The lighthouse in Promthep Cape also known as God's Cape or Laem Promthep. #lightjpuse #godscape #laempromthep #promthepcape #phuket #thailand #travelblog #travel #ajourneywithme (at Laem Promthep) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bta_n9fgPsV/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=mvrxddlqwu3i
Photo whole driving at 65 mph in a convertible Mini Cooper. I like it. #skyart #godscape #orange #yellow #sky #grandeur #itsyou #itsme #breathe #elleninspires #beyou #itstherevolution #joyvibration #thejoypractice®️ (at Downtown Indianapolis)
7 or 10 for shizaya? also: the way you write izaya is a+++, tbh it's one of the most in character portrayals in the fandom
thank you <333 i love this garbage man so much he still owns 99% of my life
10. pinning the other against a wall
warning for vague asphyxiation kink, for izaya being really messed up about sex in general & especially the concept of being treated nicely during it
-–
Izaya prided himself for honesty toward himself regardless of his one (two) glaring exception, but he didn’t think he would ever be ready for the truth of why, exactly, he was being so reckless.
Maybe it had to do with boredom, he thought fleetingly. Maybe it had to do with unspent energy, maybe it was just that bothering Shizuo to the point of blind anger had always been one of his favorite pastimes. That must be it.
Still. He had no preparations for Shizuo actually catching him.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” was the first savage declaration, and Izaya would have found it pathetically predictable were it not for his windpipe crushed under Shizuo’s palm, his nape stuck against a solid wall.
He grinned despite the bright pain in his lungs. They burned from the chase and they burned from not being allowed to expand fully, to repair the damage that effort had done.
Shizuo wasn’t even out of breath. If his voice was thin, his eyes blown open and his face red, it was all from fury.
“Congratulations,” Izaya wheezed.
“Shut up.”
“Surely you wouldn’t waste your victory with my silence—”
The hand at Izaya’s neck tightened, not warning but execution, and Izaya’s mind went blissfully empty, his body hollowed and his tension snapping apart, and.
And.
That was a bad thing. Not unexpected, considering the last time someone had a hand wrapped around his neck, but he thought for sure Shizuo would act as a deterrent to any sort of pleasure. His own hands had shot up to grab Shizuo’s wrist and uselessly try to pull it away.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long fucking time,” Shizuo said, unaware of the heat that crackled up Izaya’s spine the second his grip relaxed. He didn’t even notice that he was bleeding, out of every sharp cut that Izaya’s nails had drawn in his skin. “What am I gonna do with you now, pest?”
He was still pinning Izaya’s entire weight to the wall with only a wrist. He didn’t even need to apply any visible effort. Izaya’s mind processed this in slow bursts, as if dragging itself through mud.
He managed a smile.
“What indeed,” he replied pleasantly. That his voice came rough and painful was of no consequence now; Shizuo would not show mercy, of this he was sure. “Do I get a phone call?”
“Who the fuck would you call?”
No one, Izaya thought. “The police,” he answered, lips stretched painfully. “I always did say you belong in a cage.”
Izaya thought about his options in the time it took for Shizuo to understand the insult. He watched Shizuo’s lips curl back over his teeth and considered the advantages of drawing a knife now, eyed the thick darkness surrounding them and thought of the off-chance anyone would walk by if he screamed who would be willing to call for help; and Shizuo chose this moment to step closer, until Izaya felt all the cold winter around him dissipate out of sheer proximity and Shizuo’s own body warmth find resonance in himself. Shizuo wasn’t, apparently, exception enough that Izaya would misname the heat tightening low in his belly.
“Do you want to stretch the moment, then?” he asked, to gain time and to distract himself. “Never took you for the kind to play with your food, but I guess I can accommodate you this time. I promise I’ll scream if you hit hard enough.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Well, think fast. I haven’t got all night.”
Shizuo didn’t answer. His calm breath washed over Izaya’s face warmly. It didn’t even smell bad—it never did—but Izaya found himself holding his anyway, too aware of the fact that Shizuo would be able to feel the ever fastened beat of his heart under his palm. He would feel him swallow, if Izaya allowed it.
He didn’t.
“Why are you here, Izaya?” Shizuo asked quietly.
Izaya wished he had a truth to tell about this that didn’t make him want to vanish into thin air.
“Vast question,” he answered. “My mother loves my father very much, you see, and when two adults—” he choked when Shizuo’s hold tightened warningly, unable to stop himself from laughing. “Sensitive, are we,” he rasped. “I thought only teenagers had this sort of knee-jerk reaction to mentioning sex.”
Izaya expected Shizuo to flinch with childish embarrassment, to betray the same shame that had shaken him when they were still young and Izaya brought up the topic, but he didn’t. His gaze stayed unwavering.
“Or,” Izaya said, “maybe you have grown a bit. Who in their right mind allowed you to touch them, Shizu-chan?”
There was the outrage—Shizuo’s lips curled again in a snarl that would have warranted a grown were he truly an animal, and he said, “Shut the fuck up.”
“This is amazingly, frankly. I always thought you’d die a virgin.”
“Yeah?” Shizuo cut in, pressing even closer. Izaya’s words died on his tongue. “You think about that often, Izaya?”
Izaya stilled.
In all the years they had known each other, through all the fights and chases, that was the one thing he had never done. He wasn’t foolish enough not to notice that he refused himself these insinuations either—and he couldn’t tell, wouldn’t tell, if he refused them out of self-preservation or simply because there was something very pure, very wholesome about the untainted hatred Shizuo held for him.
Izaya’s own hatred wasn’t so unsoiled. He had never allowed himself to communicate any of it, he knew that. He had made sure of that.
He felt anger, now, unbridled and almost shaking. It crawled up the pressurized space of his throat and sank nail-first into his head. It made it very easy to fall into a relaxed slouch against the wall of the alley, in spite of the hand holding him by the neck, thanks to the hand holding him by the neck.
Shizuo had no idea what he was getting himself into. He would regret this more than he would regret allowing Izaya to flee.
“Should I?” Izaya said softly. “Do you like that idea, Shizu-chan?”
Shizuo’s face lightened with his confusion. Izaya took that lapse of time to raise a hand again, and he smiled at the immediate wariness Shizuo showed, even though he was holding no blade. His fingers came to rest around Shizuo’s wrist again, much more loosely than before.
“If I told you that I have thought about you having sex before,” Izaya went on, “I wonder what you’d do?”
“Stop fucking lying,” Shizuo growled predictably.
Izaya’s laughter was smoother now, lower than its usual pitch. The kind of laughter he reserved for other nightly activities. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I always wondered if there people suicidal enough to want to bed you.”
“You’re suicidal enough to want to piss me off.”
“I am, indeed. Does that make me fit your criteria for a partner?”
“What are you doing,” Shizuo breathed.
Izaya smiled thinly, gently. Eyes lidded over and body relaxed in the grip of the beast.
He had been in this position too many times, with too many people, to be afraid of it—and that was what Shizuo, in his holy anger, would have no inkling of.
“Is that what you want, Shizuo?” Izaya let Shizuo’s name stretch in his mouth like warmed caramel, not thinking of the line he was toeing, not thinking of the catch in Shizuo’s breath, looking for the anger and disgust he wanted. His thumb stroked the inside of Shizuo’s wrist, right over the ridges of his veins. He would cut through them one day, he knew. “You’re making this last so long,” he said in no more than a whisper. “You’ve caught me, after all these years—do you expect a reward? I’ll give it to you.”
Shizuo stared at him, stricken. He looked almost numb with surprise.
“You can’t want this,” he replied eventually. “You’re... you’re messing with me.”
Having Shizuo think things this way—Izaya not wanting it, when it was the other way around—was the sort of exhilaration found at the edge of a rooftop. Izaya, when he breathed, felt nothing short of drunk.
“Try me,” he said.
And he waited for the rage, for the bone-deep revulsion that this one too many drop would renew; he waited for Shizuo’s hand to tighten around his neck and finally cut the breath out of him until he dripped out of consciousness with vicious glee on his tongue, with unbearable heat in his loins; he mourned for Shizuo’s unspoiled hatred that he would never meet again, now that he had tainted it.
Instead, Shizuo kissed him.
Izaya didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t move at all. He stood, swept clean of every thought, as Shizuo’s warm lips pressed onto his in the dark of this rundown alley, out of light and out of sight.
He felt his mouth accommodate Shizuo’s almost automatically despite the stillness that had taken him body and mind—and Shizuo was slow, tentative, not at all what he had sometimes imagined in flickers of unwanted (wanted) dreams, a soft and inexorable presence, from the breadth of his shoulders and to the closeness of his hips. Because Izaya was kissing back, he didn’t stop. Because Izaya took in a shaky breath, because Izaya opened his mouth to him, the hand around his neck turned bracing, fitting itself to the side and stroking shivers through his skin.
Izaya’s own hand slid from Shizuo’s wrist to rest at his elbow, when Shizuo’s fingers dragged upward to catch the back of his head, to tread through his damp hair. Izaya’s blinks turned slower, turned longer; eventually he didn’t blink at all, eyes closed through the rolling heat, answering every flick of Shizuo’s tongue, and—Shizuo wasn’t supposed to kiss so well, he was never supposed to kiss at all, certainly not as if Izaya was something he ever wanted to hold this tenderly.
Izaya was never supposed to enjoy this. He was never supposed to moan faintly into it as he did then, never supposed to arch his neck into the curve of Shizuo’s hand to better respond to him.
Shizuo should be crushing the air out of him with his hands. He should be biting him until he bled. He should be pinning him to the wall until Izaya had no choice but to struggle free for fear of—
Shizuo’s other hand came to rest at Izaya’s hip, gentle, and Izaya realized that he had never felt more trapped than he did in that man’s loose embrace. He opened his mouth when Shizuo pulled away, and found that he couldn’t speak at all. Shizuo’s lips trailed down the side of his face and came to rest at his neck. He kissed there wetly, all of his body aligned with Izaya’s, scorching heat everywhere they touched, and Izaya... Izaya couldn’t breathe.
His heart was beating at the roof of his mouth. His throat constricted until no air went through. Shizuo stilled against him.
“Izaya?” he asked, lifting his head.
Whatever he saw on Izaya’s face made him let go as if he were holding hot coal.
“Izaya—fuck, I thought—”
“Get off me,” Izaya said.
Shizuo stepped away almost before he was finished speaking.
In a way, this was hilarious. Shizuo had spent so long trying to catch him, and now that he had him, he was giving him a wide opening to leave. Izaya thought he would have found the strength to laugh if he weren’t hyperventilating.
His fingers slipped on the handle of his knife when he took it out of his pocket. He brandished it shakily, not raised nearly high enough, and yet Shizuo said nothing. He didn’t approach, he didn’t grow defensive. Izaya didn’t look at his face.
He stayed like this until his breathing quieted. Shizuo didn’t try to move in any way.
“Let’s call tonight a draw,” Izaya said, once he was reasonably sure his voice wouldn’t break.
“A dr—what the fuck?”
“I admit that I hate to lose, but—”
“Izaya,” Shizuo cut in. He sounded angry again, which was reassuring. More reassuring than the way he had said Izaya’s name a few minutes ago. “I thought you said...”
Izaya tried to meet his eyes and failed. “I’d really like to go home,” he made himself say, staring somewhere under his chin. “If you don’t mind.”
Silence hovered for a second.
“Yeah,” Shizuo replied, more subdued than Izaya had ever heard him. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
He said nothing at all while Izaya stepped backward, all the way to the opening of the street. He didn’t try to follow him. The last Izaya saw of him was that strangely mournful face, too close to an apology for him to understand at all.
