties in a snap 🫰 Lucifer just has to say those words and he's ready to jump into his arms to be taken away like the princess he is! And Lucifer is a simple kind of man, just the way god had intended for he and Adam to be.

Be fruitful, they say. Adam and Lucifer could make the earth theirs if they wanted to. And it wasn't until Lucifer made fantasy so much more reachable.

Oh, I think it would absolutely melt Adam to know his prince has finally come for him and rescue him of the Hell he's meant to enact on behalf of the winners.

I do, Adam would say, and he will never look back from what he once lost in Eden. Not this time when Lucifer was in reach again. Eden and anything post might have stolen Adam away for so long, but the same darling he met once upon a time is still in that tired hardworking exorcist, it was only until Lucifer that someone had finally noticed the longing mother in Adam who never had the chance. And now, he did.

[babyboywilson]

happiness is having someone comment that your writing is beautiful when you’ve been insecure to get back to writing again

[juyeoz]

BROOOO WRITING WITH PFTBZ IS SOOO FUNNY @miumura @macapunoz I HAVE ACTUAL TEARS.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

98 - Divinity And Forgiveness

I did not know if I could do it, the first time you abandoned me.

I don't think you meant to leave me behind, not when I think about the ways you cared for me - never letting me leave your sight, keeping me always close to hand. I still remember the way you used to idly rub my horns when you were lost in thought, and how tightly you clung to my slender frame as you slept.

That's what made it so hard, you know. It might have been easier if you'd been careless or dismissive, but to have known such tenderness and lost it once seemed too cruel a fate to endure.

And yet, when you stepped out from the light and we met face-to-face, it was as if all those lonely years had never transpired. You stood before me as a vision of divinity, and the question was not how could I forgive your trespasses, but how could I not forgive them. And oh, the moment your arms took hold of me again, I knew that all was exactly as it should be once more.

Sometimes I wonder if you might do it again - perhaps you'll lose sight of me going around a dark corner, or your hand will slip from mine as you run blindly forward to the next great thing on your horizon. I know it won't be from malice, but I don't know if that loneliness will be any easier to withstand for having known it once before.

But one thing I do know, is that I will always find it in myself to forgive you. Perhaps that makes me a fool, and yet in my mind there can be no other answer. After all, to keep finding you, to fall in love with you over and again... surely I am blessed to know such wonders.

Let me wait here for you, then, until the next time we meet. I'll be the same as I ever was, waiting patiently for your divinely-ordained return.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 98

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