cus i’m a massive sook and i can’t decide definitively what it would be like, so you get several
- something wonderful has just happened, something big and exciting; maybe a near-extinct species just pulled itself back from the brink. maybe a sick creature made a miraculous recovery. whatever it is, newt is overjoyed, his face lit up like a christmas tree – he spins credence by the shoulders, crowing with delight, look! we did it! and then in a flurry of excitement, without really meaning to, newt kisses him. just grabs him and kisses him right on the mouth.
for several seconds afterwards they’re both stunned. newt really hadn’t meant to, he’d been so careful not to do anything he didn’t think credence would want, not to push him beyond his comfort zone and he hadn’t even considered whether he’d look at him in that way, and he might have just cocked up quite spectacularly, and he starts to apologise – “credence, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, i would never put you in that position-” – but credence is looking at him as if he’s just seen starlight for the first time. eyes wide and shining. that feeling of oh. there you are. and credence says, “do it again.” and he does.
- they’re standing face to face – quite close, as they often are these days, without quite being conscious of it. newt is tending to credence in some way; wrapping a scarf about his neck, or healing a scrape on his cheek he got while feeding the baby erumpents, or perhaps wandering too close to the occamy nest. credence is just watching him – it’s quiet, but comfortably.
“mr scamander?” he says, very soft, even though newt has told him a hundred times to call him newt.
“hmm,” says newt.
“newt?” says credence.
newt looks up, questioningly, and credence kisses him on the mouth, just like that. a soft, quick little peck. it leaves newt with this look of startled delight, but he doesn’t say anything, and that makes credence nervous, and he stutters, “w-was that alright?”
and newt takes his face in his hands, and leans in so close they’re nose-to-nose. “of course it was,” he says, combing his fingers into credence’s hair at the back. “in fact,” he continues, softly, “you could do it again, if you like.”
- newt kissing the palms of credence’s hands
- credence panicking thinking he’s fucked something up & automatically holding his hand out to be punished & newt taking it and just kissing it instead
- credence giving newt shy little cheek kisses to say “thank you” or “good morning” or “i missed you” or just because he can
- when credence gets kissed he goes pink and ducks his head and bites his lips; when newt gets kissed he goes bright red and gets awfully flustered and loses his whole train of thought and does a lot of blinking and “oh um gosh goodness erm where was i again”
- i need to end this post now it’s running away with me i’m sorry
Your demons are a part of our reality. Such is the nature of the influence you wield. Some of those demons I’ve come to know, but the one in whose name this war is to be fought is still a stranger to me.
Rough play with Izaya and Shizuo that leaves their so bruised the day after.
// uh anon I kinda didn’t include major descriptions of the rough play you wanted, and kinda wrote about the day after. so if you want to, then feel free to request again. sorry.
“Nownow, it’s not nice to glare at others, especially if they’re your loved ones.”
Izaya always walks in with a crooked smile on his face,words brazen and blunt. That’s what happens in the mornings after an eventful dusk,after moments of the blurriest glass filling up both of your minds and eachother’s sounds joining as one.
Straining to sit up, a jolt of pain shot through you.
Wincing, you felt Izaya’s free hand lightly tap you on the head, something that
he always does ever since the start of this relationship.
“How are you?”
The answer is always perhaps a ‘no’, words taking the
form of a slight growl.
He never asked that when his arms were beside you,
perspiring in a way that didn’t fit Orihara Izaya at all, purring and quietly
moaning. He didn’t ask that question when he dug his nails into your back,
licking and sucking on those spots that made you shiver and squirm under him,
his voice sounding more arrogant than ever. Izaya didn’t really ask how you
were when he had bit down sharply on your shoulder blades, sucking and holding
He never asked that question at all, unless it was one of
those days that ended up with you sitting grouchily in bed, huffing at the reminders
of last night.
“What do you think?”
Orihara gives a sigh, withdrawing his hand. He’s trying
his best to be the loving boyfriend that he knows you want, to be that person
who isn’t ‘Orihara Izaya’, but no matter how much time he spends watching and
absorbing the patterns, the words, the expressions, the actions your ‘type’ has, he just can’t seem to
formulate the proper behavior—the one where he’ll see your face etched into a permanent
So when he gives up, Izaya just lets himself go for those
moments where you’re here, wondering if you’ve noticed the changes.
His hand puts down the plate that he’s been holding for
quite awhile, setting it down on the bedside table, the one closest to you. His
eyes flicker to the picture of him and you smiling, before the quiet clink of
the porcelain cup jerks him from his short daydream.
“Thanks to you,
there’s bruises and scratches and bite marks—even cuts on my body. Where the
hell did you even hide that knife? I wasn’t expecting you to have a kink for
blood play, asshole.”
Izaya says nothing as he straightens his posture, looking
back at your sharp eyes.
“Then maybe you
shouldn’t have tempted me like that. You know I can’t resist naughty girls like
He states it in an unfitting dull manner, back facing you
as he walks out.
Your mouth stays frozen, open, as you can’t seem to
enunciate the words that you want to say— staring at the doorway where Izaya
You don’t really expect him to come back in, but a moment
passes and you hear him hum to himself, a laptop in his hands as he sits down
on the bed next to you.
“What are you
Shooting you a bored look, he promptly switches the
laptop on, drawling out,
There’s nothing else that you can say, or even bring up
as a conversation topic as he begins to type away.
Your eyelids flutter shut, as you slide down and rest
your head on his shoulder.
“…You know that it’s
only small bruises, right? I’m not sick or anything.”
“I do know that.”
You don’t say anything as he shifts to let you have a
more comfortable position, draping an arm around you as he continues to work.
“Because I felt
And he doesn’t really say anything else, doesn’t really
move or change the way he sits, doesn’t return to his normal personality that
you’re much too used to for the remainder of the day.
At least, until you complain about how his tea kinda
sucks, a small teasing smile hanging off your face.
He’s cute when he’s asleep.
Your eyes are wide open, awake and ready to start the
day. But when you were about to get up, head to the bathroom to brush your
teeth then maybe cook those pancakes that you’ve been wanting to eat lately,
Shizuo’s arm seemed to grip you even tighter, mumbling incoherent words in his
So you stayed in bed, turning to the side carefully as to
not wake him up.
His hair falls in front of his face messily, unkempt and disheveled
as always. Peeking slightly under the blankets, you’re relieved that he at
least had some sense to put his pants on before falling asleep—a crimson heat
travelling up to your face at the same time as you notice his bare upper body.
You don’t wonder why you’re willingly risking to see his
Rolling closer to the sweet warmth that was your
boyfriend, you listened to his soft breathing that you found adorable—in contrast
to his broad and perhaps even intimidating figure.
Your hands are in full view in front of you now, and that’s
when you realize that a spot of blue-black has appeared, just below your wrist.
Eyes widening slightly, you stifle a gasp, not wanting to
wake Shizuo from his slumber.
The alarming conclusion that reaches your mind first, is
that he had (accidently) hurt you the previous night, but you were far too gone
in the little activity you had with him to notice.
Slowly inching that hand away, you curse your luck as
Shizuo stirs slightly, eyes opening as a hazy glint blankets his brown orbs.
Continuing to pull your hand away from him, you smile,
anxiety rushing through you as you feel him shift closer, arm coaxing you to
move closer to him.
He plants a kiss on your forehead, and your resolve to
hide this injury from him strengthens.
Breathing a sigh of relief, you’re glad that Shizuo isn’t
really a morning person, being the type to fall back asleep if there’s nothing
important happening. You count down the seconds until his breathing slows and
drowsiness has over taken him again, purely for the reason of calming your
racing heart and to use this as future reference—perhaps the minimum or maximum seconds it takes for him to
succumb to sleep.
You don’t want him to be hurt, to realize that you’rehurt and it’s all his fault. No, you
want him to be happy—
Shizuo deserves to live a life of happiness, after all.
But the sinking feeling that envelopes you, the one that
reminds you about how one day, just one
day, he’ll eventually figure out what’s going on and confront you about
your little lying habit scares you.
You’ve heard once that Shizuo disliked liars.
You take in another deep breath, shoulders dropping as
you gently push his arm off you, sitting at the edge of the bed.
out body that’s lying on the bedsheets, head resting on the pillow and simply
looking like an angel is what keeps you going, though.
It’s what keeps you determined to lie, to stop his heart
from utterly shattering at the cruel obstacle that life has thrown at the both
You’re deeply afraid, but as your fingers crawl over the
bruise, pressing against it and letting you feel the painful dull throbbing, you
let out a small sigh and start to walk out of the bedroom that you shared with
Shizuo, memories of last night and the time you’ve spent with him suddenly burning brightly
in your mind.
Your breathing and silhouette follow you as you take a
step forward, leaving Shizuo alone.
I mean not to be dramatic but if berringer dares to look at max one more time the next thing he’ll be seeing is me reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart with my bare hands ha ha hHA H hah aha :^)
"I’m gonna be sick." + Hades and Persephone because I'm trash.
She’s been subdued all day, he thinks as she slides out of the bathroom. Persephone’s in her favorite fluffy yellow bathrobe, the one patterned with daffodils and chamomile flowers— he doesn’t know how she gets anything done in it, seeing as it effectively turns her into a marshmallow the minute she puts it on.
“Are you alright?” he asks, setting his book aside. She scrubs at her face with one hand and blinks at him slowly, as though the words are just now reaching her.
“I guess,” she says. Her expression turns sour. “As alright as I can be after spending the last twenty minutes puking everything below my kidneys out.”
“There’s a stomach bug going around,” Hades tells her, as she comes to sit beside him.
“Perhaps you close shop for tomorrow. The world can survive without some bouquets for twenty-four hours."
"I would,” she answers with a laugh. “If it were a thing that would go away in a day."
He turns to her, and the sofa squeaks under his weight. “Is something the matter?”
"I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘matter,’” she mumbles, and then digs around in her pocket.
Her face softens then, maybe with a little worry, or a little bit of apprehension, and he feels his heart plummet. Persephone never looks hesitant—not unless it’s related to her mother. She’s always smiling, always laughing, always… bright. Hades lifts a hand and brushes the short curls from her eyes.
“Whatever it is, I’m listening."
That makes a bit of her usual smile return. He doesn’t really recognize what she’s holding at first, when she pulls it from her pocket, but then it settles, and he realizes what he’s looking at.
"So, uh… I stopped by the pharmacy earlier,” she starts shakily. “I’d been feeling rotten all day and I thought— maybe… and… turns out I was right.” She laughs nervously. “The blue line means positive. I’m sure, by the way, I read the instructions three-trillion times, and— I-I washed it, it’s clean, you can… touch it. It would be a little gross otherwise—”
She stops when he begins laughing. He doesn’t do that often, not this openly, and she pauses to gape at him appropriately, as the occasion demands. She leaves the pregnancy test on the coffee table and looks at him expectantly.
“Did you think I’d be unhappy?"
Persephone makes one of her funny faces. “The thought crossed my mind, yes.”
"No. I’m— delighted. I love you. We— we have to start making space in the house."
"It’s barely been a week, you idiot,” she admonishes, but there’s no real venom in her voice. “I’d be very concerned if it decided to pop out now. There’s time to prepare.”
That makes him laugh, too. He comes nearer to bump his forehead against hers, and sighs— the kind of sigh you sigh when you sit down after standing for way too long, or when you finally lower yourself into a hot bath to relax.
"We’re going to have a family,” he murmurs. She grins at him.
“Yes, we are,” she says in confirmation, and leans in, but halfway there something halts her. Her lips pinch tight, into a thin line of discomfort. “I’m gonna be sick.”