#kiss fic

[namelessbutters-doodles]

The Fallen Angel.

Characters: Paul Stanley, Ace Frehely, Mystery character.

Pairing: Spacechild.

Setting: ????

Au: Fallen Angel.

Summary: ‘’Now….’’

‘’Fall.’’

Those were the last and haunting words Paul was told and heard once he fell through the white clouds into the deepest depths of the darkness he feared as he screamed all the down. Flailing like a dove who didn’t know how to fly yet due to being so young but in this case his wings were being burned and clipped as he was falling.

Burning deep into his soft plush skin, blood were pouring from the wounds that were being made each second he cried out. His frightening screams and cries filled the skies with horrifying sounds that people looked around to see the source, the earth shook as….

__________

⚠️Warnings: i'm in a good mood I swear, Blood and injury, mentions of shit(it's not what your thinking it's not that), horror, symbolism, Fallen angels, religious themes, Au, oneshots, Angst, Hurt/comfort, implied torture/sex, Heaven, Ask to tag.

Comments and Reblogs, are Deeply appreciated!

Also on A03

‘’You are banished from this very heaven’s you’ve stand on, no longer you’ll be an angel once you’ve fallen or call yourself a saint after what you have committed down on that sinful land that those people called earth. You’ll no longer bare the wings of angelic nor the halo that hangs above that foolish head of yours, or call this place…home. The very place you were born into, call the people you’ve known as friends or family here now known as just acquaintances due to you betraying your them, your own kind.’’

‘’You disgust me, them, all of us.’

‘’Heaven is ashamed of you.’’

‘’As of today, you are no longer welcome here…Stanley.’’ 

‘’Now….’’

‘’Fall.’’

Those were the last and haunting words Paul was told and heard once he fell through the white clouds into the deepest depths of the darkness he feared as he screamed all the down. Flailing like a dove who didn’t know how to fly yet due to being so young but in this case his wings were being burned and clipped as he was falling.

Burning deep into his soft plush skin, blood were pouring out from the wounds that were being made each second he cried out. His frightening screams and cries filled the skies with horrifying sounds that people looked around to see the source, the earth shook as the screams intensified as the falling did, his tears flew off as he screamed. His clothes were turned into nothing but scraps, his wings were becoming black as the night yet there were red as blood spurted out more from the wounds.

Some People watched from the distance, seeing the holy light from the open skies the people always pray to. Watching the skies bare it’s light on a figure as they watch the whole thing in silence or in awe. Amazed or scared from what they are seeing in this moment in time, not moving at all due to the unknown. They all just watched as they heard the violent screams of an angel who was falling from heaven.

They Just watched.

As rain started from the skies, pelting the ground with droplets of water. Animals ran to take cover as did the humans, going into there huts or caves for which they’ve callen home all these years to them, ignoring the anguished screams that was still roaring through the skies or the ground shaking from the angel’s suffering, the feather wings that were burned off were now on the ground as kids were collecting before heading inside. 

‘’Mama, Mama! Look what i got!’’

The child said, jumping around with a feather in hand. Smiling with glee, calling for his mother to tell her what he had collected.

‘’What is it, sweetie?’’ The mother asked, smiling. Turning around, picking her child up carefully as she looked at him happily. 

‘’What have you found now, My Son?’’

She asked, Quizzically. 

Her son smiled. Giggling, his face glowing as he showed his mother what he had gotten from the outside.

‘’This!’’

‘’A feather?’’

‘’Not just any feather, an angel feather!!!’’ He exclaimed, cheerfully.

‘’An Angel feather? Where did you get that?’’

‘’It was on the ground, outside was being strange.’’

‘’Strange, how honey?’’ The mother questioned, a bit curious.

‘’Well…the ground was shaking, noises were getting um…BEW!!’’ 

‘’Loud?’’

‘’Mhm.’’ The Boy nodded, but not before saying….

‘’Loud and there was a light from a sky.’’

‘’A light? What kind of light?’’

‘’A bright one, the sky was opened.’’

‘’The sky was…opened?’’

‘’Yup!’’

The mother’s face twisted with concern, the child played with the feather. Running his little hands over the white and black parts as he stared at it with awe and admiration. Mother carried him to the window, not a care in the world in the boy’s face at as the mother looked out.

And to her shock, the water became blood as the skies closed on it’s. She leaned her ear against the window for a second, hearing….

‘’PLEASE, HELP ME!!! PLEASE!!!’’

“”MAKE IT STOP!!!’’

‘’MAKE IT STOP!!!’’

‘’MAKE IT STOP!!!

‘’KILL M-!’’

The mother took her ear away from the window, her eyes trembled as those words echoed through her head. Lips trembling, holding her son close to her as she could, She gulped…

Knowing exactly who it was.

That voice.

That voice that was always sweet and known when they’ve talked or sang, that voice when her husband had him over for some festivities, that voice that talked to her child with kindness like no other.

That voice….

Was…

Him.

‘’Mommy?’’ The child quietly said, touching her brown locks. Trying to get her attention as she stood in fear and realization as the outside roared with thunder, muffling those anguish cries and the shaking of the earth. ‘’Mommy?’’

‘’Mama?’’

He said, snapping his mom back to reality as her breath became more shaky and shuttery as the blinds that prevented light from coming into the house and concealed the the reddish droplets that pelted from the sky. She turned to him, tightening her hold on him. Rubbing her hand through his hair. Petting him softly, as she tried to keep calm.

‘’Yes, sweetheart?’’

She breathed, looking into his eyes. Those sweet eyes of his, that reminded her of her…

Husband.

‘’Are you okay, mama?’’

She stared, then look back out. 

Rain was getting more heavier, the ground became reddier each second as the lightning grew louder than life, almost hitting the ground in different sections of the village. Almost hitting a farm, the homes where the people lived and almost starting a fire.

More animals ran as they heard, making frightening noises but not as frightening as the angel did just noises you heard from animals when they seek shelter. The wind got intense as the door almost flew open but luckily they were block thanks to locks and bolts and sometimes boulders.

Boulders that were big as day, like the one beside the house.

Waves clashed against each other as it was war, the sky turned blacker and the mother turned white.

Thinking about her answer, leaning her ear against the window she heard…

“ACE!!!’’

The words echoed, pulling from the window. She turned once more to her child, looked him dead in the eyes and…

‘’Where’s your father?’’

Thunder crackled.

Ace ran as fast as he could through the forest, breathing heavily. Almost tripping on rocks, fallen branches, anything in his wake as he ran like hell. Getting coated in red from the rain, his outfit was ruined, his hair, everything except his eyes as they were trembling with fear. Hoping what he saw wasn’t real as he ran to the light that was becoming dimmer each second the sky was closing.

Ignoring the signs, the tree’s falling. Almost killing him but he prevailed as his boots were being ripped apart and filled with mud each time he stepped or slid on something that made him fall. Busting his nose, that was bleeding. 

Dripping down his face, into his mouth. Swallowing as much as he could, trying to make it. His heart raced with fire as he heaved. Heart palpitations skyrocketing as he didn’t stop to rest or breath for a sec.

His mind was cluttered with one thing and one thing only as his locks of silver flown with the wind as He….

‘’SHIT!!’’

Jumped over a cliff, as time slowed. Tree’s were struck, falling as ace right now. Holding his breath, his heart stopped, lightening roared, the waves clashed as ships were getting harder and harder to steer as Ace was bombarded with thoughts of loved ones. Memories he dearly held to his heart as….

Badum.

Badum.

Badum.

Sweat drips.

He gulps.

Eyes forward.

Mouth open.

A Word.

‘’Please, god. Let me get to him. Please.’’

‘’Let me see Paulie.’’

‘’Let me see My angel, you’ve thrown away because of….’’

‘’Me.’’ 

Badum. 

Ba-.

!!!CRASH!!!!

He makes it.

Barely, but he makes it.

Immediately running again as the skies began to clear as they were closed, the red became water again. Clear as glass, winds dying down like the wilts of a dying rose as the sun comes out from within the clouds as Ace grunts.

Legs hurting so much from running, he wants to stop but can’t due to wanting to find his angel who had fallen from heavens above and hoping he’s not dead from a mighty fall that would or not kill him. Maybe even paralyze but he digress, as blisters began to form on the soles of his feets as his boots tore from the speed he was going as it was race.

Race against what?

Time. 

How much longer will it be for him to get there and see his angel alive or dead? How long it’ll be if he keeps running like this and does not die from the lack of air in his lungs? Or his body is overproducing so much sweat he looks like he can melt away in a flash? How long can he live for what he did to make his angel fall and be no longer the heavenly being he once knew?

Those sweet doe eyes, the black locks of hair he loved stroking along with those gorgeous white wings that were soft as a pillow or bed, that body that was always a delight to look at when those intoxicating moments would arrive when their feelings grew stronger for another like their different souls. That voice of his that would bring him down to earth when things get tough or the way it would echoed throughout his head when….

The angel moaned out his name.

In ways he never imagined, anyone else would despite their differences with each other yet….

It worked and he still wanted to work, no matter what anyone else thought.

No matter what they say.

God say.

Anyone say.

Nobody has a say for what they’ve both done and will do once they’re together again if….

The angel’s still alive, that is.

‘’Paulie…please be okay.’’

Hours past, a light shone on the fallen branches in the middle of the forest as things became calmer and lighter for the ones in the village and forest but things weren’t calmer or lighter at all for one individual of them all.

The crying hasn’t stopped, the bleeding hasn’t stopped gushing out from the back of the angel who’s lying in the middle of the forest, covered in dirt and soaked with blood as the final parts of his wings were burned off.

Releasing a harrowing scream from his hoarse throat, laying there naked in pain, filth and whatever that made him look….

Like a filthy sin he was, as he heaved.

Tears stopped running, burying his face in the dirt to hide from the world or anyone that would see the very angel that fallen thus was banished by god for….

Committing a sin.

A sin he felt wasn’t a sin but…

A sin that felt more like a blessing.

A blessing that made him feel more human and more angelic but….

One that caused him to be cut out from heaven.

One he doesn’t know how to feel nor explain but one that….

He won’t make again.

As he laid there, the sun shined on him more as he shook from the cold that was coming. He looked around, he was alone yet surrounded by an abundance of once white flowers that showed off their pureness, angelic, innocence to the world now coated in his….

Filth.

The red dripping off from the flowers, onto the muddy ground. The petals falling off like the last feathers, their heavenly appearance gone just like his. His browns no longer shined brightly nor reflected his happiness, his hair no longer curled or done beautifully now it’s just a mess like a rat’s ness.

Nails that were once pristine were also coated in blood, his fingers trembling from the cold and the more blood that was gushing from his back he looked….

Like a bloody mess.

A bloody mess, that was surrounded in darkness yet the sun was the only thing keeping him company. Giving him comfort in his time of anguish and pain as whimpered and cried away the hours that went past.

Just laying there, punishing himself.

His mind.

Body.

The decisions he made by giving his body away to….

A human.

He should just rot away, he thought. But no….

Life had other plans.

Plans that would…

Start a new chapter in this life.

As the angel whimpered, the weather became normal as the animals did. All was quiet until…

‘’Paul!’’

A Yell was heard.

‘’Paul, where are you!!!’’

Again.

‘’Paulie!’’

Again.

‘’Curly!!!’’

And again, interrupting the angel’s pain and cires as the yells got louder. The angel shook from the pain, trembling as he tried to move. Sticks, bugs, sharp things under him moved with him as he crawled and screamed…

‘’Ace!!!’’

Hoping it wasn’t a hallucination, he yelled once more as tears started.

‘’ACE!!!’’

He cried, trembling as he got up. Trying not to stumble, yet fell into a muddy pile of feces but he got up and ran.

His legs weak, he ran.

‘’ACE!!!’’

Leaves crunch underneath his dirtied foot as he grabbed onto a tree almost falling once again but he prevailed.

Breathing heavily as he…

Swallowed.

‘’ACE!’’

He cried, once more as it echoed.

Crying out his lover’s name, falling and stumbling into things then falling on a fallen tree crying out the name that made him fall in the first place.

Heaving, gripping the tree as he released one more cry that rocked the whole world once more.

!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCEEEEEE-!!!’’

He screamed, coughing out blood from so much yelling and crying as he fell onto the tree as his eyes closed almost…

Going into the darkness, thinking all is lost and that this is a worse place than hell until….

‘’Paul!!!’’

‘’Paulie-!’’

‘’Paul!!!’’

His eyes opened, trembling as he saw….

Ace standing over him, dirtied and bloodied like him. Staring at him with those eyes of his with worry as Ace crumbled to the ground in horror, seeing his lover in a grotesque way made him rumble with disgust almost causing him to puke as he smelled shit and blood that was running down his body but…

He pushed back the puke, swallowing it down whole and gently touched Paul with his bare hands ignoring the blood, the smell that was getting worse each second he was near and…

Embrace him in his arms.

Stroking his head gently, as he too started to cry.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, as he held him close to him.

His fingers stroking through the tangled curls of his beloved, holding him close as the sun lightens them up.

The only thing protecting them from the darkness around them, the reality of what’s happening and how it happened made their minds run crazy, hearts beating frantically as it was thunder crackling, emotions running high as Ace tried to soothe himself and paul.

Running his hand down his bloodied back, feeling the wounds bleeding out.

Touching it lightly as he could, sent pain throughout Paul's body.

Paul whimpered, Ace pulled his hand away.

Comforting Paul with his words.

‘’I’m here, paul. You’re okay, your okay….’’

He repeated over and over, not knowing if Paul would be ok as he looked at his trembling hand.

Finger’s shaking, lower lip wobbling as he repeated those very words once again as he saw….

Bit’s of feathers on his hand.

Paul’s feathers.

That were once white now…

Black as the night.

He gulped, fighting back the puke again and the tears that were threatening to fall as he picked up Paul and walked away with him in his arms as the light still shined on them both leaving a trail of blood and….

Feathers. 

Marking the sight of the fallen angel who had fallen for a human like….

Ace.

‘’Mama! Look at papa's home! He’s carrying someone!!!’’

The child exclaimed, the mother running to the window. She looked, gasping loudly from what she’s seeing as she heard the loud gasps of the people coming out from their homes as the father walked through the village carrying someone.

Covered in blood and dirt.

That was dripping from them both as they walked.

‘’Sweetie, go to your room.’’ 

She uttered, eyes trembling.

‘’Why Mama?’’

‘’Sweetie…please go to your room, mama has to help papa…ok?’’

Her voice shocked, turning to her child. Seeing the eyes of innocence in them as she bent down and looked at him at all motherly, putting her hand gently on his shoulder as she said…

‘’Go to your room, and i’ll help you with your collection.’’

‘’You will?’’

‘’Yes, i will.’’

‘’Mmmhh…you promise?’’

Holding up his pinky finger to his mother’s face.

‘’Pinky promise?’’

The mother smiled, holding up her pinky thus connecting with her child.

Signifying her promise to him.

‘’Pinky promise, my son.’’

‘’Pinky promise.’’

The child went off to his room, as the mother watched on.

As her expression twisted, her thoughts plagued her as she stood.

Heart racing as…

The door opened, creaking loudly as it could.

Turning around slowly, she heard.

‘’Jeanette, it happened.’’

‘’What happened?’’ She uttered, eyes shaking as she looked down at the figure in Ace’s hold breathing slowly.

As she looked in horror and awe.

In horror from bloodied he looked yet still was radiant like the angel he was but he was no angel anymore.

He was…

‘’He fell.’’

A Fallen Angel. 

‘’Is he going to be okay?’’ she asked, looking him over as ace walked.

Placing him on the couch, covering him with his jacket.

Concealing Paul’s naked body, putting a pillow under his head.

Watching over him.

Tending to him.

Fingers stroking through his locks of hair.

Looking at him with a look that only a lover would know as…

‘’Ace.’’

‘’Mhm?’’

‘’Is he going to be okay?’’

Jeanette asked worryingly, bending down. Looking over at Paul as she reached for a towel nearby, wiping Paul’s face gently.

The silence grew between them, as the towel became coated more with the red and brown.

Tainting it, Like Ace tainted…

His lover.

Taking him away from the very home he called heaven.

Taking him away from his friends. 

Family.

Taken him away from everything he loved dearly and knew all because they….

Gotten close.

Became more than friends.

Became more than something.

Then just a thing, as they…

Made love.

Love that…

Gotten Paul to be banished all because of him.

Ace.

‘’Is he going to be okay?’’

Jeanette asked, again.

Snapping Ace out of his thoughts, he turned to Paul.

Then the outside.

Then his wife.

Then, finally Paul.

He took a deep breath, bending down.

Close enough to Paul, as he heard the shaky breath coming out from him as he said.

‘’I Don’t know.’’

Was in the mood to write, for angst and spacechild so here's some angst ;D.

i'm not going to apologize for what i've done in this, so catch me outside~ (i'm sorry.)

@starry-eyed-never-satisfied

@elrohare

@ohblackdiamond

@sluttery-withoutshame

@angelbambisworld

@krisspng

@insanityisdivine

@genesstankycodpiece

@speckster

@ladyshandioftheendless

and anyone else who'll read this~

So, tootalooo~

Love, Butters ♡

[imfinereallyy]

“Steve, it’s an emergency. I need to kiss you. Actually, I need you to kiss me. But I can’t just do it without asking because what if you don’t want me to, and I practically attack you? So yes or no? I swear it’s for a good cause.” Eddie comes running up to Steve in the bar, panting so hard Steve can see the chest movements.

They have taken Robin to a bar out in Indy to get her laid finally. Or at least a tongue in her mouth. The girl is pent up. And it’s Steve’s job as best friend to make that happen (Robin has told him to stop saying that, ‘it is gross’). Eddie is the only other queer person they know and, luckily, has made quite a few trips to Indy to know which bars were the good ones. He tells Steve that, like Robin, he is desperate to get laid, so this is the perfect opportunity.

Steve does his best to try and ignore the burning jealousy he feels at that. Eddie doesn’t know about his feelings (hell about his sexuality), and Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn’t see him that way.

“Huh?” Asks confused, his brain struggling to process.

“Okay, I see you’re stuck on how to answer, but Steve—“ Eddie grips Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tries not to swoon. “—my ex, the extra shitty one, is here, and if he sees me alone I’ll either a) go home with him tonight and—“

Steve cuts Eddie off with a searing kiss. The thought of Eddie going home with someone else was enough for Steve’s brain to catch up to speed. Steve presses Eddie against the bar. The loud bass of the music suddenly becomes a light thrum in the background. All that he feels is the delightful pressure of their lips together. Eddie’s hands slide up into Steve’s hair as he gets pressed harder into the bar. Steve’s hands' grip Eddie’s waist and give them a tight squeeze. The idea of bruises being left behind, a mark of what they are doing here, makes Steve deepen the kiss. His tongue used to massage Eddie’s, tasting the menthol and rum on his breath. Eddie moans loud and heavy, vibrating Steve’s entire body.

“Eddie?” A voice interrupts them. Steve feels his anger spark back slightly but wills it down because the interruption is probably needed. They are very close to getting kicked out for public indecency.

“Oh hey, Ryan.” Eddie looks the blonde man up and down. He’s cute, Steve notes, but he lacked personality in his appearance. He isn’t what Steve expects from an ex of Eddie’s. He isn’t naive enough to think Eddie dates exclusively metal heads, but he expects someone to match Eddie’s energy. This guy—Ryan apparently—looks like every other guy you’d find on a Sunday in Supermart. Boring and lacking imagination.

“Who’s this?” Ryan looks at Steve pissed.

“Steve?” Eddie wraps an arm around his waist, bringing Steve close up against him. “This is my boyfriend.”

“This dude’s your boyfriend?” Ryan snorts. “C'mon baby, I know you can do better.”

Steve feels his anger finally pop. “He is not your baby. Yea, he can do better than both of us combine, but I’m lucky enough to get him. Now, you interrupted our time together, and we both know you saw what we’re up to, so don’t act like it wasn’t on purpose.”

Ryan startles backwards, “I—“

“Sorry, maybe I wasn’t clear. I meant leave the fuck right now.” Steve grits out, some of his Upside Down protection mode popping out. Ryan scatters quickly.

“Jesus, Steve, that was amazing. I’m sorry I had to make you uncomfortable with that.” Eddie’s eyes find his and cuts Steve off before he can protest and explain no, he really did like that “—and you never even let me explain reason b, by the way! Reason b is b) he would probably humiliate me in the middle of the club.”

Steve nods at Eddie but has one track mind at this point. He grabs Eddie by the face this time before crashing their lips together once again. This time Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth as they both get lost in the kiss.

Steve pulls back ever so slightly and talks directly into Eddie’s mouth, “Sorry. I think he’s still staring. Needed to do more.”

Eddie, with swollen lips and a kissed-out face, looks around the bar to find nothing. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

Steve smirks and pulls Eddie by his belt loops so they are flushed together. Steve leans into Eddie’s ear and nibbles at his lobe. “Hmmm, you’re right. I think he’s actually in the bathroom. Maybe we should kiss in front of him there.” Steve whispers hotly.

Eddie’s brain, which has short-circuited much like Steve only minutes ago, finally catches up. Eddie groans, his face collapsing into Steve’s neck. He licks a stripe up Steve’s neck all the way to his mouth. “Fuck. Yea, baby, I think I saw him too. Think kissing, though, won’t be enough. We might need to up our game.”

Steve nips at Eddie’s lips, “I was hoping you would say that. Guess I just know how much you love your games, Eds.”

They meet each other for one last searing kiss before rushing to the bathrooms to share a very tight, very heated stall.

[violettduchess]

A/N: Because he didn't have one yet 💜

WC: ~600

He tastes like coffee and wonder, like fudge and fervor.

The minutes leading up to this moment, this embrace in the depth of night, began with you coming back through the mansion door just as the clock struck the midnight hour, one hand pushing back the rich hood of your cloak, revealing cheeks flushed from the cold and eyes bright as sunlight winking off a morning’s frost. Your smile was wide and warm and open as you stepped into the parlor, searching for him. Arthur took one look at you, threw down his hand of cards and with a light smile and breezy valediction, took your hand and took his leave, pulling you along with him, away from the knowing glances of the others.

Up the wide staircase you go, down the carpeted hallway with its arched windows letting in pale slants of moonlight. Your room is much too far away and his may as well be on the moon. 

He needs you now.

And so he pulls you into a shadowy alcove, pulls you against his lean body. You’re laughing softly, breathless, murmuring something about still wearing your cloak and boots and- 

“As if that matters, luv.” 

And then his lips are on yours and you realize, no, no it doesn’t matter at all. Although eager, his kiss begins soft, one hand sliding up, across the plane of your cheek, thumb stroking smooth skin. His lips leave yours to roam the line of your jaw, to prowl the sensitive place below your ear. You tilt your head back and allow him access to the slope of your neck, expecting him to sink his sharp fangs in immediately, unable to resist the feeling of lawless pleasure.

He does not.

Instead, kiss after kiss decorates your skin, as if you are a blank page and he is the writer, jotting formless words of desire and devotion, of tenderness and aching affection along your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder.

No one before you has ever mattered. You are the beginning of his greatest story.

His name is a sigh whispered into the shadows, your fingers catching his chin and lifting his head back up so you can kiss his mouth, the romance of the moment draped around you like silken cords. His hands slide under your cloak, untuck your blouse from your skirt and slide underneath, palms pressing against the bare skin of your back. Up they slide, along your spine, then back down the lines of your torso. You are softer than vellum, his fingertips curling and tracing a filigree along your waist. They feel feather-light, like ink trails across your skin.

“I need you,” he breathes against your lips, sincere and honest, his heart a fragile thing you hold in your hands. And you smile, clutching the nape of his neck. “I need you too.”

He lifts you into his arms, kissing you once more, this time harder, a kiss edged with the promise of what is to come. You curl against him, soft and boneless as his long legs carry you down the hall, towards your room. You close your eyes, nuzzling into his neck, dropping kisses like tiny sparks against his skin. 

His heart thunders in his chest at your touch and he knows, with every fiber of his being, that you love him, as he is. You, who pulled his gaze away from the regrets of his past and helped him close the chapters on the trauma that had haunted him for far too long. Your love cradles him and keeps him safe, a cover to his fragile pages and a promise for all that is still unwritten.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @ozalysss @kiki-tties

[darsynia]

I'm gonna let you pick the Marvel man (just not anyone you've done xReader for, lol - you gotta pick someone out of your comfort zone) and do xReader for: 80. crashing your lips together during an argument

I definitely wrote out of my comfort zone here! Peter Quill/f!Reader

Summary: Ever since Peter Quill and his crew rescued you from your dying ship, the man has been an absolute menace. You wish you could get the upper hand, but somehow he's always one step ahead of you, and ogling you the whole time.

Warnings | Length: Swearing/GotG typical banter | 1,574

Bet Your Ass

“What is your problem, Quill? By the Gods!”

The guy’s been chapping your ass since you were rescued, and you’re completely over it. Sure, he’s got arms, and that face, and those thighs, but by Lumesta, you’re going to need him to shut his mouth pretty soon or you don’t know what you’ll do! It’s been three days, and every time he’s laid eyes on you, he’s made a comment about how he would have rather rescued one of your crewmates.

Your ship had sustained the most unlucky micrometeorite damage ever, and you know you’re lucky to be alive. Two ships showed up to your captain’s distress call, and your three-man crew split up, as the medical ship the other two ended up on was almost at capacity as it was.

To hear Quill bitch about it, he’s brought on a completely useless slave girl, not a mechanic who’s already upped the efficiency of his weird little ship by 4%. It’s all ‘what use does a medical ship have with two renowned fighters’ and ‘we always get stuck with the girls.’ The blue-skinned cyborg woman whose name you struggle with had actually punched him after that one.

Drax has been leaning up against the wall, and after you turn away from snapping at Peter, he nods at you. “He likes your boobs.”

“Oh, here we go!” Quill groans, throwing a food wrapper toward the garbage can. It comes nowhere close.

“I am Groot.”

“I’m getting it, I’m getting it!”

“I am Groot.”

You don’t understand what Groot says, but everyone else does. It’s a disadvantage, but an amusing one, usually. This time, it’s clear the two statements are about very different things-- Quill has straightened in the process of picking up the garbage (which is a shame, because those pants of his hug that ass), so he can look askance at the teenaged tree.

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” he snaps back. “I mean, if we’re going to nitpick, the neckline of her shirt is a little low, but just because it’s eye-catching doesn’t mean--”

You cannot believe this. “Wait, so we went from Drax saying you like my boobs to you objecting to them?”

“Hey! I do not objectify. I’m very respectful!”

“You’re looking at her boobs right now,” Rocket says sardonically from the doorway.

“Weren’t you checking Cleavage Girl’s work? Scram, I’m trying to have an argument here,” Peter says loudly. He actually makes a ‘shoo’ gesture.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling you Tight-ass from now on,” you say, crossing your arms over your breasts. You know from experience (as in, pretty much every time you do it) that Quill won’t be able to pull his eyes away.

You’ve made a calculated error, though. Up until now, you’ve left your appreciation of his physique to yourself, and now the man is laser focused on this discrepancy.

“I knew you were staring at me!” Quill crows, strutting over. “That’s why you’re all sulky sexy, you secretly want me, and it’s killing you!”

“I am GROOT.”

Drax points at Peter with the piece of fried food he’s eating. “He’s right. You’re accusing her of what you are doing.”

“Cleavage Girl is new, why are you all on her side??”

Groot shrugs. “I am groot.”

“Woah, speak for yourself!” Rocket yells, making a grossed-out face.

“He’s not wrong. I would enjoy watching them,” Drax smiles.

“Well, now I’m just horrified,” you say, shoving away images in your mind of what the others might be picturing between the two of you. You spin on your heel and start toward the door, but your forward progress is halted suddenly, like you’ve caught your jacket on something. You yank angrily, but though you get free of whatever it was, you only have a few seconds before you’re pinned boobs-first against the wall of the room, with the familiar bulk of Peter fucking Quill pressed up against you.

“Okay, I take it back. You definitely have muscles,” he says, lips close to your ear.

“Get off,” you say, but your heart rate is up, your skin tingling with the pheromone your people give off when you’re attracted to a potential mate.

“Oh, I’d love to. I didn’t think you were into me,” he says infuriatingly. You hadn’t realized the double meaning of what you’d just said, and you rest your forehead on the bulkhead in frustration.

“I’m not,” you lie, shoving back with your hips. You’ve got enough leverage on the wall that he flies back a ways, so you spin around, dropping to a fighting stance.

“Hey, hey, I’m just responding to the signals you’re giving off,” Peter says, but you can see something in his eye; respect, perhaps? Something has shifted since your display of physical dominance. He’s looking you in the eyes, not the boobs.

“You couldn’t handle me anyway,” you snap back without thinking. Instantly, Quill’s face suffuses with an interested grin, and his eyebrows go up lasciviously.

There’s a loud crinkling noise only feet away, as Drax dumps out the rest of his snack into his open mouth. “Go on, I’m not even here,” he says.

“I am Groot!”

“I do not need tips from you on how to get her to want to kiss me!” Peter shouts, clearly affronted.

“Oh, I’ll kiss you,” you say impulsively. “But you have to promise to always look at my face, not any other part of my body.” You cock your hip and arch your back in an overt challenge.

“What if I’m behind you?” he asks, crossing his own arms. The muscles on his exposed arms look so good you wouldn’t mind trying your teeth on them, for multiple reasons.

“If that happens, you have to turn around,” Rocket says. You’d thought he’d left the room, and so did Peter, because both of you look around until you see that he’s sitting faced away in the captain’s chair, which hides his whole body from behind.

“I am Groot.”

Everyone just looks at Groot, and Peter’s eyes go wide.

Their reactions freak you out. “What?”

He shakes his head.

“What?” you press, walking forward. Quill isn’t answering so you decide to remind him that you do, indeed, have strength he respects, even if it’s not your strength of character. You grab the front of his shirt, but his response is to fist pump.

“He said you want me and you’d prove it by coming over to drag me to my quarters… and--” Quill looks down at his own chest and smirks.

You let go right away and groan. “This ship is infuriating! I give up, I wish I went on the med ship, okay? You win!”

To your complete confusion, everyone, even the cyborg lady who was apparently eavesdropping from the hallway, walks in and shoves handfuls of credits at Quill, who looks incredibly smug.

“What the hell--” you start.

Groot walks over and pats your arm. “I am Groot.” Everyone else in the room starts leaving, and you’re still furious and confused.

“Quill--”

“I bet them I could get you to say you wished you were somewhere else,” he shrugged. “Easiest bet ever. All I had to do was stare at your body and be myself.”

All things considered, the man could have chosen far more miserable ways to win his bet, but you’re still het up and irritated. “Technically I won that bet for you. You should split it with me.”

“No can do, Cleavage Girl.” He folds his hands behind his back, bulging his arm muscles at you. 

You step forward to shove him onto his ass, but his arms come down lightning fast, one leg planted behind him to brace himself: he’d known you would do that, and now his lips are on yours, one hand cupping your cheek like you are lovers instead of two people who can barely stand to be in the same room together.

The thrill of contact takes you by surprise. It’s like adrenaline has chemically altered into pleasure with the addition of your anger, and suddenly you can’t get enough. The two of you wrestle across the room to the nearest wall, hands grasping at clothing, lips sucking, teeth biting, tongues swiping as if unable to trust the evidence of your attraction for longer than a few seconds.

Minutes later, he’s tracing the line of your shirt along the edge of your breasts when you finally catch your breath, and you realize what you have to do to best him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, your kiss privileges are hereby revoked.”

“What? No!” Peter groans, lifting his head. His lips are red, pupils blown, out of breath, a complete gorgeous wreck of a man.

“What did I say the conditions were?” you say implacably.

He thinks. Peter’s lips twitch to one side, then the other, and then his eyes pop open and he looks horrified. “You don’t mean that. I was kissing you there, that doesn’t--”

“It counts!” you say sadly. “You weren’t looking at my face.”

You have no idea how he’ll react to your bluff (it’s totally a bluff. That kiss was amazing. You have no idea what boring shit you’d have been subjected to on that medical ship, but you definitely won Best Rescue), but what you don’t expect is for him to narrow his eyes and smile.

“This calls for a new wager.”

“You bet your ass it does.”

[fanaticsnail]

Siuil a Ruin

Series list here (two prior parts), Main Masterlist here.

Word Count: 4,376

Hello everyone! This is the finale for the short 3-part series I wrote for our lovely pink-haired cadet, Koby. I began it just as I loaded the poll up, feeling a particular way about completing the little series to get into the swing of it! I had a feeling I could pump out two before the year drew itself to a close. Next up: Mihawk x Warlord!Reader.

Song Accompaniment: Siuil a Run - Ella Roberts

Warnings: Drinking, kissing, flirting, singing, fluffy

The pink-haired cadet panted slightly at your ministrations before seeking your lips out once more with his own. While unbreaking this new and passionate entanglement of lips, he swiped your arms from atop his silken hair and brought his right hand up to cradle your face. Walking with the kiss forward, he spun you and shoved you gracefully against the pub wall. You gasped in surprise at this sudden display of dominance as he continued to press rough and desperate kiss after kiss against your lips, jaw and scatter them down to litter your neck with a flurry of passionate caresses.

Fluttering open your eyes in shock, a gentle gasp of surprise fell from your parted lips. Eyes glazed over, you enjoyed the feel of his body flush against yours in this sudden display of passion. You remained blissfully unaware of your surroundings, only being brought back as the doors of the pub flew open to reveal a small bustling group of regulars exiting from the door; drunkenly repeating the verse of the final song you sang as they stepped lightly down the steps.

As soon as the interruption occurred within the whisper of your memory, you were in turn brought back to reality with the call of your name from the joyful face of Hamish, the resident father of the ‘Merry Mellifluous Quint’.

“C’mon lass, keep up,” Hamish hushed a small reprimand at you, unbreaking in his strumming of the bouzouki to keep the accompaniment of the two vocalists currently joining in perfect melody and harmony. Saoirse, Isla, and Lauchlan continued to joyfully join their voices to the rhythm of the tune while dancing in synchrony atop the wooden banister of the stage you had travelled to.

Throughout the months, your band had grown in popularity exponentially. Flyers, pamphlets, posters, collectables, and many den-den-mushi calls had managed to spread the word of your five-piece band like wildfire flames through a feathered pillow factory. You were commissioned by sailors, shipmen, marines and even pirates to perform to the best of your ability; said ability being showcased with the production of even more flyers, pamphlets and den-den-mushi calls.

No matter how many performances you executed, nor the merging flurry of faces within the well-dressed and attuned sea-travelling men; at the small shine of a brass button atop the whitened breast of a marine’s jacket; your mind fled to the kiss you shared with the pink-haired cadet. It seemed no matter how many months passed from your embrace against the pub wall, you continued to feel the ghost of his kiss against your parted lips whether you were sleeping or waking. You had not entertained the idea of another man or woman approach you for courtship; your heart truly singing for the cotton-candy haired, circular spectacle-wearing cadet.

Shaking your head slightly from your illusionary kiss, you drew a smile to plaster itself joyfully against your lips and flung yourself into action. You joined with the tune, your voice dancing amongst the other wielders of vocal mastery. The belled anklet attached to your left foot jingled melodically along to the step of your feet, dancing in of itself along with your movements. You joined your gaze with Hamish, offering him a partial apology with the quirk of your bottom lip to cringe your teeth to the righthand side of your face. He shook his head at you, offering a small huffed laugh as he kept up his bouzouki playing.

As the crescendo of the melody drew itself to a close, the five of you took your bow. An uproar of applause rose to sing their praises to you all, vocal hollers and loud finger-whistles joined the clatter of joy amongst the clapping of hands. The amassment of marines at this base were particularly fond of your performance, many calling for another encore to draw your entertainment to a complete close. As you had already run out of songs to produce, and your exhaustion began settling in after performing several extended encores now, Hamish turned to you from his position standing beside you.

“I can barely feel my fingertips,” he grunted out a laugh, “they’re numb from the strum.” Giggling at his poetic comment, you placed a comforting arm against the widower’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I think it might be time to call it,” you whispered, nodding in confirming your own exhaustion. Turning to the other three members of the band, you all shared a look to indicate you were all completely done with your performance. As you raked your eyes once more over the crowd and Hamish sucked in a breath to call to the crowd; your own breath caught within your throat as your irises met with the broad, crinkled smile of a familiar pale-haired Vice-Admiral of the marines. His crow’s feet were prominently displayed atop the apples of his cheeks, his teeth all borne to the light with his lips enthusiastically singing praises of his own.

You immediately placed a firm hand atop Hamish’s chest to halt his final call, unbreaking your eyes from Vice-Admiral Garp’s location as you did so.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Hamish’s eyes widened at your expression. Following your gaze, his lips parted and a light sigh exited his mouth at trailing your train of thought. He drew his strumming hand over to collect your wrist, and squeezed your hand in comfort. Chuckling, he uttered; “I could do one more slow one for you, lass.”

He stepped back behind you, nodding to Lauchlan and tapping his right foot in a slow beat; he plucked the strings of his bouzouki and winced through the numbing sensation it brought to his fingertips. Lauchlan beat his bodhran gently, nudging his twin sister Isla to draw out her hurdy-gurdy and lead the introduction of a new song you had worked hard on crafting. Upon the draw of the first tone of the mechanical strings, Saoirse drew out her tin-whistle and followed the melody line of the tune.

Smiling, you flung your crafted words of longing into the audience; in turn silencing their praises with your whispery voice. As your melody increased together, so did your heart sing its longing for the marine you had held months prior. You chose to close your eyes, focussing on the words you desired to relay onto the crowd with your haunting melody.

Your voice echoed in the silence, painting the air and atmosphere with your melodious intensity. Both Isla and Saoirse joined your melody within the swell of the lyrical chorus, the men choosing to remain silent with their voices to not break your enchanting call with their baritone vocals. Although you were not certain the prick of the ears the melody was intended for were present, you knew without a doubt his mentor was.

Reopening your eyes, you met your gaze with the crowd before you. All marines were held bewitched by your romantic ululation with their eyes firmly fixed on your own. To not break them from your enchantment, you chose not to scour the crowd with your hopeful eyes in search for the young cadet.

As the swell of your voice drew itself to a close, two blue eyes remained unblinking and wide beneath a headband and circular spectacles. At the sharp prod of an elbow jabbed against his ribs, Koby immediately snapping out of his daze to glare up at the towering figure of Helmeppo beside him.

“I told you, didn’t I Koby?” he taunted him with a slight tone of mocking. Koby scowled at the words of his peer, turning back to watch the performance of the Merry Mellifluous Quint.

“Perhaps you could finally add this little melody to your repertoire,” Helmeppo stooped lower to tower over Koby’s smaller stature, “while you’re doing sword drills with Bogard, you could even romance him with the serenade.”

In the months of distance falling between the two of you, Koby’s heart only ever swelled at mentions of you or your travelling group of minstrels. At each town Garp’s vessel was drew closed against to make port, he would halt his movements at a glimpse of the troop of minstrels’ faces lying plastered amongst the various wanted posters littering the many walls. He had even managed to get his fingers on a few records crafted of the Merry Mellifluous Quint, his favourites of the bundle were always where he could hear your voice featured more prominently.

His gaze was completely transfixed by your melodical lilting, his heart was almost screaming with its beaten rapidity for your eyes to meet against his. Wide, hopeful, anxious, and frantic; he continued to press his eyes firmly against your form.

You were just as beautiful as the day he first saw you, albeit your hair had gotten a little longer and your stage clothes were of finer make. His gaze fell to his uniform; looking to the variety of medals he had acquired in his training under the instruction of Garp and Bogard. A small air of anxiety washed over his chest, his heart rampaging against his ribcage at how much he had truly sprouted in his time absence from you. Would you still recognise him as the lowly cadet you shared a kiss with? Now with his rise in rank, would you offer him a similar fondness for him? Would such fondness for him be as strong as his was for you? Had you-… Had you moved on? Would you love him? These were the thoughts violently flinging them in waves against the cranium of the pink-haired marine.

“Shows over, Koby,” Helmeppo broke him from his circling thoughts with a firm grasp of his right shoulder, “Garp said he’s shouting us the first round at the tavern.” Koby snapped his gaze towards his peer, face completely serious and brows stooping lowly against his forehead. Helmeppo sighed, shaking his head at Koby’s apprehensive withdrawal.

“Fine,” Helmeppo rolled his eyes, Koby was sure, from their position below his eyewear, “If I can guarantee your little minstrel will be there, are you coming?” At that final jab, Koby immediately flung himself to the gravel road leading to the tavern Garp suggested taking a tankard or two at. Helmeppo laughed heartily at his action, a wide smile spreading across his lips as he trailed after him with equal enthusiasm.

Although the uproar of laughter was surrounding you, joyful glee fleeing from the lips of your four companions in response to an utterance of a marine close by, your eyes remained fixed on the swirling amber liquid sloshing at the bottom of your tankard as you clasped it within your fingertips. At the utterance of your name from Lauchlan, you rose your eyes to pierce them against his two green orbs.

“Stop behaving like such a sour-sop! Your voice tonight was amazing,” he commented cheerfully. Nods and ‘here-here’s were uttered from the surrounding crowd around the troop. You allowed a small smile to pull at your cheeks in response.

“Thank you, Lauchlan,” you nodded at him, tucking your hair behind your ears as you shoved the cascading strands behind your back to rid its presence in front of your face. Sitting next to you with another very vocal sigh of comfort and plopping several freshly poured tankards on the table, Isla nudged your shoulder and presented one of the metallic canisters in front of you. Seeing the playful glint in her eye, you drew your gaze to the widow in front of you who was currently engaged in a conversation with a marine officer at his side.

“I-…,” both you and Isla drew out an elongated emphasis of a common vocal melody, prompting Lauchlan and Saoirse to join in on the enunciated “I.” Hamish’s eyes widened, looking immediately to the four of his young proteges, immediately clutching one of the metal canisters.

“Don’t, you lot! I’m not ready!” He reprimanded you, smiling at you as he laced his fingers within the handle and drew the tankard up to his lips. Sharing one final look as you drew the “I” to a close, you began your melodical taunt.

“I like to drink with Hamish, ‘cos Hamish is our friend,” you could barely contain your giggle as Hamish began to touch his bottom lip to the brimming foam atop his tankard with haste, “I like to drink with Hamish, ‘cos Hamish drinks in ten, nine, eight-,” the four of you were laughing as you watched him struggle to gather heaped gulps of the amber liquid into his mouth, “-seven, six, five, four,” Hamish continued to struggle against the haste of the songs conclusion, “three, TWO, ONE!”

Hamish struggled to claim the bottom dregs of his tankard in time, coughing and sputtering in his haste to drain the liquid. You all laughed full heartedly at his struggle, drowning the final dregs of your first tankard with a smile plastered against your lips.

“Oh laugh it up, lass,” He nudged you while cleaning up the spluttered liquid pooling at his chin, “I’d like to see you do any better!”

“I’ll take you up on that challenge, Hamish!” you laughed, claiming the handle of one of the tankards and drew it up with a mischievous glint in your eyes. The familiar chorus of the “I-…” drew itself from not only your troop, but the surrounding marines littering the perimeter of the circular table around you.

“I like to drink with,” your name was scattered amongst those among you who knew it personally, the others just hummed out terms of endearment in their haste to watch you drink, “‘coz you are our friend. I like to drink with,” again, your name escaped the unfamiliar marines’ memory, but was mentioned by your troop of musicians, “because they drink in ten, nine, eight, seven-,” you tried as you might to not laugh at the amount of attention this action was drawing to you.

The door to the tavern opened, two young marines stepping into the tavern to witness you drowning yourself gleefully in ale.

Hollowing your throat, you managed to completely drain your tankard and place it upside down against the wooden, circular table before the crowd could even think the word “three – Are you joking? Who taught you that?” Hamish’s voice boomed over the rest of the gathering.

“You did, you old goat,” you laughed at him after you caught your breath. The table roared in joyful laughter at your comment, leaving Hamish scratching his chin thoughtfully with a nod of his head; uttering, “Aye, that I did lass.”

Cheers called at you, the firm hand of Saoirse clapping to your shoulder in respect to your drinking ability, prompting you to wave them off with a gesture of your hands. You wiggled against your position atop the barstool, swinging your legs over to the side to make your exit from the table.  “Where are you going, love?” Lauchlan asked you, his brows furrowing in thought. You shot him a winning smile while continuing to exit the barstool.

“I’m going to celebrate my victory by getting another round, did you want one?” you laughed. Nodding enthusiastically, he drew his tankard to his lips; prompting his fiancé to begin a chorus of “I-…,” making him hastily consume the beverage with eagerness.

Too fixed on watching the interaction of Lauchlan and Saoirse amongst the marines and your other two band members, you stumbled your footing against drawing them to the floor from the high stool. You shot your hands out to clasp the closest thing to steady yourself against.

Although no halt in music, chatter and gleeful enthusiastic drinking had paused in any way; the world around you silenced as you were spun to a low stoop within the arms of an almost overeager marine. The world moved slower, your hair became untucked from behind your ear to dance over your shoulder from your dipped position within the firm grasp of-.

“-Koby?” your voice squeaked from your almost dance-like cradled position against the torso of a freshly medalled marine. You instinctively raised your hand up to find the smoothed cheek of the pink-haired cadet-. Your mind halted, your train of thought stopping within itself.

His eyes were wide, raising you slowly and steadying you on your feet. His expression was unreadable, his eyes widened slightly at your immediate presence drawn against him for the first time in months. Your lips were parted, cheeks flushed in embarrassment at your stumble. Caressing his cheek, your enthusiastic smile halted its rise against your cheeks. Immediately your mind raced with a thousand miniature and colliding thoughts.

He didn’t think of you. He’d moved on. He’s so beautiful. He’s not interested in you. His lips are so inviting. His eyes are as deep as the seas you’d travelled in your time apart. He’d never sought out communication. He hated you-.

“You’re here,” he whispered, circling your waist with his other hand and pulling you flush against his torso, “you’re actually here.”

“Is it really true?” you smiled again, joining his other cheek beneath your vacant palm and firmly moving his face beneath it to test his tangibility, “I thought I’d never see you again- mmmf!”

Your thoughts were silenced by the firmly pressed lips of the marine you had longed for. Months of pent up emotion, passion and anxiety falling from each other in enthusiastic waves as your lips collided against each other. All gasps from your parted lips, almost whimpers fleeing from his lips amongst his relieved groans; as your hands began to travel and roam each other’s forms.

“I thought about you-,” he gasped against your lips, trailing his eager mouth down your jaw to whisper in your ear, “-every single day.” You felt a cry of joy escape your lips, the bittersweet reunification of you and your marine drawing so many emotions from your form.

“You have never once fled from my mind,” he continued, showering your cheek and neck in a flurry of kisses, “not once, my love.”

“Nor you mine,” you sighed, your eyes falling half-lidded as you drew your arms up to circle behind his neck, “I was always seeking you out amongst the crowd. I- oomhf!” you squeaked as he hoisted you upwards, drawing his kiss-stricken lips against yours; both mouths swollen from the amount of pressure you pressed against one another.

“My love, I-,” Koby’s words halted in his mouth as the dawn of your reality cascaded back towards you. Wolf-whistles, cheers and rhythmic thumping of firm hands were joyfully egging you both on to continue your embrace. Immediately, a warmth spread against both of your faces; eyes widened and frantic at your own unbridled action. Upon placing you back onto the ground, Koby’s eyes immediately drew themselves against his co-apprentice’s naked gaze. His visor-like glasses had fallen to the floor, alongside his jaw lying perpendicular to the linoleum beneath his feet.

“S-So,” Helmeppo stuttered, addressing his peer, “you weren’t exaggerating when you said she liked you.”

“Good for you, lass!” Hamish’s voice boomed again from the table, prompting you to bashfully hang your head with a warm smile drawing itself against your cheeks. As if you both had the same train of thought: beginning at your pinkie fingers hooking together, you both laced the entire set of your hands against each other while keeping your eyes fixed on the ground.

From the corner of the room, Bogard leant over to utter into Vice-Admiral Garp’s ear in a low tone, “There was no accident at choosing this port, was there sir?” Garp drew his tankard to his lips, a smile twinkling at his crows-feet to playfully ignite his lips as he consumed the beverage.

“No, it was certainly no accident,” Garp uttered in a similar cadence after removing the tankard from his lips, “Hopefully this spurs him to train harder.”

“And in a similar hope,” Bogard smirked, “perhaps he’ll get a line of communication going to contact them from time to time. Get more melodies for him to haunt Helmeppo with.”

“Agreed,” Garp confirmed with a similar smirk.

Koby rose your laced hand up to his lips, a small and apprehensive caress of them joining tenderly against your knuckles, you tilted your chin slightly to gaze coyly from your eyes.

“Can I get you a drink?” he whispered quietly, “From memory, I think it’s my round next. Also, I have something for you.” Your brows knitted in curiosity, turning your body completely to face him.

“What did you-,” your words were halted once again at the presentation of his cadet’s hat from its place within his satchel.

“You can wear it when you perform, if you like. I-I-,” his words were halted again as a rosy blush again rose to his cheeks, “-I saved it for you.” You gasped, a cheerful smile rising once more to litter your lips with naught but sunshine. Koby immediately melted, his sigh escaping as you bobbed your head down lowly for him to place the object against your crown. He slowly placed the hat atop your head, never breaking his laced fingers from their place within your own.

“I’ll treasure it always, my love,” you sighed, raising from your stoop and placing your hand once more against his cheek, “And in turn, the song I last performed was crafted for you. All of my soul was within that piece, my heart laid out within its words. I don’t know if you managed to catch the performance.”

Koby took a moment to silence his rapidly beating heart, taking his bottom lip within his teeth to stifle his nerves. After breathing slowly, he raised his voice slowly to sing your own words back to you. Your heart soared high as his melody carried him, the rhythmic pattern beating painfully hard within your chest.

He was singing your soul back to you, his untrained vocals carrying a hesitancy as he sang. It moved you, body and soul; emotion pouring from your face as your lips parted in a daze. As he completed a small portion of the song, his face flushed again at watching your expression.

“I’m sorry. I’m not very good, but I mmmfh-!” you couldn’t allow him to finish his words, drawing him in for another passionate kiss. You furrowed your brows, claiming his entire body against your own by tugging at the collar of his marine jacket. His eyes were wide, darting between focus on your closed eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of your joy, smiling himself into the kiss as his eyes once again fell shut.

You were his, and he was yours once again; calls and cheers echoing within the tavern at your romantic expression before their attention was once again drawn to the table the Merry Mellifluous Quint members. A familiar echoing voice of Lauchlan began a drawn out tone of: “I-…,” encouraging the marines and his musical partners to draw in their own vocals. Hamish’s eyes widened as he witnessed all those surrounding him fixed on his face.

“Wait, not again!” He cried out in panic.

“I like to drink with Hamish, ‘cos Hamish is our friend. I like to drink with Hamish, ‘cos Hamish drinks in TEN, NINE, EIGHT-,” the voices all joined in melody, panic and frantic fingers searching the table for a single drink in response to the jovial taunt.

“I haven’t even got a drink, fellas! Someone remedy that, quick!” Hamish again cried out.

Both you and Koby couldn’t hold your laughter against each other’s lips, drawing yourself away from each other’s faces to fling your laughter amongst the crowd. You allowed your fingertips to once again find the small, pink curls at the nape of Koby’s neck and massage your fingers against his scalp. He groaned into your touch once his laughter stifled, prompting your glazed over, half-lidded eyes to once again fall to him.

“Yeah, go on. Laugh it up, kids,” Hamish said, his acquired drink spilling itself down his shirt for the second time today, “You, pink-haired marine that’s holding my beautiful vocalist,” Koby’s back straightened at his addressal.

“Yes, sir?” Koby’s reactionary salute prompted him to remove himself fully from you. Hamish chuckled at his maneuver, waving off his call to him.

“You don’t have to unhand her, she’s not mine to order about,” his chortle prompted the remainder of your troop to join in with their cheerful laughter, “but be fair warned, marine-.”

“-Koby,” you corrected the widow addressing him with a stern warning in your tone, Hamish presenting his palms up and tilting his head in response.

“Koby, then,” he corrected himself, “you’re up next.”

“W-What?” Koby stuttered out, seeking your eyes with his surprised gaze. You reacted quickly, thrusting Saoirse’s full beer into his hand as you began joining in with the echoes of the beginning of the call: “I-…”

Koby didn’t hesitate and rose the liquid to his lips immediately, prompting laughter to erupt in the tavern at his hasty relinquishment of the amber beverage within his throat. Your eyes glazed over as your sights met with the heavy gulping bobs of his Adam’s apple as he downed the liquid.

“Good grief, lad!” Hamish called out to you, “we haven’t even started the stupid melody yet!”

Koby placed the empty tankard against the table upside down, his smile rising to his face as his cheeks flushed at the rapidity of the alcohol pooling in his belly.

“That was nice,” he praised the flavour of the alcohol while circling your waist with his hand. He drew you in close to him, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Do you fancy another, or would you like to walk with me a bit?”

You giggled at his words, looking over to your band and nodding your farewell to the four of them for the evening. Koby sought out the awaiting eyes of his mentors, them raising their glasses to him in dismissal for the evening.

“Let’s go, marine,” you purred your voice at him, removing his hand from your waist and claiming his palm against your own. Instinctively lacing his fingertips once more within your own, he began tugging you towards the exit of the tavern to see where the night would take you both.

Apprehensive Tag List:

@corpsebride25 @vespidphoenix @bonedaddi3 @hunbuncinnabun @kat-apologises

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

For your ask game! Lokius + because they’re running out of time.

🥺 Hope you like it.

Kang’s forces were getting closer. Loki could see the rows of troops trudge through the city as he peered out of the small window.

Their TemPads lay broken, scattered across the floor after fighting off a singular robot that had come to check out the residential tower block they were currently held up in.

The fact that the robot was also in bits was the only consolation.

“We need to move,” Loki urged, looking back at Mobius. They were on the 12th floor in someone’s bland apartment while below them, on the streets, people were running around terrorised by Kang’s army.

Mobius grunted, murmuring complaints as he stood up on his injured leg. They had done their best to take care of the wound, with a handmade tourniquet wrapped tight around Mobius’ thigh, his trouser leg in tatters. Loki already knew this would limit how fast they could run.

They needed somewhere better to hide.

He put Mobius’ arm around his shoulders and urged him forward. They walked slowly, Mobius limping and making little hissing sounds each time he put his right foot down.

“We need something to carry you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Mobius growled. He looked sideways at Loki, eyes narrowed. As if Loki stood a chance of doing something Mobius didn’t want to do.

Sighing, Loki looked ahead. They were close to the stairs but that would take forever to get Mobius up them. The elevators were out of order, the electricity long since cut off.

The only thing left was a small maintenance shaft at chest height. It would be difficult to get into, but he needed to keep Mobius safe, away from what was coming.

Kang would find them eventually.

“Loki,” Mobius grumbled. “We can’t.”

“We very much can, Mobius, and we are.”

He didn’t waste any more time, pulling Mobius towards the wall and slipping his arm off him.

Placing a hand on the metal door, Loki sensed how cold the space inside was. Enough that he drew it towards the lock mechanism, then froze it.

There was a loud snap. Then the door clicked open.

Loki glanced at Mobius, who smirked at him.

“Always were so clever.”

“You can flirt with me later,” Loki huffed, pulling up his sleeves.

He put his arm around Mobius again and pulled him towards the now open hatch. Holding it open with his shoulder, he used his arms to lever Mobius up into the small space, hoisting him inside.

Mobius had barely begun shuffling deeper into the space when Loki heard a noise coming from the stairs.

The sound of heavy boots ricocheted off the walls.

Glancing up, Loki saw Mobius had managed to shuffle backwards, enough that there was a little room for him in the shaft. He jumped up and launched himself through the hatch, clicking the door closed and putting his hand over his mouth, trying to quieten how heavy he was breathing.

His heart pounded in his chest, hoping against all odds that they weren’t detected.

Mobius winced slightly, drawing Loki’s attention back to him. His leg must really hurt after having gone through all that.

Loki wanted to move over to him, but as the steps got louder and louder outside, he knew he couldn’t.

He could hear doors to apartments being slammed open. It sounded like a small group of robots. In another situation, they could take them. Norns, they had taken them time and again since getting to this timeline.

Now they were stuck, with no way of getting out.

Loki didn’t think that Sylvie or Bea would be able to help them either. They were busy with their own mission.

Another bang. Both of them jolted. That one was close. Loki could only hope that these robots wouldn’t hear them hiding inside here.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe quietly.

The steps continued, then stopped right outside their hiding place.

Loki looked over at Mobius, seeing his eyes go wide.

There was no point in staying silent if they were going to be killed.

He reached over, climbing over Mobius, and grabbed his face between his hands and pressed their lips together.

It should have been chaste. It should have been a quick peck and then turn to face whatever horrors awaited them, but as Mobius’ lips parted, Loki found he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, pouring everything he felt for the man but couldn’t tell him.

Mobius’ hands gripped into his hair and held him close.

They were going to die like this, wrapped up in each other, ignoring the end that was coming.

Loki could barely hear the door opening, the rush of blood in his ears deafening.

There was a sizzling sound, almost like a spark.

He clung onto Mobius, his heart feeling like it could explode out of his chest.

A whining sound, probably a laser gun charging up.

This was it. This was their last moment.

Then suddenly they were falling. That broke their kiss just long enough for Mobius to land on something solid first, then Loki crashed on top of him.

Mobius grunted and Loki looked up at him. His vision was swimming but they were definitely in a different place.

“Are you done?”

Loki pushed up, his arms bracketing Mobius, and turned his head around to see Ravonna, her arms folded and brows quirked.

Scrambling, he shoved himself up off of Mobius, dusting down his ruined TVA uniform. He scanned the room, seeing a very small room with a bed, a kitchen and everything all in the one space.

“Do you live here now?” Loki asked.

“Don’t bother helping me up,” Mobius complained, still lying on the floor.

“Oh, sorry,” Loki apologised, turning back to him and holding out his hands for Mobius to grab them. He pulled the man up, bracing his legs to take the weight.

By the time they got up, Ravonna had walked away and returned with a first aid kit.

“You, sit down on the bed. You, go make a cup of tea or something,” Ravonna instructed.

“But…”

“Go,” Mobius said. He gave a half smile, then winced in pain again. “I’ll be fine.”

Loki walked backwards slowly, unwilling to let Mobius out of his sight. He couldn’t trust Ravonna and he watched her every move while she cleaned Mobius’ wounds and patched him up.

During it, they talked in hushed whispers, with Mobius’ eyes locking with his every few seconds.

When the kettle finally boiled, Loki returned with a tray and three cups of tea in hand, 

“I’m going to go check on something,” Ravonna said. She stood up, winked at Mobius and grabbed a cup, walking out the room through a small curtain of coloured beads.

Mobius patted on the bed next to him. Loki sat down gingerly, feeling awkward.

“You can look at me, you know,” Mobius said.

“I know,” Loki agreed, staring into his cup, “but I’m scared of what I might see.”

“And what is that?”

“That you regret it.”

Mobius pulled on Loki’s arm, forcing him to turn and face him.

“I don’t regret anything, not even getting injured.”

Loki inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with air and feeling his muscles soften.

Mobius smiled, plucking the cup out of Loki’s hands and setting it down beside his own cup on the tray that lay on the small table by the bed.

“In fact, I want you to kiss me again.”

“You do?” Loki asked.

“Shut up,” Mobius sighed, smiling and shaking his head as he pulled Loki in by the tie.

Their lips met again, softer this time. It was tender, moving slowly as they explored, brushing against each other like they’d always done this.

There was only a fleeting question in Loki’s head, wondering exactly how Ravonna had been able to find them.

That question could wait. As Mobius wrapped his arms around his neck, everything else faded away. This right here was the most important thing in the multiverse.

Send me another kiss prompt

[sereia1313]

Herroooo! My very first fic ask incoming….!

Sesskag, yoga instructor/s, bright pink

<3 Thank you!

@mmmecca my love! You have asked and I hope have delivered! Stay tuned for the steamy sequel, mmmkay?

Read the series on Ao3, Dokuga, and FFnet!

SessKag, Yoga Instructor, Bright Pink

Kagome busied herself with stretching while the rest of the members filtered into the room. So she was a solid ten minutes early? It didn't mean anything.

Nothing at all.

It wasn't like she'd signed up for this class specifically because of who was teaching it. Biting her lips, she tried not to stare at the doorway, wondering when he would appear. She could feel his youki within the building but had managed not to seek it out with her reiki.

This time.

Coming across Sesshoumaru in the modern era had been a surprise, but a yoga instructor was not at the top of the list of careers she'd ever consider him partaking in. Somehow she still envisioned him clad in armour or brandishing a sword.

She almost hadn't recognized him in the bright pink yoga shirt and matching nail polish.

It had taken him a moment to place her—apparently, Inuyasha had never gone into details about the well—but overall, he'd been happy to see her. If 'happy' was an emotion the former lord of the west felt.

He'd encouraged her to come to the next class at least.

It had been several months since then, and Kagome had gone to all his classes. She'd never been a fan of yoga before, but the way he taught left her breathless, and not just from the way his clothes stretched across his chest.

He'd also somehow convinced the rest of the members that the stripes were tattoos, never bothering to cover them up, and Kagome couldn't help but wonder if his wrists and ankles weren't the only places sporting slashes of magenta.

Even with how flexible he was, the fabric of his clothes never revealed anything more than what he allowed, leaving Kagome's mind running wild with possibilities.

A hush fell over the room as he entered, Kagome's hand raising in a silent greeting as their eyes met. A smirk touched his lips before he addressed the class, turning on his usual playlist as he got into the first position. She followed along, eyes glued to his form as she copied the movements.

His voice was cathartic, though illegal was a more appropriate word, leaving her short of breath for all the wrong reasons. As they got a more complicated pose, Sesshoumaru started walking around the room, adjusting some of the other members before he got to her.

"You have improved," he said softly, claws skimming the underside of her legs. Kagome's stomach clenched as she tried to remain stable, skin tingling from his touch.

"You're a good teacher," she said, shifting into the next pose. His claws dragged once again as he bent over her, lips brushing the back of her ear. She jerked and would've fallen over if he hadn't caught her, easing her back into position.

"You would benefit from a more advanced class," he mused, breath wafting along the back of her neck.

"But you don't teach those ones," she blurted, face turning as pink as his shirt.

He paused for a moment, and she looked up, that smirk on his face again. "Perhaps a private lesson, then?"

Heart hammering in her chest, she nodded, wondering if she was imagining the intrigue in his eyes. He tapped the back of her leg, motioning for her to straighten it, then returned to the front of the room.

Kagome couldn't decide if the fine sheen of sweat on her body was from the yoga or anticipation of what was to come.

[careless-with-your-heart]

Starting the kiss shortfic from the prompt so kindly provided by @americanwh0resstuff. This fits somewhere early-ish in Lay You in the Ground (link here!).

FYI, in my little AU world, Darcy came in S1, married Don E., and never died, and Blayton never happens (sorry). I'm sure I'll expand more on my headcanons later.

Snippet!

You can’t kiss her.

The thought practically eats him alive—an oxymoron if he’s ever heard one. 

It’s only been a week since Catherine blew in with the rain, and already she’s making herself useful. Not just in his fantasies, though there is that, but in cold, hard earnings. And for that—and all the other, carnal reasons that keep him up at night—Blaine wants to kiss Catherine-No-Middle-Name-Cohen full on her plush, tempting mouth.

“Why do you look so self-satisfied?”

Don. E.’s voice cuts through Blaine’s locked-eyes daydreaming, and over the glow of his laptop screen, Blaine raises a brow at his second-in-command as Don E. glides into the office of The Post.

“I always look self-satisfied. I am, by nature, a man intent on nothing else but satisfying himself.” To prove the point, Blaine lifts the half-full martini glass that rests on his desk and salutes the small, bald man standing in front of him before slugging down the remainder of the drink.

“Yeah, sure. But, like, right now, you just had this look on your face. Like, what’s the expression? The cat that ate the canary?”

“You got it switched, brother. The canary is the cat—Kitty, that is.”

Don E. smirks as he slides into the chair in front of Blaine’s desk. “You son of a bitch! You nailed her. Noice. Fast work. She seems a little damaged, but in that way you like. I dig it. Should I arrange for some flowers? A nice bottle of vino for the lady? A link to my YouTube channel?”

Blaine blanches. “Don’t be crass. I didn’t nail her. And no one watches your YouTube channel.”

It’s Don. E’s turn to protest. “Hey! I’ll have you know that my Redecorating Your Living Room When You’re No Longer Living series was very popular. Dozens of views.”

“Mmm-hmm. Congrats. Now, let’s get back to the subject at hand—our little stray cat has, in the past week, bumped nightly bar receipts up by thirty percent. And she breezed in here this morning with a full-on spreadsheet breaking down our liquor costs, in order of highest to lowest margins, and she’s gone to meet in person with two distributors who might cut those costs if we switch suppliers.”

Don E’s eyes widen. “Damn. Sorry bro. I mistook your money boner for a lady-inspired one. That’s some valid dreamy-eyed shit. She’s way nice, too. Did you know that Darcy loves her? Those two and Liv and Peyton, there’s a whole Clueless thing going on that is very, very heartwarming.”

[whatsabriard]

As soon as I saw this prompt, I knew what it would become. So this one is probably my favorite of these little ficlets. Thanks to corasorangejuice for the inspo.

Ask Kiss Fic | 16…lazily | @corasorangejuice

The French sun was merciless, but to Cora it felt glorious. She was sprawled on a chair on the sand, the sound of waves and the children playing lulling her into that lovely place between sleep and awake.

It was sweeter now, the air. A year of treatments had helped her regain her strength and she had a new appreciation for the baking sun.

A shadow fell across her face just seconds before icy droplets of water had her startling upright, prepared to scold the children.

Robert’s laughing blue eyes, crinkled from squinting in the bright light, greeted her instead.

–

“The water is lovely,” Robert rubbed a towel over his head. 

“Not from where I’m sitting.” Cora grumbled, snatching his towel and dabbing daintily at the droplets.

“The children want you to come play.”

“I’m too comfortable here.” The words made Robert’s shoulders tense for a second before Cora lowered her sunglasses. 

As if sensing his change of mood, Cora reclined but crooked her finger playfully in his direction. 

“Closer,” she instructed, beckoning.

Their noses brushed and she relaxed backward, knowing he would follow.

Their lips slid together lazily, only separating at the annoyed holler from the shoreline.

“UGH, DONK.”

[downton-bridgerton]

cobert + 21 for the kiss prompts 💗

#21. …on a place of insecurity

Kiss Fic Asks!

Robert Crawley swirled the whiskey inside his glass as he stood with other gentlemen, who themselves are chatting away about yachts...among other things. He was with his family, of course, in celebration for Harold's wedding...which itself was already surprise to everyone, even Martha Levinson herself

But from the very start, Robert was already feeling left out. Not only because he's an Englishman in America, but also suddenly shy and quiet, as his wife was doing the hostess duties as she usually does. His daughters has surprisingly adopted well immediately...he thought it was because they're half-American and they, too, have been more sociable as they became both wives and mothers of their own

"Anyway, Robert, Harold says that your a member of Royal Yacht Club, right?" a gentleman then asked him, making him snap back to reality

"Oh yes, I am indeed" he answered

"So how many yachts do you have?"

"Just one, really. But we never really get to use it, so we just decided to donate it to the club"

"Donate it?!" Harold then said "Why in the world would you do that?"

"Well, because we don't really–"

"Harold's right! You could've kept that up more than other stuff! Yachts are an important asset for a man like your status!"

"But we don't have u–"

"I could have sold that even! You should've told me long ago!"

As the men drowned in their conversation once again, Robert slowly took a deep breath and count backwards from ten to help him calm down

Unknown to him, Cora has been observing him from afar while in conversation with some of the ladies, which included her new sister-in-law. Seeing that he needed her rescuing, she politely excused herself from the ladies and went to him

"Ah, Cora!" one of the men then called out as they saw her "What a sight to behold!"

"Thank you, but as much as I would to have a chat with you all, I need to have an urgent conversation with my husband" she then said, and looks over to her husband, to which fortunately Robert caught immedaitely

"Is it something from home?" he inquired

"Unfortunately, which is why I need to discuss the plan with you"

Robert nodded, and excused themselves before heading to the balcony nearby

***

"What is it, Darling?" Robert then asked as they arrived "Is something of the matter?"

"I think it is I who should be asking you that question" Cora looks at him, gently rubbing his biceps

"Nothing is the matter with me. Don't worry" he smiled a little, but with 40 years of marriage under their belt, she knows what his expressions mean already

"Are you sure you're alright?" she insisted gently. He was about to reassure her once again, but with a rather serious expression on her face, he simply sighed softly in defeat

"I am...I am not alright" he then started, looking down on the floor, "In fact, I do want to go home now...but that is very disrespectful to your brother and his wife...and to you, of course. And I cannot relate to whatever these...gentlemen are talking about. They even belittled me for donating our yacht!"

"Oh, dear..." her facial expression softened, holding him closer and comforting him

"I somehow...now know what you felt when you married me" he continued, "It's not much of what you felt, but still...it now all makes sense. I am so, so sorry"

"Robert," she gently said, "It's alright. But I, too, am sorry for you being so left out today"

"Don't apologize" he replied, "I didn't get to apologize to you when you're feeling like this. And yet, you are, as always, stronger than I am"

She looks at his expression of both pain and guilt, and now felt a pang of guilt as well inside her. Cora then slowly lifts his chin up to face him, before leaning in for a gentle kiss. Robert was surprised at first, before slowly melting into her arms and pulling her closer

As they pulled away to catch some air, Cora lets out a light giggle, where he finally saw her husband slowly smiling again

"Is that a real smile I see?" she asked

"Maybe..." he teased, resting his forehead against hers

"Robert..."

"It is! It is a real smile"

They both chuckle once again, before Cora smoothes down his suit and pull away from his grasp "Now, you can head upstairs already if you want, I'll just tell them that you're...too surprised with the news from home, which is why you need to retire for the night"

Robert smiles sweetly, but shakes his head "No. I want to go back with you inside" he said, "I feel...a bit braver now. Somehow"

"Are you sure?"

"I am. And besides, I wouldn't want to miss having the waltz with you later on"

"Very well, then"

She then offers her hand to hold, to which he takes and gently kisses the back of it. The two then shared a lovely smile at one another before heading back inside the grand ball, just as the waltz was about to start

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[violettduchess]

A/N: Vincent won the poll and with it, this kiss fic!

"This sadness will last forever" were supposedly Vincent Van Gogh's final words.

WC: 470

Trying to describe how it feels when Vincent kisses you makes you wish you were as talented with words as Dazai or Arthur. How can you possibly describe the feeling that floods you when he tenderly cups your face in his hands, eyes as blue as eternity, and leans down, softly pressing his lips against yours? 

You are one of his beloved sunflowers, cacophonous and bright, baring your soul to the radiant blue sky, joy beaming from every corner of your heart. You are the strong branches of the almond tree in spring, riotous with pink and white blossoms, each petal a happy sigh that escapes you. You are the black spire stretching itself up up up into the expansive starry night, reaching with your whole soul for the stars.

Vincent parts your lips, delving deeper even as he tenderly pulls you closer, wanting to feel your solidness against him. Sometimes you wonder if he is afraid you are nothing but a phantom that will disappear if he opens his eyes, a creature of mist and dreams that will dissolve under the bright rays of sunlight. Your arms wind around his neck, your body presses closer, reassuring him that yes, you are real. You are solid. And you are unconditionally his. He is warmth and gentleness, golden as wheat fields in summer but he is also fiercely protective, a strength easily overseen and underestimated due to the tenderness of his nature, the boyishness of his mien. You know the truth. You know there is no shoulder you would rather lean on, no hands you would trust to hold your heart more than his.

Oh, those hands. Those beautiful, talented hands move over your skin like a paintbrush on canvas. With every caress he decorates you in his desire, his love, his dedication, his admiration and you? You feel beautiful. You are a work of art, a masterpiece, glowing with each stroke of blazing adoration along your body. There is nothing that lifts his heart more than the content sighs you whisper against his mouth, the ardent press of your fingers into his shoulder when your body lights up with yearning. 

And if he pulls back for a moment, just a heartbeat in time, he can look into your eyes where he sees something unbelievable. He sees himself reflected there, in a way he never could imagine, despite the numerous self-portraits he has done. In the depths of your gaze, those windows to the naked essense of your heart, he sees himself as someone beautiful. Someone whole. Someone worthy of love.

Your name falls from his lips and just before he is utterly lost in the winding, sunlit path of your want, the hills and valleys of your body, he has a singular, sublime thought: 

This love will last forever.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties @justpeachyteastea

[darsynia]

A hundred different kisses

15. messy kisses, destroying furniture trying to reach the bed

Tony Stark with either Loki, Steve, or Bucky?

Okay, so this worked out to have way more angst than I thought? Like, instead of messy kisses because the kisses are messy, it's TONY that is a mess. And they don't make it to the bed? So you might get a do-over if you're dissatisfied! No smut, but it's emotionally satisfying...

The Sacrifice Play

Summary:

Tony's wanted Steve Rogers for a long time. When he was a child, he wanted to find Cap and make his father happy. As an adult, he'd wanted to forget the long shadow of comparisons he couldn't get out from under. Now he's a superhero who has Captain America on his team, but as usual, Tony's not satisfied. He wants Steve Rogers, and after the day they've had? It's time to fess up and get it off of his chest, no matter what the consequences.

Warnings | Pairing: No warnings | Steve/Tony

Square Filled: 'What do you think I'm doing?' Word Count: 1,537

Note: @avengersbingo

Excerpt:

“I figured it out.”

The sigh and slow turn Rogers makes to face him tells Tony everything about how close he is to losing his temper. “What have you figured out, Tony?”

Seems that Rogers doesn’t use his first name unless he’s angry, and it’s so close to Howard Stark’s approach to parenting that Tony ramps up even further.

“That witch sent you something that chaps your morals, didn’t she? And I know what it is.” 

Tony lifts his chin and struts forward. It’s all veneer, which is rare for him, but the myriad ways he wants this infuriating man strips Tony down to the bare wood every time anyway. This is the only way he’ll ever find out, and he’s sick of wondering whether it’s hopeless. Honestly, the novelty is quaint. What do you get the man who has everything?

The Sacrifice Play

“You two want to cool off?” Fury’s tone is goodnatured, but his expression isn’t, and Tony is pretty sure this is some kind of ‘final warning’ before he learns that the man’s surname is also a frame of mind.

“Sure,” Tony says, matching Fury’s tone. He catches Barton’s eye, watches as the archer tips his head toward the hallway and aims another dart at the dartboard. It’s not clear whether he’s offering a quiet place to talk it out like men or threatening some kind of projectile punishment if Tony’s argument with Rogers turns profane. Probably both. “Hey, can I have a word, Cap?”

“Of course,” Rogers grits out, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

As Tony leads him away from the roomful of children and children, he wonders if the serum gave the man an extra teflon coating of stubbornness. He’s seen the pictures of pre-serum Steve, and maybe it’s shallow, but that Steve Rogers does nothing for him. Then again, given what this Steve Rogers does for him, that might be preferable. Tony’s a notch past furious into livid, and the worst part is, everything that makes him angry right now is his own fault. Well, almost everything.

Rogers barely has the door closed before Tony decides to go for catharsis. Fuck it.

“I figured it out.”

The sigh and slow turn Rogers makes to face him tells Tony everything about how close he is to losing his temper. “What have you figured out, Tony?”

Seems that Rogers doesn’t use his first name unless he’s angry, and it’s so close to Howard Stark’s approach to parenting that Tony ramps up even further.

“That witch sent you something that chaps your morals, didn’t she? And I know what it is.” 

Tony lifts his chin and struts forward. It’s all veneer, which is rare for him, but the myriad ways he wants this infuriating man strips Tony down to the bare wood every time anyway. This is the only way he’ll ever find out, and he’s sick of wondering whether it’s hopeless. Honestly, the novelty is quaint. What do you get the man who has everything?

“Tony--” 

“It’s me. You want me. You should go for it. Times have changed, Cap. Could be fun.”

Rogers looks around at the room like there could have been a mini-Clint hiding somewhere to overhear. “You can’t be--”

“Serious?” Tony interrupts stridently. “Why not?” He takes a step forward, and Rogers sidesteps behind one of the chairs set up around a small table. “See, your whole lumberjack thing outside, it got me thinking. Seems like everyone else saw one of two things: a new, horrifying vision of the future, or a deep-seated horror of the past. What if yours is both?” Tony walks around the chair, his heart racing, blood moving so fast he can almost feel it careening around inside him. Every time the cells strike the vessel walls, he burns hotter. “What if the thing you feared in the past is the thing you fear now, maybe even more so? Because you can have it.”

“Kind of speechless here, Tony,” Rogers coughs, backing up into the second chair and knocking it over. He seems grateful to put some distance between them as he turns and picks it up.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to talk.”

Rogers freezes, the chair in front of him like a shield. Tony’s warming to the look, so he turns on his highest watt smile, the kind he offers the wary starlets, the ones who know better.

The chair drops an inch in what has to be pure shock, and Tony’s jolted with a similar rush.

He hasn’t denied it.

“Here, do me a favor, okay? Just in case we’ve got eavesdroppers,” Tony says, moving the small table between them out of the way. He takes off his flannel and drapes it on the table. “You want to see it? I mean, okay, if you insist.” He takes off his shirt.

Hilariously, Steve Rogers turns around. “I was trying to be polite, Tony, but this is…”

“What? I was just showing you my scar!” Tony says, overloud, but he drops his voice into a low, pained hiss. “It’s either sexual harassment or therapy, Rogers. Pick one.” 

Tony doesn’t have his suit right now, and that makes him fist food if he has judged this wrong. He’s okay with that. He-- he needs to be pounded, and either way will work.

“Look, I get it,” Tony says, and as he speaks, he presses his fist against the scar on his chest, trying to thumb some comfort over his damaged heart. “Go on, face me and say the thing.”

Steve doesn’t move a muscle as he speaks. “What thing?”

“The cutting remark about my lack of morals, the way I make everything about me, how I push and push until everyone’s patience snaps. I get it. You’re Captain America. You’re built out of patience. Morals course through your veins.” 

He hears Rogers huff out a sigh, and it’s so human that Tony can’t help it, the things he shouldn’t say just come out, right in the open, where anyone could hear them.

“The craziest part is, I was willing to give, on all of that. I’ve got a good start on the morals, but everything else is just fucked by impatience. Look at me pushing. I’m hopeless.”

“We’re in another man’s house, Tony,” Rogers finally says.

“Yeah, well, I think part of me has always lived in your house, so that’s nothing new,” Tony grits out, and shit, the lust being out there is one thing, but this?

He tastes metal in his mouth, recognizes it as his own specific, frightened flavor of crossing the line, so Tony snags his shirt and starts to put it back on. Right when his eyes are covered, he hears the chair go crashing to the floor, and jerks the shirt down in enough time to see Rogers knock the table to the side as he comes straight at Tony. There’s no interpreting the pained expression on his face, but Tony’s bracing himself for a fight when he’s propelled backwards by a solid hand on his shoulder. He ends up against the only blank section of wall in the whole bedroom.

“What did you see? What did that girl show you? Is that what’s making you do this?” Steve (this is Steve, not ‘Rogers,’ not the perfect soldier Tony’s father idolized, Tony’s had an avatar of this man in his life for long enough that he can tell the difference) is breathing heavily, but it can’t be from exertion. Tony’s flotsam without his suit right now.

“I saw--” Tony breaks off, because Steve’s searching his expression with desperate eyes, and it’s almost romantic, the way he’s consumed by his need for Tony’s answer. Terrified and elated, hoping he’s not wrong, Tony rests a gentle hand on Steve’s arm, the one acting like a steel beam pinning him to the wall. “I saw the team dead. I saw you, broken on the ground. Your shield was in pieces. You asked me why I didn’t save you. Cap-- Steve. What do you think I’m doing? I’ll never not try to save you. I’m trying to save you right now. Call it narcissistic, call me the most self-centered person on the planet-- ”

Steve’s kissing him before Tony needs to figure out an ending to the sentence, and it’s rough, furious, vindictive, eager. The pressure on his shoulder doesn’t let up, but Steve presses his other hand right over Tony’s heart, and Tony yanks him closer, pouring all of his lovelorn frustration into this thing he’s always hated that he wanted.

It isn’t until the kiss deepens, until Steve is tasting him, that Tony realizes he was right. He was right, and it’s his best idea, his most genius invention, the one he’s least worthy of. 

Steve pulls back just enough to look at him, and he goes through it, right there, where Tony can see. There’s confusion, gratitude, elation, even embarrassment, and because he’s a smartass, Tony can’t let the moment lie.

“I know how to be quiet…” he dangles.

Steve closes his eyes and huffs out a laugh. Because they’re so close, the air from his lungs puffs against Tony’s face, and if that’s not symbolic of some kind of intimacy, he has no idea what is.

“I didn’t see this, in the vision. I saw Peggy,” Steve says, straightening without pulling back far enough to feel distant. “It seems like everyone saw something related to someone close to them, and she was, but--”

“But?” Tony squeezes his shoulder, forgiving the need to step back, to change the moment. This feels more important, which probably means he’s farther gone on Steve fucking Rogers than he thought.

“I was stuck in the past, like that’s where I belong.” Steve looks at the floor for a long time, and when he lifts his head, it’s with purpose. “You weren’t there.”

“I’m here now.”

Steve’s smile gives Tony the same flutters it did the first time he saw it in person, but boy do those flutters feel different than they did then.

“So am I.”

[nkogneatho]

This is a PSA for all the writers who exclusively write only fluff and angst:

we love you. we still read your fics. no we don't care if it doesn't have smut in it. it is still valid and it is beautiful. thank you for existing. have a good day.

[wynnyfryd]

“Trying to steal the spotlight, Harrington?”

“No, baby, I figured we could share it.”

from “Cut It Loose, Watch You Work The Room” by @wormdebut | art by @doomcheese

—

MERRY CHRISTMAS WORMY 😘🎄😘🎄😘 @messessentialist and i know how much you love doom’s art so we commissioned her to draw the kiss scene for you sorry we drooled all over your present lmfao

[sereia1313]

100th Fic Ask

Well, I did it. I wrote 100 fics in a year. It was never a goal I started out with, but as the summer drew nearer, I noticed how close I was and managed to get in a few more under the wire. I'm at like 110 right now, cuz I wasn't about to start this right before SessKag week, but who's counting, right?

So, time to celebrate! Since y'all's comments and encouragement are why I was able to make that number in the first place, this is my gift to you! Send in a pairing, an occupation, and a colour, and I'll write you a ficlet (and I'm going to try really hard to stick to that) with a kiss in it! Let's share the fluff!

A few rules about the pairings:

They must be from the Inuyasha series.

All aspects of LGBTQ+ are welcome!

If Sess or Kags is paired with anyone else, it'll be in a platonic/familial way.

Pairings must be "appropriate", so this means no major age gaps, no pairings that would be considered grooming, no incest, etc. Let's keep the fluff clean.

It's my discretion on how to interpret the kiss (so it may not always be a romantic setting).

Main pairings I work with (but am not limited to) are SessKag, KimiKagu, InuKog, ShipSot. Aside from SessKag though, if y'all want me to pair up any of those characters with other people, I'm open to it. Get creative!

Read the series on Ao3, Dokuga, and FFnet!