Kiss

Liu Xiao - Shiguang Dailiren II - Episode 12 - Can’t live without a good brother

he’d known grimmjow’s mouth to be full of needles, ready to be spat. patience begins to waver. it had, perhaps, collapsed even earlier, when the scarce distance had been narrowed, when his kick had connected with taut muscle. or maybe a more primal part of him - the monster that constructed him - isn’t quite so averse to giving in to his desires, or the temptation that presents before his eyes.

the sully of lord aizen’s name gives him leverage. the heel that’d dug itself into grimmjow’s groin pierces deeper still. ‘ you’re crossing the limits, grimmjow. what exactly do you wish for, running your mouth like this? what else if not to be punished. that, i can give you. ’ 

it’s within my power, anger is foreign, but he understands discipline. if lord aizen asked… what are the boundaries to hierarchy? ulquiorra couldn’t remember the last time he’d received orders that rose doubts. perhaps. perhaps not. as long as it’s necessary. it’s pointless. it’s dark, the only source of light comes from the partitions near the tall ceiling, gray moonlight. an appropriate place for grimmjow to confront his feelings, to be taught. a place to be cornered.

this was not supposed to happen.

hands on hips, fabric moved down and teeth around sensitive skin - grimmjow is as fast as he fights, and though ulquiorra could’ve dodged the action, something hooks him in place. the two of them, ulquiorra staring down at the other arrancar in their perfect isolation. there’s nothing between them but the empty air and silence that no longer than a second is all but devoured: grimmjow’s teeth gnaw at his hip-bone, claws tearing their way in, where there should be tender skin, had they been human. but they are not. ulquiorra’s eyes flare open, a moment of confusion, evaluation - it would be a lie to say that he’d been unaware, that he hadn’t seen beyond the goading, the circling like two predators testing the limits of their territories.

‘ grimmjow, you — ’ ulquiorra whispers through gritted teeth, earning him little. his body tenses with anticipation, watching with rapt attention as his shaft disappears inside grimmjow’s mouth, teeth pressing at parts that he hadn’t know could respond in that way to the rough treatment. everything sounds loud, even louder in the silence. the wetness of it. their gasps. white noise pounding and unforgiving in his head.

the sudden closeness astounded him, only momentarily. pride, as he wields it, is sharp, like the edge of a sword. his hands grip at grimmjow’s hair, forcing him into stillness, ‘ is this what you wanted? is this your idea of what punishment should be, because it is not if you’re enjoying it. ’, and presses forward, fingers tight, the almost urge to shove, to savor. to hurt, to break. to destroy.

ㅤㅤㅤIN  HUECO  MUNDO  -  THERE  ARE  NO  GENTLE  TOUCHES,  and  among  the  espada  -  this  rings  especially  true.  they  were  primitive  creatures  in  their  own  right,  boiled  down  to  their  singular  aspects  and  governed  entirely  by  those.  grimmjow  was  a  being  of  destruction  in  all  he  did  -  all  he  felt,  for  in  pursuit  of  whatever  feeling  or  fight  had  caught  his  attention,  the  arrancar  would  raze  the  world  to  the  ground,  and  then  himself  in  the  process.  he  supposes  it  might  be  similar  to  ulquiorra  -  but  with  grimmjow,  at  least  his  destruction  wrought  joy  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  at  least  he  felt  complete  when  pain  crackled  through  his  body  and  he  saw  his  efforts  rewarded  in  depthless,  emerald  gaze  -  saw  the  reflection  of  himself  crazed  and  hungry  and...

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ hah! ❞   he  can't  help  it  -  the  indignant  laugh  that  leaves  him,  the  startled  noise  of  outright  surprise.  it's  like  catching  the  scent  of  blood  in  the  water.  fresh  ichor  scattered  across  the  sands.  he  feels  his  mouth  salivate,  feels  every  predatory  instinct  hone  in  on  the  man  above  him,  even  as  bones  grind  beneath  his  touch,  even  as  his  jaw  aches.  he  just  purrs  louder,  and  louder,  and  louder  -  and  skates  that  feline  rough  tongue  between  the  bat  bastard's  elegant  fingers,  and  sucks.

ㅤㅤㅤnext  thing  he  knows,  he's  own  his  back,  staring  up  at  him,  stomach  smarting.

ㅤㅤㅤyet  somehow  -  grimmjow  doesn't  look  that  angry.  instead  -  he  looks  smug.  were  his  tail  out,  it  might  have  been  swaying  with  delight.  ulquiorra  only  gets  the  benefit  of  his  bright  eyed  stare  though,  the  amused  curl  of  his  lips,  and  the  way  sharp  black  claws  rake  into  stone  flooring,  cracking  the  tile  beneath  them.  ❝ you've  never  done  this  before,  have  you? ❞   grimmjow  sounds  positively  elated  actually,  especially  as  the  fourth  looms  over  him  -  all  monochrome  colors  and  depressed,  empty  gaze.  his  hands  are  surprisingly  alive,  the  sensation  almost  sensuous  and  he's  not  above  baring  his  throat  a  bit  further,  and  also  not  above  another  jolted  out  purr.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ i  don't  think  that's  what  you're  actually  interested  in  right  now,  dumbass. ❞  there  it  is  again  -  that  permeable  smugness,  and  grimmjow  is  lightning  quick,  snapping  a  hand  upwards  to  quite  blatantly  rest  upon  the  heat  of  his  companion's  crotch.  ❝ never  fucked,  ulquiorra?  never  leaned  into  anything  carnal  with  another  arrancar? ❞  as  grimmjow  speaks,  his  grip  tightens  -  dangerous  and  divine  all  at  once,  ❝ guess  i  shouldn't  be  surprised.  aizen  isn't  telling  you  to  do  it  so  why  would  you? ❞   his  fangs  glint  in  the  night  then,  and  the  espada  raises  onto  one  elbow  -  the  inviting  dip  of  tongue  over  a  bloodied  canine,   ❝ c'mon. ❞  he  purrs  again,   ❝ come  at  me  again.  i  wanna  see  what  you  really  want  to  do  to  me. ❞

KISS ME .. an assortment of kissing prompts .

sharing a kiss while sitting by a campfire.

a kiss that leaves behind lipstick marks.

a kiss given between ocean waves.

kissing your lover because you believe you're going to die.

kissing the tears that roll down your lover's cheeks.

a kiss while being held bridal style.

a playful kiss given between laughter.

finally kissing the friend you've been yearning for.

kissing your enemy while holding them at knife point.

a kiss in the aftermath of a fight.

forbidden lovers sharing a kiss in the shadows.

kissing down your lover's body.

kissing at a crowded party.

a kiss shared against a tree.

a kiss to end sexual tension.

kissing to pretend that you are in a relationship together.

a kiss to prove you no longer have feelings for your lover.

a kiss shared to make someone else jealous.

a kiss that leads to undressing each other.

a kiss to say goodbye.

kisses against a wound.

a kiss to the forehead, meant to soothe.

a kiss to the neck from behind.

an 'i love you but i can't be with you' kiss.

an 'i'm in love with someone else, but you're here' kiss.

passionate kisses that end in ripped clothing.

an 'i forgive you' kiss.

a kiss shared at a masquerade ball.

your lover going to walk away, but you grab them and pull them back in for a kiss before they go.

a kiss shared underneath fireworks.

haisugi​:

“You haven’t changed at all.”

A long moment passed where Sugimoto sensed nothing apart from the ragged tempo of their breathing in the still night air, suffocating as the whisper of Ogata’s words passed like tiny daggers over his skin. He let it linger, heavy and silent, ignoring the lump in his throat that threatened to crescendo into tears beneath the fabric of his scarf. He wouldn’t fucking cry. Not here. Not now.

He remembered that he’d cried the night of Umeko’s wedding, when the agony of loneliness set in and he wondered why he hadn’t been been good enough, or worth waiting for. Of course, he cried when his father died, and he began to understand the fragility and impermanence of life. And Toraji - when Toraji died, he cried for many nights, because finally there was nothing left of his old life that he could call his. No friends, no family, no lover.

But not here. He couldn’t cry here, because doing so would be admitting that what happened between the two of them was over, and that Ogata had won.

He released Ogata from his grip, lowering the man’s head gently to the futon before he freed himself from their entanglement. Legs heavy and body numb, he edged away, feet pressed flat against the floor as if urging him to leave. He should, he realized. He should walk away now, instead of clinging to the shallow strands of hope that Ogata might have loved him once, had he done something differently. But that resentment wasn’t something he could escape, he knew. He could run all he wanted, but Ogata’s gaze would always be there, boring into the back of his skull in silent judgment.

Sugimoto glanced back towards the man behind him, unsurprised to catch Ogata staring with what was left of his dark, heady eyes. Absurd. It was all so absurd that Sugimoto had to laugh, sharp and piercing and full of regret.

“You know, maybe I’m a liar. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I’m just as much of a frigid, unchanging bastard as you,” Sugimoto hissed. He tried to close himself off to the yearning he’d felt when Ogata pulled him close, but the sensation of the other man’s touch still sat heavy on the back of his neck. It wasn’t enough to just let go, anymore. Not after all this time. Sugimoto felt compelled to bend over him, caging Ogata between his arms as he stared back at the man defiantly. “But despite it all, I thought, you and I… Together, we could…”

Could what, make it work? Live happily ever after? Sugimoto was surprised to find that after so many nights agonizing over what to say when they finally crossed paths again, he still couldn’t find the words.

Maybe words were useless anyways. After all, Ogata had a beautiful way of twisting them and carving them until they lost all semblance of meaning. The sniper was also a butcher, in his own right.

But there were other ways to tell him. Sugimoto didn’t know if it was right. Knew, almost certainly, Ogata would push him away if he had the strength. But when he lowered himself down to Ogata’s lips and kissed him chastely, he found that he couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t even care to try.

The taste was familiar and strange all at once, unexpectedly sweet and intoxicating in a way that made Sugimoto sick. For all the times he’d thought of killing the man, he’d thought of this tenfold - of the soft curve of his mouth, the tenderness of his tongue contrasted against the harshness of his actions. Sugimoto sank into it, not bothering to hide the desperation in his pace, the need, even if Ogata felt none of the same, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair as if he might run at any moment.

“Live or die, I don’t give a shit,” he lied between breaths. “You did your damage. You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Ogata thought of killing Sugimoto numerous times before, but not quite as many as Sugimoto claimed to have done. No difference had been made after Abashiri, not in the frozen lands of Russia. For better or for worse, Sugimoto avoided the fatal blows by a narrow margin, one that Ogata hadn’t figured out how to get rid of. Putting an end to their back and forth war felt like a distant goal, less likely to happen than finding a speck of gold dust. No matter how many times Ogata fired his weapon, Sugimoto always came back from the depths of whatever hell accepted him.

Part of him liked the chase, there was no use denying the obvious. He liked the thought of having something to look over his shoulder for - the thought of someone waiting for him at the other side of the lense.

What he didn’t like was that Sugimoto tried to force a name on this thing.

Heat began to build up in Ogata’s body - warm and liquid where there should be coldness; it made him feel sick. Like staring down a precipice, the knot in his stomach twisted. It made Ogata want to hurt Sugimoto badly, so much that he wouldn’t have a reason to try his luck a second time. Or a third. Yet, his limbs flinched and his breath was caught in the space between their mouths, like a spell or a curse he swallowed halfway through a dry throat. Sugimoto was persistent, desperate - frantically looking for Ogata’s response, which, hazed by the narcotics and swept by the spur of the vivid memories engraved into his flesh, he gave. Ogata returned the kiss at first, savage as he could, but Sugimoto didn’t let him lay a single bite.

The acid sensation at the pit of his stomach didn’t resemble anything he’d felt before. It was foreign, so much that he couldn’t draw a proper reaction out of his system until it was already too late and Sugimoto was touching him with tenderness so unlike Ogata’s cruelty and his fruitless attempt at goading Sugimoto in. His lips planted against Ogata’s half-opened mouth like he was afraid of hurting him. Distaste crawled up his skin. Live or die, stay or leave; Sugimoto muttered all these words so close to Ogata’s ear that he almost missed it.

The look Sugimoto gave him afterwards… did he think of Ogata as a lover?

“…” He pushed himself apart.

Ogata had never been in love - if love was anywhere. So for Sugimoto to try and attempt to give meaning to what they’d done all those months back in the mountains, he must have been feeling equal parts bold and stupid. He wished, more than anything else in the world, to have the strength to reach for his bayonet and open Sugimoto’s rib cage in half, see what was stored inside. He supposed it’d be warm, slippery, red. Sugimoto’s tongue was that way, too, when it brushed against Ogata’s lips - or when he sucked all the poison from Ogata’s empty eye socket.

He moved sluggishly beneath Sugimoto’s body, restricted by the firm grip in his hair. “You and I, what? You think we’d run away together with the gold and build a life as bandits or live in hiding in the forest? Surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re drop outs. Worse than that, First Lieutenant Tsurumi would never let his grip on us come loose, not after you’ve traded your soul away for that false act of heroism.”

“What did that gain you? Do you still think we’d get away from this unscathed?” Despite his words, Ogata was surprised to find that he wanted to know Sugimoto’s answer. He buried the embers of that foolish curiosity, licking at his lower lip. It was still coated with Sugimoto’s scent and flavor. He held up his gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sugimoto. I want to kill you, I thought I’d made that clear.”

❛ you've broken me. all i can think about is you. ❜ sherliam

“then don’t think.”

voice lulls the despairing pleas that came in between their pressed mouths, seeking each other’s warmth, hungry for a taste of the other. sherlock’s finger traces a line across the fine curve of william’s cheekbones, down his jawline, committing to memory every little detail. it’s not nearly enough, he thinks.

haunting william’s every thought is the beginning - breaking him is beyond his intentions, but creation doesn’t love stagnancy, nothing is created from the static. for there to be something to change, a body has to be broken beforehand, split into smaller components, rearranged and treasured, and who else is better at dismantling layers upon layers of facade than a detective smitten by the temptation of mystery? shrouded in these lies, william’s become something even sweeter, addictive like no other.

sherlock’s mind wanders, blue sapphire meeting ruby-tinted eyes. “ well - can’t say it bothers me, having every bit of you, including your thoughts. would love to listen what’s inside that head of yours. is it something you can give me, liam? ”

to purposefully goad him into something harsher feels like a poor call, and still, the gnawing feeling in his chest doesn’t fade away. instead, the pace quickens, his stomach shrinks with something akin to desire, the kind that leaves a man hovering close to the edge, stalked by the abyss. he wants to take the leap, give it all in, to be engulfed by nothing else but the depths of william’s thoughts. a selfish parts wants it to belong only to him. he lets it spill all at once: his mouth returns to its previous position, sucking at william’s lower lip, hands occupied with unfastening william’s belt, then his own.

he takes both their sensitive points in a grip.

it’s quick, insistent. he’s got none of the care and patience that distinguishes william’s gait, the way he crafts his plans; sherlock is aware of the chaos, the force that makes the house of cards crumble. william gasps beneath him, their bodies finding the perfect rhythm between fluid riding and heavy pressure as he pushes william further down into the mattress. the sun’s all set now, leaving only darkness in its absence. the night gives them privacy, bad deeds done in secret but there’s nothing sacrilegious about this. william is the closest thing to heaven sherlock’s ever had, if there was a God at all.

“come on, liam. be good and say my name. you’ve been way too quiet for someone who’s supposedly thinking about nothing else but me. show me. tell me how much you want it.”

@cursedfell

@tearenere gojo and nagumo

toxic codependent familial dynamics this. toxic codependent romances that. what about toxic codependent coworkers. i can’t do my job without this guy here or i’ll kill myself.

@vzmky

' you're not an exorcist, '

nor akuma, nor any other monster she was aware of. bloodied candles float in the air, their victims scattered across the ground in an almost unrecognizable mess. they accused her of being some kind of cursed spirit, whatever that was.

being called names hurts my feelings

they were weak, not even lasting a few minutes against her. they were no exorcist, otherwise they may have tried begging once they learned who she was. this other one however had the unmistakable stench of blood, and their smile was all but merry.

' you positively reek of death. were they friends of yours? they weren't much fun. will you be more fun than they were? '

Hiiii Sexy Dm To Get Spoiled With Weekly Allowance.....

a business proposal without exact numbers? you've become negligent, Satoru.