12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear - for any ship you'd like!
Took me a hot minute but I got something written down for this at last 😂
Thank you for the prompt! I went with Richard and Daniel for this one, I hope that’s alright
12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear - for any ship you'd like!
—
Daniel could count on one hand the number of times he’d managed to wake up before Richard and half of those fingers had been heavily sedated.
It wasn’t as if he was a bigger night owl—Richard stayed up just as late as he did. And shared all the same reasons to want to linger in bed—half trying to avoid an intense work out plan in the mornings and the same level of excitement when it came to “healthy” breakfasts. (Healthy being generously applied by a kind natured liar. Danny normally chugged an energy drink and Richard could be persuaded to choke down untoasted bread with black coffee).
But Richard hadn’t slept an unbroken eight hours in all the time Daniel had known him. Nightmares, joint pain, spinning anxiety, restless minds and legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure what prompted the sudden change. Why he wasn’t woken up this morning by the gentle whir of the coffee machine or the thrum of water in the pipes as Richard showered, and instead was left to linger in the quiet haze, alone with his own thoughts in a way he couldn’t confirm he’d ever been since sleeping with his childhood hero.
All that to say, Daniel was trying very very hard to breathe quietly. Part of Daniel considered getting up—of taking advantage of the lull. Of the privacy. To be alone with Richard and also alone with his own thoughts. It didn’t usually bother him to know Richard could see into his head…but still. A moment of solitude could be appreciated for how fleeting its existence was. He could simply float up further off the bed, bob into the rest of the apartment and Richard would be none the wiser.
So long as Edith didn’t bark at anything, it would be fine. It…it would also be fine if he didn’t get up right away, wouldn’t it?
Daniel didn’t move.
Richard’s face looked different when he was sleeping. More relaxed, obviously, but there was something about the mouth that was unsettling, where the muscles gone lax enough to let the jaw unclench and lips part. It brought up ugly memories of Richard’s limp body being man-handled by a…well. By Richard. In a young lady’s body, sure, but still him. Treating himself like a bag of stubborn trash that wouldn’t fit down a garbage chute. Like a cheap and oversized Halloween prop to be crammed into the cramped cargo hold of a six seater jet. Like.
Daniel knew Richard hated himself. Knew he was still…still had thoughts about ending things, no matter how much Richard assured him that that aspect of himself was somehow getting better. But knowing was different than seeing it—seeing how blasé Richard was about hurting himself, letting himself be damaged and abused and discarded.
And now, unconscious and vulnerable, it was disturbingly easy to appraise Richard’s body as just that. A human body. Warm and firm and stretched and scarred and good. Alive, despite every effort to the contrary. Bruised and battered and broken, healed and unhealed and perfect.
“I love you,” whispered with less breath than a dust mite could conjure.
Daniel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried, watching his own hand slide up from under the comforter and reach forward. Richard only stirred for a fraction of a second as Daniel tucked an unruly curl back behind his ear—longer than either of them had expected it to be as it healed from decades of damage—and brought his hand back down to the bedding. He could stand to linger a little longer.
Herald asks ortega what sidestep was like and in ortega's head there is an angel and demon and the angel is screaming 'BE NORMAL BE NORMAL" while the demon is watching a Dead Wife Montage of sidestep with "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri as the background music at full volume.
the few minutes between the moment u yap in someones dms and they dont answer and you feel like you should get painfully dismembered for the crime of talking to someone vs the instant relief of normalcy you get when they text back and no ones killed you yet
I would have to kill current Sidestep Markus, if only because he already decided to go get himself killed while taking the Farm down with him. That man has issues and they are Not Getting Better™️
Marry past Sidestep!Markus! That there is a man with morals! 🥺 He’s steadfast and devoted and not utterly undone by trust issues (yet)!
I’d fuck Knight. Please. I’m (not) ashamed to admit it that I’ve made Knight too hot. Sir, you must ram me on your spikes and sturdy armour and your imposing, threatening, and vaguely violent and bloodthirsty persona does things to me. Please.
Okay, actual question. do you enjoy salad? and by salad I mean a bowl full of greens with some sort of topping.
Honest opinion only, please don't answer one way or the other based on what you think you should say.
Sybil’s brain stuttered hard, a broken wheel catching in a particularly deep pothole. Albert’s tongue. No, no, it. It couldn’t actually be that long, could it?
It could be, apparently, Sybil realized with a completely startled clench. That was the tip of his tongue hitting. No, not even something so crude as hitting—he was fully licking at the back of her throat. And the roof of her mouth. The inside of her cheek. The. Another swipe, too quick and too deep and Sybil felt more than heard herself moaning, eyes rolling back in her head.
An arrow of heat dug itself deep into her core. And.
Oh? Another? And another. And, god be good, let him keep doing whatever the hell this was.
Having recovered from it’s initial stumble, Sybil’s brain began rapidly sounding the alarm.
She was getting off on this.
She could feel her toes wanting to curl—could distantly register that she was making sounds halfway between gags and moans. For some reason, which could be dealt with long after they were done here, every flick of hot wet muscle deeper into her mouth was keying Sybil up faster than she could ever remember. Another wet lick and Sybil’s clit throbbed needily. Without her permission, her hips bucked forward, desperate for any kind of relief to the maddening ache building there.
God, if he kept going she was actually going to...
And then Albert was pulling back suddenly and Sybil was only dimly aware of how hard she was panting. A little more aware that she was fully clutching his shoulders like she was going to fall through the floor if she let go. Half of her wanted to cry out and chase his mouth. Draw his tongue back in. She was. God, she was honestly close. The other half politely cleared its throat, because Albert looked agonizingly embarrassed, avoiding her gaze.
“S-sorry, I um. Get carried aw…away some…,” and it was probably rude of her. Probably definitely rude of her, considering how sensitive Albert could be about his speech impediment, but Sybil could do absolutely nothing to stop herself from covering his mouth with a soft hand. Only for a moment. Then she slid it up into his hair, stroking her fingers over his scalp.
“Al. Please. Please do it again,” never too proud to beg and never too embarrassed to not simply say what she wanted. Albert’s cheeks went dark. A furtive excitement lurked at the corners of his mouth.
“You…l-liked that?” And Sybil thanked whoever was listening that she only made it halfway through an eager nod before Albert’s tongue was shoved back down her throat, nearly silencing the next moan that rocketed up from her chest.
