#ficlets

[hxney-lemcn]

When You Nerd Out (Biology Edition) — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: the overblots find out you're more of a nerd than they realized...

tw: mentions of bugs (not really but I digress), mentions of arachnids (literally just the name of one lol), mentions of reptiles (idk maybe people are scared of them), mentions of snakes.

a/n: a reptile show is happening soon and I've been looking into so many reptiles/invertebrates/amphibians I had to get this out of my system somehow. What better way then to ramble to fictional characters? (Help me)

wc: 1.2k (~180 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Roseheart

When Riddle first met you, you were downtrodden, having just been thrown into a new world filled with magic and flair that yours didn’t. Your grades weren’t the best (but far from the worst), and you always seemed tired no matter what. So when your eyes lit up when he showed you the flamingo and hedgehog cages/pens he was surprised at the amount of facts that spilled from your lips. From how flamingos get their color to how hedgehogs are carnivores. Or how you could even ramble on about flowers and plants, like how tea garden roses are the most short lived species. From then on, Riddle would come to you for even the smallest of things. Did you want to feed the animals with him? This rose bush is wilting, are there any tips to bring it back? Do you know the meaning behind the colors of roses? No particular reason for that last question…just don’t question the bouquet of white and red roses mixed with baby’s breath that show up on your doorstep the next day.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

It was hard not to notice when you seemed to be on the brink of exploding. How you’d stare at awe in Leona’s presence, as you should. But your eyes would always wander to his ears, teeth, tail, nails. It got to a point that he felt like you were mentally dissecting him. It was his downfall to growl out a short “what”, as you started to pile on questions to the beastman prince. “Are your nails sharper than a humans?”, “How much better can you hear?”, “Does your tail help you balance?” All Leona could do was stare at you with boredom. Who knew his herbivore was a nerd? He supposes he could humor you for a little bit. Press his sharp nails lightly into your skin, a teasing smile as he asks if you’d like a test. Perhaps a nibble to show you how well his canines work? It all goes awry when you start taking interest in other beastmen, who cares about the cheetah or leopard bestmen when you have a lion prince right here?

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul never thought twice about where he’s come from. He’s seen many kinds of merpeople, many kinds of fish or crustaceans or sharks. But he knew land dwellers didn’t have that, which is why he has the giant aquarium in his lounge. He got used to the awed expressions as well, more focused on swindling the poor souls. So when your jaw dropped and how you clearly restrained yourself from running up to the giant aquarium, Azul felt giddy. He could offer you something most couldn’t. He’d watch as you’d point out a fish or ray that you saw and explain how much you loved the color or how magnificent it looked. When you brought up how smart you thought octopi are, it was over. His heart couldn’t take it. You know he was an octopus merperson right? You were basically complimenting him without realizing it. He couldn’t get over how you stared in wonder at the blue ringed octopus that was waving back at you. And oh sevens you were giggling at it? He wasn’t getting jealous over another octopus, no way…

❥ Jamil Viper

Jamil noticed the excited look in your eyes when you learned his last name was Viper, but nothing had happened at the time. It wasn’t until Kalim had you rambling about animals did Jamil realize just how much you seemed to love snakes. How you named your favorite in a heartbeat to how you scrutinized the ones you looked into as pets. It wasn’t until Kalim started to offer to buy you all those snakes and more did he have to step in. Yet Jamil felt flustered when your gaze landed on him, your eyes that had been filled with fondness while rambling about snakes had only seemed to get brighter when looking at him. Reluctantly, Jamil let you drag him to a reptile show, something Kalim had pushed him to do. For his own sanity, Jamil ignored the giant pouch of money Kalim tried to stealthily hand you, instead, focusing on your awed expression at the variety of animals. He couldn’t help but watch the snakes in awe with you, and when you asked him if he wanted to help you set up an enclosure for one…who was he to say no?

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a busy man. With photo and movie shoots to interviews to taking care of himself, there isn’t much time to stop and smell the roses. But with you, he tries to make time, and it's like a breath of fresh air every time. It was nice to sit outside and bask in the sun (with sunscreen of course) and talk with you. Something had clearly caught your eye when you dropped from the bench to scoop something off the ground. Vil thought he knew you well enough…apparently not. He hadn’t expected to see you shove a rolly polly, pill bug, potato bug, whatever you want to call them into his face…okay maybe he’s exaggerating. You held the little thing far enough away that it wasn’t all too startling. He swore he never saw you so excited about something, or how you rambled that they weren’t bugs, but crustaceans that live on land. The way you gently held the critter to how fondly you looked at the curled up thing made Vil’s heart flutter. You always seemed to find beauty in things most would shudder at. How odd.

❥ Idia Shroud

Idia had no idea how you managed, but you had convinced him to get a plant. You had called it a zz plant, and thought it would be perfect to liven his room up as it didn’t need direct sunlight. He watched the plant as it sat next to a grow light, it needed something since he didn’t have any windows. The dark purple leaves were pretty, you were right. As much as he tried to keep up with watering, he would forget, but Ortho seemed to have it covered. When little leaves started sprouting, Idia felt proud, a weird feeling he wasn’t used to. When you came over and saw how well it was doing you beamed. That stupid fluttery feeling filled him as you praised him, not to mention it mixing with feeling proud. Not a good combo, as now he was thinking of asking you if there’s any other plant you may recommend, just to get you rambling once more about different plants that could thrive in his little cave of a room.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Although Malleus loves to hear your voice, you always seem content to hear him ramble. The way your eyes watched intently, trying to find what he was pointing out on a gargoyle, or how you’d ask questions about the differences of a gargoyle and grotesque. At first, he was concerned when you gasped, had you gotten hurt somehow? Yet he found you excitedly pointing out a house gecko that stood near the gargoyle he was talking about. He watched you in awe as your eyes glittered, and how you were basically jumping up and down. Then you started going on about geckos, reptiles, and all sorts of odd things people keep as pets. The way you basically swooned at the thought of owning a crested gecko or a crocodile skink, Malleus was ready to hand you all the money you needed. He is the best and worst, as he’ll never tell you no and fund your hobby till your heart’s content. Just make sure to pay attention to him too, yeah? Unlike skinks or tarantula’s, he likes your affection. Plus, he’s the best reptile of them all, no? He’d gladly show you his dragon form.

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

Steve likes to take dates to the carnivals and he always tries to win them stuffed toys because he’s cheesy and romantic and proud of it thank you very much

Only, he’s absolute ass at the carnival games. He’s only ever managed to win an ugly little cap, and Tiffany had not been amused when he’d presented it to her. It never stopped him from trying of course, but it’s a little discouraging

Fast forward to now, when he’s recruited by Claudia Henderson to drag the party out to the carnival. Robin refuses to join him because “I finally have a date Steve, I’m not going to spend it chaperoning your walking headaches”. So he recruited Eddie

Of course, the party doing want to be chaperoned and they’re really old enough to go to a carnival by themselves, so he agrees to let them go off by themselves as long as they stay out of trouble.

So he and Eddie go on a few rides and grab a bite to eat, and Eddie eats like three ice cream cones and feels too queasy for more rides. So Steve decides to practice carnival games so he can win something for the next babe he brings on a date.

With Eddie cheering him on as obnoxiously and flirtatiously as he can, Steve starts playing. And he starts winning. Not just the little prizes either. Along with normal sized stuffed bears and bats and what-have-yous, he also gets a comically large stuffed rainbow unicorn wearing sunglasses, a long dragon plushie that’s taller than he is, and other oversized paraphernalia

Since he isn’t here with a date, Steve just gives all his winnings to Eddie. Eddie jokes about how this was the most romantic date he’s ever been on (only it’s not really a joke, this not-date is more romantic than any of his trysts). Then Eddie starts complaining that Steve needs to stop winning because how is he supposed to carry all this? By the time they meet up with the kids, Eddie isn’t even visible behind the mass of prizes in his arms. He stumbles over, guided by Steve’s hand in his back, wrapped in the giant dragon, and the kids mock the both of them ruthlessly

Eddie keeps all the toys and names then after the party just to bug them. Steve delighted with that, and together they always tease the kids (“wooow, rainbow unicorn Dustin would never do this” is a favourite because it makes Dustin apoplectic)

When they start dating, Eddie keeps telling people that Steve “gave me 6 kids before finally putting a ring on it”

[atomite-ton]

chimera shifter ghost au where he grows and changes through various animal features.

it’s constant to the point he has to entirely cover up to prevent others from seeing as feathers melt into scales, back into skin, quills emerging only to be replaced with spines and then whiskers.

after a full week of consistently carrying varying kinds of bird wings on his back, soap finally convinces him to let him preen the itching feathers as they descend into disarray.

halfway through, as soap’s sitting straddling ghost's back where he’s splayed out on his bed for better access, the feathers start to stretch and meld together. soft fluff is replaced with iridescent membrane that splits and elongates into 4 fluttering dragonfly wings.

ghost, half asleep and completely relaxed below him, doesn't seem to notice. so soap just continues gently running a dampened washcloth along the newly smooth surface, admiring the shimmer, and quietly memorizes the subtle green shine along delicate veins to later document into his sketchbook.

ghost doesn’t know it yet, but soap keeps a detailed documentation of every shape he falls into. Every scale, antler and spine lovingly etched in graphite and whatever coloured pigment he can get his hands on, safely kept in its own special journal. it's safe to say soap delights in the ever shifting face of his lieutenant, but what truly catches his attention, is the man who wears it. (and maybe one day, when ghost finally sees it, its the final push he needs to finally let soap in. ghost's made him wait long enough.) ((soap doesn't mind. he would have waited forever, if that's how long it took.))

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[angelsdean]

Happy Birthday, Dean!

Another year gone by, another year worth celebrating. Dean wakes up to Cas holding him close, gravel voice rumbling "Happy Birthday, Dean," and pressing a kiss to his temple.

Later, friends and family gather with gifts and goodies to celebrate Dean. Jack and Eileen make rice crispy treats. Donna brings a cake. And Cas bakes his annual pie. Strawberry Rhubarb this year. Ambitious.

"Alright, let's see how you did, sweetheart," Dean says.

Cas presses his hands together in prayer as Dean cuts in and another photo is snapped.

"Uh...." The knife won't go through. "Did you...forget to grease the pan?"

"...Goddammit."

"Hey, hey, no big. Who needs a bottom crust anyway?"

Dean shovels a vaguely slice-shaped piece onto his plate and pops a forkful into his mouth. And whew boy, that's tart!

"What's that face?" Cas asks as Sam snickers.

"Nothin', it's great, Cas." Dean grins and takes another bite, Cas doesn't look too convinced. "Seriously, try it." He holds out his fork for Cas.

Cas chews, contemplating, then says very seriously, "It's delicious."

Then, the gifts are opened. A Scooby-Doo coloring book and various pins from Jack, with Scooby wrapping paper to match. Novelty pizza socks from Jody and Donna. Matching shirts from Sam -- "You'll never lose him again." Dr. Sexy Convention tickets from Cas, plus a private gift to open later. And finally, Eileen's gift wrapped in pink cowboy wrapping paper (Jack's second choice).

"What the fresh hell is this--?" A custom calendar. Filled with embarrassing photos of Dean from the 90s. "Eileen! Where the hell did you get these pictures from?"

"Sam helped. Some were from Bobby. Others we had to hunt down. Did you know Dean Winchester the serial killer has a small but dedicated following online? Some true crime fangirls found a bunch of your yearbook photos. You also modeled?"

Dean's ears go pink. "Yeah, yeah. It was just a way to make some quick cash. Never thought it'd come back to haunt me."

"You look cute!" says Eileen. Dean rolls his eyes, but gets up to hug her and signs 'thank you.'

All and all, it's a great day and he's so grateful to be alive, free, and surrounded by the people he loves.

(shameless product placement -- @jarchaeology's 2025 Calendar, get yours if you haven't already)

[parkitaco]

He’s running.

In his dreams, he’s almost always running - away from something or toward someone, lungs tight with unnaturally cold air and blood pounding in his ears. The back of his neck prickling. Knowing no matter how fast he goes, he can’t outrun that.

Tonight, he’s running to Mike. The details are foggy - this was a memory, once, still is when he’s conscious, but in sleep everything warps and changes, mingles together, and it becomes a horrible mishmash of realities. The worst part is, as entangled as it all gets in his subconscious brain, Will’s nightmares have yet to show him a single horror that isn’t - or, wasn’t - real. He doesn’t imagine things, in his dreams. He relieves them, all together, all at once.

At least tonight he knows he’s dreaming, can recognize the fuzzy quality of it. He knows what comes next, the story beats, the conclusion. Sometimes he’s right back in it like it’s a Vecna vision, how everything looked right on the surface but felt slightly off in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. He’s had to learn to lucid dream a little bit, over the years, at least enough to pinpoint the difference; when Vecna tortured him, he showed him nice things. Love. Happiness. Mike. And then taunted him with the knowledge that he could never have it in real life. Will’s nightmares are horrible, yes, but he takes a small solace in knowing that the only thing torturing him is his own brain.

His feet thump on uneven ground, and even though he knows where this is going, it doesn’t make it any easier hearing screams through the trees. Real-Will knows what he’ll find when he emerges from them, but Dream-Will is unsure what the source is, whether he’ll get back to the cabin to find Mike floating six feet in the air or being torn apart by eldritch creatures on the ground. Both have happened. Both uniquely terrible.

He hates to be proven right, when he skids to a halt to find Mike lying prone on the ground, unconscious, blood seeping across hus forehead and into his eyes from a wound in his head, a slash through his shirt and the skin across his ribs, not as bad as it looks, Real-Will knows, but nausea inducing anyway. The offending Demodog crashes away into the woods, scared off by something else, presumably, something Will should be paying attention to but isn’t because- Mike.

Will’s seen Mike a thousand different ways, in dreams and otherwise - talking in low voices in the quiet glow of the Wheeler’s basement, fidgeting restlessly during strategy meetings, sprawled across a mattress with a smile on his lips - but seeing him like this, awake or sleeping, has never failed to make his blood run cold. Mike should not be still, not like this. He’s one of the most animated people Will knows, constantly in motion, and Will would love him in any condition, under any circumstances, but this is unacceptable. He cannot tolerate Mike looking so lifeless.

“It’s your fault,” a booming voice comes from behind Will - he’d forgotten to pay attention to why the Demodog had run off, why his neck is prickling, because it’s always prickling these days, like a check engine light rendered useless by a car that has too many issues to diagnose. And he knows it’s not Henry baiting him now, just the memory of him, but it stings anyway, and God help him, he turns around. “Look what you do,” the thing that was once Henry Creel says, face knotted in disgust, “you bring ruin on everyone you love. You’re getting them killed. Join me and I can make it stop.”

“You’re lying,” Will spits. “You’re the one doing this. Just leave him alone.”

Vecna tilts his head to one side, almost thoughtful. “Why? So he can leave you behind again? There’s only pain there, Will. Come with me.”

“No!” Will screams. He covers his ears. “Go away! Go away! Go-”

Real-Will jolts upright in bed, sweating and breathing hard. He curses quietly to himself, shifting around in the twisted blankets, trying to root himself back in reality, but his heart keeps pumping at lightning speed, threatening to send him into cardiac arrest. It’s happened once before - a Vecna Effect, as Dustin dubbed the various horrors they endured back in the apocalypse - and Will’s never forgotten how it felt, like being eaten alive by anxiety.

The room is dark, so he has to feel around for a minute before he finds the shape of Mike’s body, a lump under the blankets beside him. He’s still, unmoving, and Will knows he’s sleeping, that there’s no danger, that there hasn’t been for a while now, but the image of his flesh torn open and bloody rears inside Will’s head, and bile rises in his throat.

“Mike,” he whispers, a panicked hiss in the dark, and fumbles for Mike’s arm, presses his thumb into his pulse point. The exhale he lets out when he finds it beating steadily, nowhere near Will’s near-tachycardic heart rate, borders on a sob, and he clutches Mike’s hand to his chest like a lifeline. He takes some deep breaths, the weight of Mike’s body beside him a steadying presence, his sleep-slowed breathing setting a metric for Will to follow as he counts his exhales and inhales. Tears spring to his eyes, and he presses his cheek against Mike’s knuckles, followed by his lips.

He remembers what his therapist said, about grounding, repeating back the facts to himself until the nightmare slides away. Henry is dead, he tells himself firmly. He’s been dead for three years. Mike loves me. We’re happy. Everything is okay.

It works, a little, gets him to stop crying at least, and just when he’s about to lay back down against the pillows and try to sleep, Mike stirs. His hand flexes against Will’s chest, and he hums sleepily, a questioning noise. It startles Will back into tears, and he rubs his thumb over Mike’s pulse point again, a reminder.

“Baby?” Mike’s eyes flutter open, still blurred with sleep, and it makes Will smile, the way his pet names emerge more often when he’s sleepy, the soft look on him as he wakes up. Mike blinks a couple times, taking in the scene, then smiles softly. “Oh. I’m alive, Will,” he promises, flexing his hand more purposefully this time. “Promise. It’s okay.”

Will sniffles. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I’m just- checking.” He kisses Mike’s knuckles again, just because.

“C’mere.” Mike uses his free hand to lift up the blankets for Will to crawl into. Will falls forward gracelessly, still clutching Mike’s arm, and Mike very gently pries it out of his grip so that he’s free to wrap it around Will’s back instead, cradling him. Will makes a noise of protest, wanting to keep feeling Mike’s heartbeat, to fall asleep to it. “Like this,” Mike says by way of explanation, and pulls Will’s head to his chest, so that his ear is pressed directly over his heart.

Will relaxes at the sound of the soft thumping in Mike’s ribcage and makes a noise of approval. Mike chuckles softly and tangles his free hand in Will’s while the other slips under his sleep shirt to rub circles into his back, right where his body shifts with his breathing. Mike likes that, too, likes feeling Will breathe, knowing he’s alive. They have complementary coping mechanisms, as it turns out.

“Want to talk about it?” Mike offers, though his voice is already going slack with sleep again, a low rumble in his chest that Will can feel as much as hear.

He closes his eyes, thinks of the long scar that he knows stretches from the space above Mike’s heart right where he’s resting his head all the way to his opposite pec, considers demanding to see it, to inspect the damage and confirm that it’s been long since healed over, but he refrains. “Nah. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure?” Mike asks, and he means it, Will can tell, even though he sounds seconds away from slipping back into unconsciousness. That’s Mike. His boyfriend, who fought tooth and nail to put the world back together so they could be in it together, who dances with him in the kitchen when he’s happy and holds him when he cries, who spent two hours stringing up fairy lights around their dorm room as freshmen so Will wouldn’t have to sleep in the dark and quite literally dared the RA to report them for the fire hazard, who-

“Oh,” Will says, realization striking him. “The lights. We forgot to turn them on.”

Mike, with obvious difficulty, blinks back awake and glances around the room. “So we did,” he muses, because that’s how he talks, like a nerd, and Will loves him so, so bad. He lets go of Will’s hand, which Will very bravely does not protest, and reaches for the switch on their nightstand. The room is all at once flooded by the warm glow of the string lights tacked up all over the ceiling. “Better?”

“Much,” Will says gratefully, feeling the last of his nerves settle. Mike takes his hand again, pulls it up to his lips and presses a firm kiss to the back of it - in return for the knuckle kisses, Will assumes. “Thanks.”

“Anything,” Mike replies easily. A common refrain; Anything you want, Will. Anything you need. I got you. And it’s true, he does.

When Will drifts back to sleep, his dreams are good.

[callivich]

Thanks to @wasmickeyadopted for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt - ‘sharing clothes’ 💖

—————

(S10 - Since Sandy had to bring Mickey his stuff and he only had the clothes he was wearing when he left jail, I’m assuming there was a bit of clothes sharing going on.)

They make out like a couple of carefree teenagers, the kind they never got to be. Mickey gently pushes him away, wanting a shower. Ian gets it, that was the first thing he wanted to do when he got out of prison too.

While he does, Ian makes them sandwiches. When he returns to the bedroom, Mickey is wearing his clothes.

Boxers and a t-shirt.

“Didn’t think you’d mind?” Mickey questions, as Ian stares. “Don’t have anything.”

He smiles. Mickey’s really here. It feels like a dream. “I don’t mind. Like you in my clothes, in my bed. With me.”

[leverage-ot3]

okay I absolutely get and adore harry being oblivious about ot3 developments, but consider:

after breanna makes it explicitly clear she’s queer in the card game job, harry starts Researching™

he’s trying to be good, be better. he likes this girl and wants to be there to support her and be her friend, someone she can trust. it doesn’t help that she’s around the same age as his daughter, who barely wants to associate with him anymore

he learns breanna is queer and dives into researching. watching TED talks in his spare time. reading ebooks on his phone in between playing roles in a con (bringing a physical book is less convenient and he doesn’t want to wave around the fact that he’s researching like he’s trying to be performative about it). he reads about legislation and book bans and wonders about how they could work their magic through a con to fix those things. he reads about asexuality and recognizes the flag colors from the sticker on breanna’s laptop, which he files away for later

he learns a lot! he has been peripherally aware of queer stuff- it’s kind of hard not to be in the 2020s, but now he is much more informed on a lot of issues. he has memorized at least 50 different labels and terms and has an index of resources in his head (and on his phone) if anyone might need them. he wants to understand the people he loves and cares about, whether it’s breanna or one of his daughter’s friends, or anyone in his life that is queer and he doesn’t know it yet. he wants to be ready and prepared to support them!

he learns about sapphicness and bisexuality and intersex rights and the gender spectrum. he learns about karyotypes and stonewall and other queer history. he learns about kink (blushing, but still reads because it’s important!) and relationship diversity… which leads him to discover the term polyamory

he tries not to actively apply the terms he has learned on the people in his life because he knows it’s wrong to assume things about other people. BUT. harry spends a few days reflecting on parker, hardison and eliot’s interactions and wonders. he thinks about the long hugs and lack of personal space and near telepathic communication not just between parker and hardison, but parker and eliot AND hardison and eliot. how parker knows how to make eliot take care of himself, how he knows when she forgets to eat because she’s so hyperfixated on planning a con. how parker jumps on his back for fun and no matter what, he always catches her. hardison’s absence is felt when he’s gone, deeply by the both of them.

it could just be a deep friendship, he knows. they have been working and living together for over a decade, of course they would be close!!! maybe they could even be queerplatonic! (another new word he learned!)

but. still. he quietly observes, watches closely, and thinks.

[greenbergsays]

54 or 64 or 74 for the drabbles! whichever sparks joy 💕

74. "I didn't mean what I said."

--

Are you? In love with Eddie?

Buck feels pretty good about the way he handled Maddie’s accusation. He wasn’t angry and he didn’t bite back, even though there was a small part of him that wanted to do just that. He just made sure she knew the status quo.

Are you? In love with Eddie?

If her words still ring in his ears hours later, it means nothing. It means nothing because it isn’t true.

He feels good about the way he handled it.

He feels good, all the way up until Eddie FaceTimes him the next morning.

Buck hasn’t told anyone—and he’s pretty sure Eddie hasn’t, either—but they do this every day. It wasn’t a decision. It’s not like they sat down and made a schedule. 

It just…happened. It developed.

And then suddenly, Eddie’s been in Texas for a month, and they have a routine. Eddie calls every morning, Buck calls every night. At least one of them calls throughout the day, if not both of them.

Eddie is in Texas and Buck is in California, but they talk at least three times a day. It never quite heals the gaping wound inside of Buck, but it does stem the bleeding. It’s enough; it has to be.

Are you? In love with Eddie?

Buck was confident in his denial when Maddie asked. He knew the answer.

And then Eddie FaceTimes, and Buck answers the call to see that he hasn’t even rolled out of bed yet. His face is still half-buried in a white pillow, his brow furrowed as he squints at the phone screen. The moment he sees Buck, his expression smooths out, a sleepy smile lighting up the room better than the sun ever could. 

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, his voice still hoarse and rough from sleep.

Buck’s heart thumps.

He stares at Eddie—the soft, hazy quality of him, his terrible bedhead, the gentle curl of his smile, just the hint of his deep brown eyes—

Buck stares, sick to his stomach with guilt as he thinks, I denied you.

He’s important enough to Eddie for Eddie to call every single morning without fail, because Eddie knows that he’s been left before and the people who did that to him never bothered to stay in touch. He’s important enough that Eddie called this morning before he’d ever rolled out of bed.

He’s important to Eddie. He matters to Eddie. And Buck—he—

And for what? Because he didn’t want to be a cliche? Because a hopeless, unrequited love would hurt?

He’s done it before. He’s loved harder and deeper and more than anyone has ever loved him.

He’s had to survive the pain of unequal love his whole life. He could survive it again; he just didn’t want to. He’d been a coward.

All those people he loved, people who didn’t care about him—not truly—but Eddie is the one he denies? Eddie, who deserves to be loved that hard. Eddie, who even if he can’t love Buck back, cares about him.

Eddie deserves everything. He deserves more.

And Buck denied him.

Are you? In love with Eddie?

Buck’s very foundation, the core of who he is, starts to shake. It’s worse than any earthquake he’s ever experienced; even worse than the one that hit LA just weeks after he met Eddie. Everything inside him starts to crumble.

The soft, hazy quality to Eddie falls away immediately. He frowns, sitting up in bed as he rubs sleep from his eye.

“What is it?” He asks. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Buck shakes his head, hoping that the camera doesn’t pick up on the quiver of his lips or the way his eyes have started to threaten tears.

God, he’s so stupid.

“Nothing,” he whispers. “Nothing, I just—I—”

His voice dies suddenly. There are so many ways he could finish that sentence. 

I denied you. 

I don’t deserve you. 

I—

Buck rubs a hand over his face, shaking his thoughts loose.

“Nightmare,” he says, smiling weakly.

It doesn’t even feel like a lie. Life very much feels like a nightmare right now.

Eddie’s face softens and Buck’s heart thumps again, harder than before.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Buck shakes his head. 

“Distract me?” He asks instead.

And because Buck matters—because he’s important—Eddie does. 

Between them, Buck is usually the talker. He’s the one that recounts every little detail of his day, that has a series of fun facts to share when there’s a lull from countless late night deep dives. Most of the time, Eddie is content to listen and chime in when necessary.

Today, Eddie cares the brunt of the conversation as they go through their morning routines together. Buck isn’t even sure what they talk about; he spends the entire time staring at Eddie’s profile and trying to remember to breathe.

Are you? In love with Eddie?

I denied you.

When Eddie finally, reluctantly hangs up, Buck calls Maddie. The knot of guilt choking his insides won’t loosen until he makes this right.

The call connects, but Buck doesn’t even give her a chance to say anything.

“I didn’t mean it,” he blurts out. “Last night…I didn’t mean what I said.”

Maddie is silent for a long moment.

“Are you ready to talk about it now?” She asks gently.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut. The pain has already begun; it probably started when he answered Eddie’s call. 

But he can survive this. He has before. He’s done it for people who didn’t deserve it half as much. 

He can do it for Eddie.

Are you? In love with Eddie?

It wouldn’t be so crazy.

Are you?

“Yes.”

[rr-after-dark]

Barba breeding the reader! Multiple times! When the pregnancy test comes back positive, he convinces you that it's a good thing and gets rid of any doubts by fucking you stupid!!

Summary: You’ve never wanted kids. When your husband, Rafael Barba, realizes that he does, he goes to drastic lengths to get what he wants.

Tags/Notes: Rafael Barba x Reader, afab!reader, light yandere Barba he’s p obsessed with you

Content: breeding/impregnation, forced impregnation, coercion, emotional and sexual manipulation, like a lot seriously buyer beware, mostly gn reader but as usual I use spanish feminines and in this one he calls you “Mrs. Barba” so there’s that

A/N: this is the hottest thing i’ve ever written bar none so feel free to psychoanalze me based on that. got a lil caught up in the word 'convinces' in this ask so sorry anon if you were looking for something chill!

Word Count: 4.4k

Rafael Barba spent his whole life thinking he never wanted kids. By the time he realizes he wants them, you're already married. Pretty soon after your honeymoon, the two of you had gone on a double date with Carisi and Rollins, who was about to pop with their own baby. He watched the way his best friend absolutely glowed at the prospect of being a dad again and the way Amanda so tenderly touched her bump.

All of a sudden, he was a man possessed.

He wanted that.

And he wanted it with you.

The problem, of course, was that you’d always been adamant – and he’d always agreed – that pregnancy and parenthood were completely, totally, nonnegotiably off the table. You’d been on the pill your entire relationship and the two of you had always used condoms to boot, no matter his protests. Leaving you was an impossibility to him. You’re his and that’s not going to change.

Then you went off birth control right before the wedding because the hormones were wreaking havoc on you. You didn’t want to have acne and feel bloated on your big day. Of course, he’d been the ultra supportive fiance, only ever wanting the best for you. Swore up and down that he’d always wear condoms, that he’d keep Plan B at your place just in case, that nothing would change.

For Rafael, everything was about to change. It didn’t even take long for him to come up with a plan. He knows you’re so trusting when it comes to him. Too kind for your own good. It’s why he went after you in the first place; he always gets what he wants. Most of the time, he doesn’t even have to ask. You’re pretty and empty-headed but good at taking orders, the perfect assistant and now the perfect spouse.

He makes a whole show of it. You drive him to the doctor downtown, conveniently close to his office, which you think nothing of as you go to get brunch with your friends. During the ‘appointment,’ he slips into work to print up some discharge instructions. It had been surprisingly easy to tap one of his many doctor friends on the shoulder for a prescription for a week’s worth of painkillers. All he needed was a quick excuse about being busy and throwing his back out for the pills to show up at a nearby pharmacy right on cue. You’d never check to see if the name of the doctor matched. Why would you? You were oblivious to things like that and he found it cute, like getting to play with a kitten.

When you pick him up, he fusses and grimaces like a child, convincing you it’s rough but worth it to be with you bare once he’s all healed up. Giving him a sympathetic smile, you squeeze his thigh and half-tease, “You poor baby. Let’s get you home and I’ll make you some comfort food.”

What can he say? If he’s going to all this trouble, he might as well let you wait on him hand and foot for a day or two.

“You’re too good to me, nena.” He tilts your chin up and kisses you gently, throwing in a wince when he has to shift his weight. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

You beam at him and kiss him back, fingers going habitually to his lapels. “I love you so much.”

He coos sweetly as your noses touch, “Not as much as I love you, conejita.”

And he does love you. He really does; it’s just that he knows what’s best much better than you do. Before you, he hadn’t been sure if he was even capable of love. But now he’s certain. Since the moment you met, he’s been utterly obsessed. His mother calls it ‘smitten,’ but he knows it runs deeper than that. You consume his thoughts. Your body is tattooed on his eyelids, there for him every time he blinks. If that isn’t love, he really doesn’t know what is.

You rub his thigh so tenderly as you drive him home. Your touch is the one thing that can always center him. When you’re back inside the house he bought you as a wedding gift – far too much house for just two people, you both know, but he insisted it would be nice to have so many spare rooms – you kiss him again. When he pulls away from you just a moment, you bite your lower lip and ask tentatively, “How long before we can, ah, break in the vasectomy?”

He has to suppress the smirk that threatens to form. He knew that the idea of him being able to fuck you raw with no threat of pregnancy would drive you wild. Underneath all that 21st century brainwashing, he knows you want to be bred and be his homemaker. You love taking care of him and everyone else. You’ll love it all and he’s sure of that.

He’s timed it all perfectly, naturally, having been tracking your cycles closely the past few months as they’ve stabilized back to your regular balance. As he brushes your cheek with his thumb, studying your soft features, he replies, “About a week.”

Right when you’ll be ovulating. It’s important that he gets it right this first time; if it goes on for months, you’ll be too suspicious when it finally takes. It has to be soon after his little ‘procedure.’ For your own good, really. You’ll be so much happier if there’s no doubt. So much more pliable.

He spends the next week edging you, never letting you cum, keeping you on the precipice so you’ll be ravenous when it’s finally time. No doubts, no questions, just desire for him. When he finally has his way with you, he makes you cum twice before he finishes, working you into such a frenzy that you’re begging for him to cum inside of you. To make you his. To claim you. There’s a part of you, primal and core, that loves the way his cum coats you. The warmth left behind long after he pulls out, still worshipping your body, thanking you for trusting him.

That goes on for a week, an absolute marathon of sex whenever he can get his hands on you, always leaving you sticky with cum dripping out of you. You’ve been in the habit of bringing him lunch at work whenever you can and those mini dates turn into getting railed over his desk, on the couch, even on the floor on a day you wear something particularly tight that drives him wild. You make jokes about how insatiable he is and all he does in response is fuck you again, telling you over and over how gorgeous you are, how perfect, how much he loves being married to you.

He keeps an incredibly close eye on you from there. Two weeks pass and he holds his breath for a moment of success or failure. You’re too busy with work and school to notice that your period is late, distracted by the many demands of your life. But Rafael notices. And he lets you not notice. The more time goes by, the better. He showers you with love and affection in the meantime. Flowers appear in the house, your favorite meals are waiting for you after work and when you wake up in the morning, and sweet texts deluge your phone throughout the day. Rafael makes sure there’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about. Ever.

Eventually, though, after about four weeks from your missed period, he gets antsy. The bubble of your obliviousness has to be popped. He knows it’s going to be a difficult conversation, one that challenges every fiber of your relationship that he’s so carefully woven together through the years, and he needs to get it over with. It’s time to fast-forward to the part where you’re glowing and he gets to show you off to the world. All he wants is to nest with you, build with you, create life by your side.

Thankfully, he’s always been a perfect partner about this particular topic, part of why you fell for him in the first place, so he has an excuse built in. He puts together his usual goodie bag for your period, full of all your favorite chocolates, scented candles, and bath bombs alongside the requisite painkillers and your hot water bottle with its gray bunny cover. You’re coming home from work as he arranges everything in a basket in your primary suite bathroom.

You pop in beside him, kiss his cheek, and say, “Look at you being such a doting husband.”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Barba,” he laughs, tugging you in for another kiss. “I’m sorry I forgot last month; it’s been so chaotic at the office.”

“That’s alright, love, I know it’s- Wait. Last month.” Your eyes widen and go frantic as you turn out of his grasp. Under your breath, you mutter, “I didn’t get my period last month.” You snatch your calendar from your nearby bag and start mentally running the numbers. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m, like, six weeks late. How did I not notice that? How the fuck did-?”

“Hey, nena, take a breath.” Rafael touches between your shoulders, bringing you back to earth, and reasons, “That can happen sometimes, right? You’ve been so stressed with exams coming up. And didn’t your OBGYN say it could take up to two years for your periods to regulate again after you stopped your birth control? No need to freak out yet.”

You nod and take a slow breath that he guides you through. “Right. You’re right. It’s probably nothing. Let’s- let’s eat dinner and I��ll try to calm down.”

“That sounds good. You need some protein.” Then he studies your features carefully and sighs lightly. Pretending like it’s your idea, he touches your cheek and offers, “You won’t be able to relax until you take a pregnancy test, will you?”

With pursed lips, you nod. “Sorry, I just need to make sure.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says easily. “How about you run down to the bodega and I’ll make something quick?”

You suck in a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

He furrows his brow and squeezes your hand. “Would you rather I come with you? I don’t want you to be alone if-”

“No, I’m a grownup,” you force a laugh and wave your hand. “I’m all good. It’s no big deal; I’d rather have dinner waiting for me.”

He kisses you on the forehead and looks you in the eyes. Those beautiful green eyes of his, mesmerizing when they make contact with yours. He tilts your chin upward and reminds you, “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, right?”

You put on a brave face despite the anxiety bubbling up inside of you. “Always. I’m yours.”

“That’s right,” he purrs. “Go on. In an hour, there’ll be nothing to worry about anymore.”

That much is true. He’ll make certain of it. No matter what it holds, he’ll be able to set you on the right course within the hour. Like he always does. It’s rare that you really, truly know what you want. He knows how to steer you in the proper direction. The one he knows you need to take to be truly happy with your life. With him.

After dinner, the two of you go in the bathroom together with bated breath, two pregnancy tests sitting on the counter waiting. Rafael’s set a timer for three minutes and sits on the floor in front of you in the meantime. He kisses your knees and rubs your calves and whispers soft words of affirmation that you barely process. When the timer goes off, it startles you. You stand with heavy limbs and look down.

There’s not even a shade of doubt. Two bright lines, equally dark, completely confident.

“How is this possible?” Your voice is wobbly with tears of disbelief as your brain short-circuits to process. “You- you had a vasectomy.”

His voice is firm but full of enough emotion to make you think he's surprised, too. “We both knew there was still some risk, especially early on.”

“No, no, you said it was done." Tears spring up and you know you're being unfair as you cut back, "You said I didn’t have to worry. You promised.”

He sighs and wraps his arms around you. He’s trying hard not to smile, not to reveal how much he wants this, not to bask in the glow of those two lines. “Accidents happen, nena.”

Clutching him tight, you suck in a sharp breath and offer up a grimace. “Well, at least it’s not too late to get an abortion. I guess I should, ah, should call a clinic or something. Maybe I can take a day off work next week or-”

“Slow down, baby,” Rafael says, all soothing and stern. Your heart begins to race, but he’s calm and steady. He steals one more look at the set of positive pregnancy tests and guides you back into the bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to you. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions here, okay?”

“Huh?” Your eyes search his face for answers. Nothing makes sense right now. “You don’t- you’re not seriously suggesting that I- that we-?” You get back to your feet and start pacing. Rafael stands, too, but doesn’t follow your steps. With your arms crossed over your chest, you huff, “It’s my choice.”

“It is,” he tells you gently, hesitant, slow. Like he’s talking to a stupid toddler. “But this isn’t some random clump of cells. It’s- it’s us, y’n. You and me. You can’t tell me you don’t feel at least a little bit of love. A spark of something.”

“I- I don’t know.” Your mind reels. Rafael’s always so much more rational than you, the grounded one when you’re spiraling. So you try to listen to him. To look inside of yourself. To imagine what it would be like to do this. But all you can find is fear. Biting your lower lip, you gaze up at him through tear-dampened eyelashes. “Do you think I’m being irrational?”

“I think you’re scared," he replies carefully. Softly. Lovingly. "And when you’re scared, you talk about things you don’t actually want. You don’t act like the person I married.”

Stepping back, your voice rises. “You’re not listening to me, Rafi. We both always said I’d have an abortion if this ever-”

“Say the word ‘abortion’ one more time and see what happens.” He grabs your wrist tightly, pulling you close. Yanking, really. The intensity of the gesture steals your breath. You’re not afraid of him, could never be afraid of him, but the heat in his voice and on his words makes you shiver. You’ve never seen him so serious. Weirdly, it calms you instead of frightening you. Rafael has always been so soft with you; seeing the exact opposite makes you realize how much this matters to him. “You’re mine. And so is this life inside of you.”

“I- I don’t-” You’re sniffling and shaking and unsure. You lean against the wall and he presses his hands against it on either side of your head. Finally, you look up at him and say, “I’m scared.”

He steps back, realizing he’s caging you in for the first time. He hates himself for losing control. For causing that look on your face. He’s going to fix this and get what he wants, but not like that. Looking wounded, he clarifies, “Of me? I’m sorry, darling, I can-”

You reach out and tug him back. You press your head to his chest, needing to rely on the foundation of him. “No, never. Just- I’m not-” You meet his green eyes and find nothing but calm in them. A port in a storm. “I’m so young, Rafi. And I have school and my career and-”

“Mi amor,” he murmurs, “none of that matters now.” He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear and hugs you close. “You’re scared today, but when you meet our baby – hold them for the first time, see them smile – you won’t be. It’ll all make sense.” His lips go to your neck, taking your attention as he traces your racing pulse. “Don’t you trust me to protect you?” He places his hand on your still-flat abdomen and you feel the complete adoration radiating off of it. Lower now, quieter, looking into your eyes, he adds, “Both of you?”

He feels you relax, just barely, against his body. That’s all the invitation he needs. Already, he knows he has you right where you need to be. When you let your walls down, even a crack, he can find his way in. Rubbing your back, he murmurs, “See, my love? There’s nothing to be scared of. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And then you nod.

Slowly. Barely. But he feels it. Your resistance cracks, your shoulders soften, and it’s just enough for him to take root. He takes the chance. Turns you around to face the floor-length mirror by the closet. Stands behind you, snakes his arms around you, underneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your stomach like there’s anything to feel. “It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? Even now, your body’s already changing. Making room for what we created together. That’s wonderful. It’s amazing.”

You shiver, breath catching. You drop your hand to cover his and try to see what he’s seeing in the mirror. “You really think so?”

“Your body knows you were made for this. That’s why you’re trembling, mi diosa.” His deep voice curls around you like a net. “Your body’s giving in, but your mind is still catching up. Fighting against what’s right for you.”

You should pull away. Say something. Argue with him. But his hand drops lower, possessive, cradling you like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. And you find yourself giving into him, to his guidance, his strength, his confidence.

He goes on, every single word breaking you open a little more. “You were already perfect before,” he breathes, reverant now, “but like this? Carrying a piece of me?” He presses a kiss to your temple, then your jaw, slow and deliberate. “You’re divine. You’re heavenly. You’re everything.”

As his hands rove apart, one slipping beneath the hem of your shorts and the other going up toward your chest, you reply, “When you say things like that, I- I start forgetting everything else.”

“That’s good,” he assures. “That means you’re giving into your instincts. To what you know instead of what you think. All I want you to focus on is your body. What it’s telling you.” He slides his hands along your waist and ribs, over your ass, up your arms, everywhere he can reach with your clothes still on. “Doesn’t this feel right?” He’s whispering, kissing the skin just below your ear, his breath ghosting over your neck. “Doesn’t it feel like home to be with me?”

“It does,” you whine, honest, true. “But I’m- Fuck, Rafi, I can’t think when you touch me.”

“So stop thinking,” he murmurs, firm and sweet. “Don’t you remember the way you moaned when I filled you?” He breathes against your ear, hot and heady, and your eyes roll shut. His hands roam upward and cup your breasts, thumbs rolling in circles around your nipples. “It was like you needed me to stay inside. Like you wanted me to leave something behind.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw and then down your neck. “And now look at what we made. You wanted me to cum inside of you. Begged for it. Right, baby? Remember how you begged? You wanted me to fill you up and make you mine, over and over again.” You feel his cock growing hard against your ass now and you can’t help leaning back against him, a breathy moan spilling out. He bites gently on your shoulder and up the crook of your neck until you’re sighing out, relaxing, wanting.“You’re pregnant because of that. This is what you wanted all along, love, isn’t it?”

By the time he stops talking, you’re dizzy with arousal and confusion and love. You turn around to look at him and find yourself breathless.

His dark eyes level you. “Say it. Be honest with me. Admit that you wanted me to get you pregnant and that’s why you were begging for me to cum inside of you.”

“It wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-” Your voice and breaths break and you’re sobbing. He’s right. He’s always right. Your gut twists and guilt is a tight fist around your throat. “I’m sorry, Rafi, I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to make this harder on you. I know you didn't want this and now- now I’m making you- Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Rafael brings you back on the bed and helps you lay down against his chest. “Shh, shh. Don’t cry, my love, I’m not mad at you, okay?”

You tremble and clutch his shirt. Your tears are turning it dark. “Promise? I can’t do this without you. I- I won’t.”

“You’ll never have to be without me,” he tells you, low and dark and honest. “I’m choosing you. I’m choosing this. I’ll never walk away from you. From our family. I swear.”

“You forgive me?”

He soothes, “Of course I do. All I want is to protect you. To give you the best life, even when you aren’t sure what that looks like.” His fingers dip once again below the hem of your pajamas. “Come on, love, just imagine me holding our little baby, keeping her safe, making sure the two of you have every single thing you could ever dream of. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

You close your eyes and sink into it. There’s no way to argue with him when you can see it so clearly all of a sudden. He’s given you so much already. This house, this lifestyle, this endless sea of adoration. When you're on his arm, you know exactly who you are. So you spread your legs for him. In a moment of striking clarity, you breathe out, “I’m yours. Take me.”

“Mmm.” He kisses you tenderly as his middle two fingers slip between your folds. “There’s my perfect angel.”

You roll your hips to encourage him and he doesn’t miss a beat, finally satisfied that the worst is over. That you’re going to behave from now on. You grip his hair and beg, “Say it again. Tell me I’m good.”

It's the only thing you want. His approval. His praise.

“Oh, my love.” He shifts his weight so he’s on top of you, free hand stripping your shirt off so he can drop his mouth to your breasts. After he lavishes over your nipples, still circling your clit intently, he rumbles, “Mírate. Estás hecha para llevar lo que es mío. Estás tan jodidamente hermosa con mi hijo dentro de ti.”

Needy and desperate, unable to translate fully with arousal clouding your head, you plead, “English, Rafi, please.”

“I said you’re made to carry what’s mine. That you’re so fucking beautiful with my baby inside of you,” he growls against your ear. The vibration makes you moan and suddenly you’re scrambling to get him out of his sweats, too. Maybe it’s the hormones or maybe it’s just the hold he has over you, but you’re dripping with want for him. He kicks out of his pants and gives his heavy cock a few quick pumps. “Is this what you want? Tell me.”

You can’t believe how needy your voice sounds as you cry, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

With a devilish smile, he shoves your legs back and slides his cock slowly into you, savoring every moment. “That’s the y/n I love so much. You’re so good for me. Me perteneces. Eres lo único que quiero.”

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you tighten your fingers in his hair to hold him close. “English.”

“You belong to me,” he repeats. His nails dig into your ass and he’s so deep inside of you that it aches. “You’re the only thing I want.”

You nod into his shoulder and his thumb is on your clit, rubbing up and down, and you’re losing your mind with lust. His words have always done even more for you than his expert motions. As you nuzzle him, tasting his sweat and breathing in his musk, you beg, “More. More, Rafi, please.”

“I know, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re enough. You’re the only one who can give this to me,��� he grunts, bearing down on you, fucking you hard, not fast, just right, your legs pressed back so he can penetrate you fully, “and the only one I’d ever want it with. I love you.”

You’re right at the edge as you gasp back, “I love you. God, I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you.”

He grins. “For what?”

You’re writhing. Squirming. Needing. “For making me- for-”

You’re babbling and moaning and incoherent but he doesn’t let up, keeping his thumb still on your clit, not letting you go over the cusp. “Come on, say it. I need to hear you say it.”

With sweat breaking on your forehead, you whimper, “Por dejarme convertirte en papá.”

He teases, slowing his hips, keeping you agonizingly close, “English.”

“Thank you for- for giving me this.” You thrust your hips up, begging him to move, to finish you off. When the words spill over, he finally does. “Thank you for letting me make you a dad. For trusting me. For choosing me.”

“You’re welcome, baby." He kisses you with a tenderness that makes you weak and presses your foreheads together as he speeds up again. “Now cum with me,” he growls – and you have no choice.

Rafael spreads his cum inside of you as you spasm around him and it rewires your brain. There’s an entire new life knitting together in your shared orgasm. Nothing matters anymore but the ways you can give yourself to Rafael. To what he wants for you.

He fucks his seed further into you with his softening cock, smiling down at the sight. “How could anything that comes from this – the two of us – be wrong?” He kisses up your neck as he sighs and pulls out slowly. You miss the feel of him immediately. “Eres mía. Toda mía. Siempre.”

Exhaustion overtakes you the moment your orgasm subsides, all of the emotional chemicals finally dissipating and letting you rest. A true release. Rafael slides off of you and returns with a washcloth to help clean you up. As he works you over, cooling you down and loving your body, you breathe, “This…this feels right to me. For us to be a family. You were right, Rafi.”

He kisses your thigh. He’s not joking at all but he takes on the tone as he says, “I usually am.”

[half-bakedboy]

Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap??

It’s a Friday morning and Buck and Tommy both had a shift the night before. 

Tommy texted Buck almost immediately after he left the station asking if he’d like to come over and Buck didn’t have to think twice about it. He had wanted to be beside Tommy more often than not these days, and he isn’t about to look away at yet another opportunity. 

Buck didn’t bother to answer, just showed up at Tommy’s door like he had been doing over the last few weeks. Tommy had teased him about it but told him where the spare key was hidden just in case he wasn’t around to answer. It softened Buck into absolute mush. 

Anyway, it’s a Friday morning, and Buck is lounging on Tommy’s sectional with a head in his lap, Tommy’s face squished into his waist. He’s been sleeping on and off for the last half-hour, cursing Buck’s early-riser energy. Buck told him he could stay in bed, but he’s learned that Tommy is just a little clingy. It’s refreshing and adorable, and Buck doesn’t feel nearly as lonely anymore.  

His hand is stroking at Tommy’s hair absentmindedly, waiting for his boyfriend—boyfriend!—to wake up so they can catch the basketball highlights from the night before when he realizes something.

“I’ve never dated someone with short hair,” Buck says out loud. It’s mostly to himself, but it’s enough to rouse Tommy from his light sleep. 

“You having more life-changing revelations up here?” Tommy mumbles. He’s teasing Buck. He’s half asleep and he still has the energy to crack a joke at Buck’s expense and it shouldn’t be as charming as it is. 

Buck tugs at his hair gently, but enough for Tommy to harumph in retaliation. He maneuvers himself onto his back so Buck’s thigh is like a neck pillow. He’s squinting up at Buck like the sun is out to get him and there are creases lining his skin from where his cheek had been pressed against the pocket and seams of Buck’s jeans. 

“You’ve never dated someone with short hair,” Tommy repeats. Buck nods and pats at the messy curls, twirling one with his finger until there’s no more hair to wrap. “Are you enjoying dating someone with short hair?” Tommy asks. 

Buck nods, biting his bottom lip as he pulls another curl to the center of Tommy’s forehead before it springs back to its natural position. He traces his thumb down the long, wide bridge of Tommy’s nose before cupping his stubbled chin just to hear and feel the scratch of it. 

“I’m enjoying dating you,” Buck replies. The softness in his voice seems to give away just how much he’s telling the truth. 

Tommy scrunches his nose and tilts his chin up like he’s about to move his head from Buck’s lap. Buck wants nothing less than the inability to continue playing with Tommy’s hair, so he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Tommy’s lips, his nose, and then his forehead, before turning his attention back to the television. 

It’s only a few minutes of light caresses later that Tommy begins to snore again, and Buck doesn’t think the sound has ever made him smile as much as it does right now.

[atomite-ton]

ghost always had the default alarm set to wake him up in the mornings. specifically the loud, jarring, classic iphone alarm that would jolt him up and out of bed at 5am sharp every day. he never thought anything of it, never felt the need to change it. it did the job, after all.

until johnny.

the first night they'd slept in the same bed- simon curled up with his upper half sprawled over johnny's chest and his head tucked under his chin- the alarm had sent johnny shooting out of bed in a jolt so violent, they had both ended up tangled on the floor.

after that, johnny had stoutly refused to go anywhere near simon's bed until he changed the sound to something a little less heart-attack inducing.

and so, simon had fiddled around with his alarm setting until they settled on something a little softer. it was nice in a way he had never considered, waking up to the cheerful clanging of distant bells, rather than the harsh blaring he was used to.

it allowed him some time to breath, to indulge in the warm body pressed against his own. simon treasured those stolen moments, wrapped around each other, trading sleepy kisses before it was time to rise and face the day.

even now, alone in the bed that had only just started to adapt to consistent warmth, the tune stays the same.

even as the choir of bells grate against his ears, once soothing, now too akin to the church bells that rang hollow and foreboding, he keeps it. call it masochism, call it sentimentality, he cant bring himself to switch it back.

he knows johnny would want him to keep it, if only to make the mornings a little softer. johnny always wanted him to indulge in the little comforts of life, and even now, simon will always be helpless to obey his every whim.

and so, he continues to rise to distant bells, thinks of his johnny, and faces the day anew.

[meadowziplines]

Dreamling, 49 please! 👀👀

kiss prompts, #49 …out of necessity.

this is a ficlet that will be shoved into my "hiatus/backburnered" folder because I couldn't fit it into any existing WIPs and I want to finish some more before I start adding others...

---

Dream lies slack, robes torn and mudstained from where he got pulled from a thorn ring of the Fae, but someone's cleaned his pallid face.

"He won't wake up," Lucienne says.

Hob's heart seizes.

Dream is so still, lying on Hob's bed. Dream's frequently quiet and unfidgeting, but there's usually still a charged energy around him where he forces Waking reality to accept a form of fantasy and dreams. He's also usually not as translucent in places.

"I believe narrative work is at play," she adds.

"Narrative work?"

"The Fae work not just in glamours, but stories and narrative compulsion. Lord Morpheus is dreams, stories. They have forced narratives upon him."

"Fairy tales," Hob murmurs. "So."

"I thought true love's kiss might work."

"But - I'm not - we're not..."

She gives him a pitying look. "Don't lie to yourself. Not about this."

Hob looks down at Dream, who is comatose and almost - fading, and takes a breath. He leans down and kisses Dream's forehead, which is like ice.

Dream's body spasms, and he coughs, chokes on a sudden breath, and his eyes flood wide and black with stars. "Hob?"

"Welcome back," Hob says, daring to reach out and hold Dream's hand.

[angelsdean]

You know that time travel trope where it's like, your future self ends up saving you in the past? Well I'm just thinking adult Dean going back in time and ending up in Lawrence on the night of the fire. And he thinks he's going to go in and save his mom this time. He's going to fix everything. But then when he goes into the house he sees the smoke is worse than he remembers. And he sees his 4 yr old self scared and struggling at the top of the stairs with baby Sam slipping in his arms. It's too much for a four year old to carry. He's coughing pretty bad too. And Dean doesn't think, just runs and picks himself up--screw any time-travel laws he's breaking--and he carries his four year old self in one arm and Sam in the other and he saves them! Just like he always thought he did, just as a four year old alone. But he's lost the window of time. The windows in the nursery explode, and here comes John, and adult Dean is just a shadow by the big tree, watching again as his whole life as he knew it goes up in flames. And he couldn't save her. He can never save her. Fixed point and all that. But, he saved himself.

[shallowseeker]

One day, sometime before Cas is a permanent-ish figure at the bunker:

After hanging with them and doing research for a few hours, Cas says his goodbyes like he always does and walks out.

Dean goes for a quick coffee break—only for Cas come stomping into the kitchen a few minutes later.

Dean grins. “Back so soon?”

“Dean, we seem to have inadvertently locked me inside the bunker with our last warding efforts…”

Dean opens his mouth, then promptly reddens, because what hits him first is a weird sense of relief. (Because of the thought: Cas—safe in the bunker—permanently.)

Dean clears his throat, forcing out a shaky laugh. “Whoops. Well, buddy, maybe that’s your Ace-of-Base sign to move in here for good.”

As far as jokes go, it’s a bad one, and Dean’s brain stalls. (Not that he’s going to keep Cas here. Of course not. Not unless he wants to stay.)

And then it hits him. Crap. Did he just... ask Cas to move in with him?

It’s not weird. It’s not. The bunker was always meant to be a communal hub. They need everyone on board.

It’s practical.

It’s… fine.

Cas wouldn’t even know to read into it. Not that there’s anything to read into.

“Su casa, mi casa—uh, I mean, mi casa is su casa…” Dean stammers, suddenly self-conscious.

Cas repeats the phrase to himself. “Mi casa, su casa…” His voice is soft. “My house, your house?”

Dean’s heart skips a beat.

And then, Cas looks up at him, dead serious, and says, “I suppose it would be practical. I could help out more often that way. Help keep an eye on your condition… and I did learn how to make the coffee in the coffee-maker.”

Dean freezes for a second, not sure if he’s hearing what he thinks he is.

Then, out of nowhere, something bright and overwhelming explodes inside him—like he’s been smote, like his insides are getting BBQ'd. His breath catches, and he laughs awkwardly, desperate to play it off, but it doesn’t go away. It’s like his whole chest is sizzling.

He can’t fight the way his voice comes out buoyant, goofy: “So, uh, it’s settled then. Welcome home!” Dean lifts his coffee mug up in an exaggerated toast.

Cas hesitates, before reaching for one of the empty mugs and clinking it against Dean’s, all faux-ceremonial.

“Home,” Cas repeats, soft again.

Dean swallows.

[callivich]

Thanks to @wasmickeyadopted for this week’s @galladrabbles prompts of ‘sharing clothes’ 💖 Here’s one more drabble. Pure silliness.

———-

Mickey came strutting into their living room, butt naked.

“Don’t think you can go to work like that, Mick.”

“I wouldn’t have to if someone didn’t take the last pair of clean boxers and put everything else in the wash.”

“Oh shit. Sorry.”

“Whatever, we’re gonna be late. I’ll just go commando under my uniform.”

“No, it’s my fault. You take the ones I’m wearing.”

“Really not a big deal.”

“It is. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate if you’re commando.”

“What? I’ll be able to if you are?”

They consider their options.

“Take the day off?”

“Yeah.”