#quick writings

Pleads into Darkness

It wasn't enough light.

It would never cut through the darkness. Through the terror of the night that enclosed them.

And it would never last.

The wax was already so short, melted and feeble, running over their hand. It forced the white knuckling grip to hold tight to the only light left, the only candle left.

Eyes searched the darkness, blindly scrapping against the walls and floors. There were no more, they knew there were no more torches, no more batteries, no candles, no more bloody matches.

It would be dark soon, so utterly dark.

A whimper of fear echoed in the endless dark. Wax encased hand shaking and burning as every thought begged for it to last a little longer.

Just a bit. Just a bit more light.

vinsmoke sanji — intentional.

he never misses an opportunity to tell you that he loves you, that you are so beautiful and charming. but in this moment, there, while he is deep inside you, Sanji finds that it is the perfect occasion to declare you again his love in this moment of intense passion. he's only waiting for his last few strokes of the hips to pour into you and while kissing you, whisper a sweet "I love you so much (Name)."

roronoa zoro — unintentional.

during sex with you, Zoro doesn't respond to anything. he thinks even less than usual and all that seems to make sense in those moments is him and you. and the fact that you're taking him so well. he could stay inside you for hours, pounding away at you in the mattress, hearing your moans spread like a beautiful melody through the room. but all good things must come to an end, and even this end is wonderful. when he finally comes inside you, between the grunts, there's a deep "i love you" as his cum is spread in you. he won't realize it at first, but he'll understand from your expression what he's just done, and he'll deny it completely if you ask him to repeat it. he'll become distant if you insist, but deep down he won't regret it. he was sincere, and that's all that matters.

smoker — unintentional.

this poor marine is stressed all the time, on the verge of having a heart attack. but what really relaxes him is fucking you, whether it's gentle or wild. all he wants to do is feel your arms and legs close around him, and he'll take you to seventh heaven. everything becomes trivial except your pleasure and his. he only sees the pleasure on your face and he knows it reflects his own. soon the pleasure becomes too much, and he needs to let go. smoker's movements become uncoordinated, he can't control his actions, and his hips thrust violently, hard into yours mechanically before his cum spills into you. grunts escape from him as well as a "i fucking love you". it was not prepared, not calculated. it's spontaneous and natural, and extremely embarrassing for him. he will blush a little but simply hide his head in your neck, shivering as you respond to his declaration of love.

benn beckman — intentional.

this man loves romance, and for him, his climax is often achieved through sex. benn always tries to make it the most pleasurable and enjoyable for you. he knows exactly where your weak points are, the places where your pleasure reaches its peak. and he gets off on your pleasure. he then lives for your moans, your nails digging into his back, your voice screaming his name. he usually whispers soft words (maybe dirty too) while his muscular body dominates you and makes you cum. when he releases himself onto your skin, benn is often silent, wanting only to hear your moans. but sometimes, especially when the mood is particularly romantic, benn thinks it's a good conclusion to say "i love you" while looking into your eyes. and he's happy to know that this alone can make you come.

x drake — unintentional.

he is undoubtedly the one who becomes almost animal when he fucks you. he doesn't control anything anymore, only his pleasure guides him. he's sometimes hard, with a dirty and almost sadistic speech if needed. everything is good to reach the orgasm. during these moments, the pleasure is so intense, burning everything in its path, as well as the little restraint that drake can still have, that words overflow from his mouth, and that moans intersperse the oldest words in the world.

Perfect Flowers

It was beautiful, wonderful even.

The touch of tender petals on his fingers.

All ten of them.

The touch of grass, soft and rough and perfect on his bare feet, tickling his toes.

All ten of them.

You were meant to count fingers. Right? That's what they said, didn't they?

To know if it was a dream. You count fingers and the doors, and then you'd know.

But… There were no doors.

No matter how much he ran and ran, there were no doors. Just endless fields. Grass on grass upon grass, with flowers of pinks and purples and oranges and reds. Fields of still air but oddly breezy flowers that stretched forever, endlessly wondrous, until it felt as if it would swallow him.

That he would become one with the endless green and blurring colors that were all at once too bright and full to be right. It was so boundlessly beautiful, so perfect, as if he were running through a stock photo that had been airbrushed and primed for some horrid corporate ad about some medication where the side effects were a mile long.

He hadn't fallen asleep. He looked at his hands, but he hadn't driven here… hadn't walked here.

His throat convulsed with a swallow, eyes frantic as he looked around the perfect flowers that danced in the wind that wasn't there.

He didn't remember.

He didn't…

There had to be an end.

Left or right or backwards, somewhere there would be people or an animal or… or something.

He didn't see one. He didn't see anyone. He didn't hear a cricket o-or a bird.

Just flowers and grass in the twilight that stretched for far too long before dawn came all too quickly.

It was beautiful for days.

It was gorgeous for weeks.

It was horrifying for months.

It was maddening for years.

Before there was finally an

For Research

It was research.

That's what he told himself constantly. As he watched camera feed after camera feed of Superman. His head resting on his chin as he studied him.

Lex didn't really have to watch, he supposed. His team was well-trained, educated, and capable of cataloging Superman's every move, but he needed to see.

He just needed to.

Lex needed to watch him, spot the crack within the perfect physic, the perfect hair, the smile, and the kindness. The endless boundless niceness that no matter the species couldn't be real.

He couldn't be. He couldn't be real.

His fingers flicked a switch, changing cameras. He couldn't possibly be so good, so perfect.

Lex tilted his head the other way as Superman flew closer to the newly selected camera. He swallowed the thickness in the back of his throat, leaning forward as Superman stopped to help a cat which had gotten caught in machinery. It was dirty and bleeding and Superman, the man who could jump buildings and punch through concrete, cradled it tenderly.

He didn't have to watch, but he couldn't be real.

Someone so powerful couldn't be so good. His hand shifted on his face, pinky toying with his lip as the lens followed the alien. Lex swallowed, blue eyes focused on him as he cared for the cat and got it help.

He didn't have to watch, but he couldn't be real.

Lex's lips curved into a grin, a finger toying his bottom lip as he shifted in his seat.

Burn with Me

There was always the burn.

It was all she was, all she knew, and all she remembered in the end.

Everything she touched, she was, she could be. Burned.

There would always be burning. It was consuming.

But nothing was sweeter than her flame, than the destruction it could bring. Though perhaps he— the idea of him, of them— could attempt to try to come close, but it could never be.

The sweet fire laced with oranges and reds that caressed and soothed as much as they stole and eradicated. It was all there was or would be or could be.

As that’s what they did, her god-- her reason for existing. It stole and destroyed until there was nothing left but flames and the ever lasting burn of complete desolation.

It was her home, her only real home. A home made of burning flames and loss and suffering.

Forgetful

It was happening more often. 

Sam had never really been forgetful before, sure there were little things here and there. A spell, a birthday, and the ever present: "Where did I leave my keys, again?"

However, lately it had been more frequent. Like a fog was settling over his every thought, shrouding memories long cherished in secrecy. It was all on the tip of his tongue, right there but forever out of reach.

He found himself talking, laughing as he retold one of his favorite hunting stories, and then in a blink, it was gone. His brows furrowed, his tongue limp in his mouth and his jaw slightly slack. He shifted his feet, a stutter of disbelief leaving him as his eyes dashed from side to side, attempting to jog his mind back into action. Regardless of how much he tried, or how long, it as gone, vanished like a shell swept out to sea by the tides.

"It was a cat, wasn't it, Samheart?"

A warm hand touched the back of his, and he blinked at the spark that seemed to push the fog from his memory, spreading through him via the archangel's touch. He blinked, looking from concerned patient faces towards the celestial’s reassuring and timeless smirk, the entity commanding the vast tides of his mind to push the shells back to shore.

Games We Play: A Lunch Date with Elias

He should have known Elias would pick a place like this. 

A place that wasn't too crowded or full that one could get lost in it, but one with just enough people that you could be observed.

However, perhaps what was worse about the restaurant was the mirrors and lack of windows. At least if there were windows it would give the other diners somewhere, anywhere, to look rather than each other.

Discomfort swam through him, like pin pricks under his pale skin, as he kept his eyes down at his half-eaten sandwich. It wasn't like if he ate faster, it would be over faster. No, no, Elias would only let their lunch date be done once he was finished, and the bastard seemed determined to drag it out.

Peter frowned, looking up, and of course those gray eyes were already watching him with that too wide smug grin that seemed to follow Elias from body to body.

"I hate you."

"Mm," Elias' grin was far too wide and pleased. "I hate you too, dear."

Peter felt a flush tint his pale cheeks, though was unsure if it was from his anger or the foot that was not so casually shifting up his calf. He shifted again, the lonely calling to him, begging to be concealed and unseen as he started to blur around the edges.

"Ah, now, now. I won." His grin shifted into a facetious pout, and Peter's bearded frown turned into a grimace. "No, disappearing on me."

"You never-"

"Oh, I'm sure I did." His knife and fork carefully and slowly sliced at his omelette as he cut him off. "Don't be a sore loser, Peter," he tutted.

For a moment, his eyes left his eating partner as someone else's gaze fell on them. His smile shifted, as the man caught Elias' always watching eyes in the mirror. His smug smile returned as the man who had been watching their reflections quickly looked away, his fear palpable.

A chuckle of amusement sounded around his next bite as he chewed, taking in all that he could about the man who was now struggling to eat, before slowly returning his eyes to his husband and their conversation.

"She may have been lonely, but she was far more paranoid, and we agreed that the winner would choose where we ate lunch. So…"

"So you didn't have to order dessert!"

"But I did, I really did," he said before taking a bite of his eggs and breaking his words with his slow chewing. "They're known for their lava cakes. How could I refuse?" His smile was unbreakable, eyes studying the man across from him before looking down at the other's plate as fear wafted through the small mirrored space. "Eat, darling."

Peter glared at him at the way the pet name curled around his tongue. "Smug bastard. You know it's not as appealing as you think it is," he spat, shifting in his seat as the foot returned to its happy wandering against his inner calf and towards his knee. "This is meant to be lunch. No one orders dessert at lunch, Elias."

Elias only chuckled and shrugged as he took another bite of his filled omelette, eyes never leaving Peter.

"If you choke, don't expect me to save you," Peter muttered with a final glare before he picked up his sandwich, eyes focused solely on his food and not the certainty of Elias' gaze and the prickling of more eyes studying them in the mirror that reflected and intensified the sensation.

"Wouldn't dream of it, dear," Elias responded, a pleased hum leaving him as he took his time slicing his next bite.