Ficlet Request #1
I know this wasn't the first request, but it's the first one that got done, so SHRUG EMOJI?
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bassy requested Greens making out. (This probably isn't as literal as you were looking for.)
wth do I call this? Let's go with Erosion, I guess.
***
Buttercup thinks Butch is the embodiment of the word sharp.
Not in the figurative sense. Not in reference to his mind. Literally, physically sharp. How else to explain the marks that crawl to the surface of her skin after a fight, bruises like badges and medals? The ocean throws itself on the jagged, rocky shore, and does it over and over again. That resilience is something to celebrate.
He’s all angles and hard edges, elbows and knees, a smile like a razor on her tongue. She gives as good as she gets. Sometimes better. Sometimes good enough to feel the serrated teeth of his body soften against hers.
Erosion is a process, so slow she doesn’t even realize it’s happening.
The medals disappear entirely, as does the glory they used to bring her, disintegrating into something unrecognizable, unfamiliar. An entire ocean, pulling back.
Those angles and hard edges remain—a ghost of what they once were, but still there. Her hands graze it all, carefully, gently, trying not to get cut.
The blade of Butch’s smirk disappears and a hard breath passes between them. The growl in his throat dissolves into a sigh, a breath that shudders, soft as a wave hitting shore. And all that unspoken power behind it.
She throws herself on the sharpness of him—his edges and angles and corners—and marvels as it all melts underneath her as she pulls him out to sea.
***
Work progresses on the rest. Thanks always for your patience. ♥
bassy requested Greens making out. (This probably isn't as literal as you were looking for.)wth do I call this? Let's go with Erosion, I guess.
***
Buttercup thinks Butch is the embodiment of the word sharp.
Not in the figurative sense. Not in reference to his mind. Literally, physically sharp. How else to explain the marks that crawl to the surface of her skin after a fight, bruises like badges and medals? The ocean throws itself on the jagged, rocky shore, and does it over and over again. That resilience is something to celebrate.
He’s all angles and hard edges, elbows and knees, a smile like a razor on her tongue. She gives as good as she gets. Sometimes better. Sometimes good enough to feel the serrated teeth of his body soften against hers.
Erosion is a process, so slow she doesn’t even realize it’s happening.
The medals disappear entirely, as does the glory they used to bring her, disintegrating into something unrecognizable, unfamiliar. An entire ocean, pulling back.
Those angles and hard edges remain—a ghost of what they once were, but still there. Her hands graze it all, carefully, gently, trying not to get cut.
The blade of Butch’s smirk disappears and a hard breath passes between them. The growl in his throat dissolves into a sigh, a breath that shudders, soft as a wave hitting shore. And all that unspoken power behind it.
She throws herself on the sharpness of him—his edges and angles and corners—and marvels as it all melts underneath her as she pulls him out to sea.
***
Work progresses on the rest. Thanks always for your patience. ♥
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rereads this until i fall asleep
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