#Ficlet

[hairmetal666]

TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

[imfinereallyy]

Steve walks into his and Robin’s shared living room in the middle of the night to get a glass of water.

Mid gulp, Steve’s hears a soft “hey.”

Steve has only four years of the Upside Down to thank for not dropping his glass and shattering it everywhere. He knows the dangers of a little cut.

It doesn’t help the startled scream he releases.

Steve stares at his couch in horror as the intruder turns the light on.

Robins feet pound quickly into the living room, a metal baseball bat in her hands, “What do I need to kill?”

Steve says nothing. Instead, he points at their couch, where Robin turns and lets out a small gasp.

Because in the middle of their living room is Eddie Munson, famous rockstar and, more importantly, ex-best friend of Steve and Robin, who they haven’t heard from since 1991, sitting on their couch.

Shit.

[vicsbasement]

So, @pitstoptaken sent me a reply with the prompt: Them being university people. They’re not really close, just know each other from friends. But one day things happen like, a 7 minute in heaven or something. “So are you gay or bi or?” // “does it really matter?”

And this came out:

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Carlos wonders, pointing with his head towards a taller guy, one that’s leaning against the wall as he intently stares at his phone. There’s a frown on his pretty features, and Lando isn’t the one to think other men are pretty, but this guy had commanded their attention from across the room. He was pretty.

“Him? Oh, that’s Charles, isn’t it?” Lando nudges Alex with his elbow and Alex nods, smiling happily as George pets his hair. “He’s a Modern Languages student, we go to the same translation theory class.”

Carlos nods along with the explanation, but a frown takes over his face. “So, there’s nothing a guy like me could ever have in common with him, huh.” Carlos muses, and Lando nods, almost solemnly. “Except…”

George places a glass, loudly, on top of the table, and grabs a glass beer bottle and a knife, making them clink and calling the room’s attention.

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” George claims, and the room erupts in equal part groans and laughter. Carlos doesn’t take his eyes off the handsome stranger, that doesn’t seem uninterested, but he couldn’t say he was on board with the idea, either.

“Volunteers can come to the kitchen floor and sit in a circle. Everyone else go back to your own conversations!” George demands, and the room erupts into laughter again, while some people move towards the kitchen.

That’s the moment the stranger looks up and catches Carlos’ stare on him. It must’ve been intense, because his expression was surprised, at first, but then, it turned… mischievous? The light wasn’t helping, though, and Carlos felt a shiver coming on when a trickle of cold sweat went down his spine at the little daring smirk the stranger was shooting his way as he, silently, walked towards George to stand directly behind him. They never broke eye contact. And Carlos tried his best to swallow around the dryness in his mouth.

Alex offered him a bottle, an eyebrow raised at him.

“You might not have to talk much with him, mate.” He joked. Carlos nodded.

Xx

Of course, George rigged the whole thing. And now Carlos is standing awkwardly in the middle of a hallway, catcalls coming from the living room, being ushered by George in the general direction of his bedroom – which of course he knows where it is, but it’s awkward, alright? – with a hand on a certain Charles Leclerc’s wrist.

Charles’ expression is almost unreadable in this light, but just judging by general feel, he doesn’t seem stiff, or nervous, he’s just an almost complete stranger that Carlos pointed out at this party. He walks quickly, still hearing the catcalls and wolf whistles, and takes a left so he can enter George’s room, closing the door behind Charles’ frame with a soft click.

“Who plays seven minutes in heaven anymore?” Charles quips, and Carlos feels caught. If he hadn’t pointed at him earlier tonight none of this would’ve happened, but now it’s too late to back out.

“It’s all George’s idea.” Carlos replies, running a nervous hand through his hair. “It was his plan to get to make out with Alex, but…”

“It landed on us, instead?” Charles wonders, and Carlos can see clearly how his eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room.

Surrounded by Lewis Hamilton posters, the whole scene isn’t how Carlos had imagined it would be, but he straightens his back, nonetheless, taking the leap to sit on the bed. At least he’s going to talk to the guy.

“What’s your name?” Charles wonders, and Carlos can’t help it, he smiles.

“I’m Carlos.” He replies. Charles shakes his head.

“You’re kidding.” Charles says, a bright smile and a soft laugh escaping him.

“No, I’m not, my name is Carlos Sainz—”

“We’re both named the same?” Charles interrupts him, and Carlos nods. He hadn’t thought about it, but there were some friends in this very college that called him Charlie, even.

“I go by Carlitos, though. You go by Charlie, right? I’ve heard Alex mention you.” Carlos says, and Charles nods. “I have some friends back home who called me Charlie, too.” Carlos admits, and Charles grins at him.

“Cats or dogs?” Charles asks him.

“Dogs.” Carlos replies, without thinking. Charles nods, agreeing with him. Then, it’s Carlos’ turn to question him.

“Do you have siblings?”

“Two brothers, I’m in the middle.”

“I’ve got two sisters and I’m in the middle, too.”

“Huh.”

“How old are you?” Carlos wonders, and Charles blushes a bright scarlet.

“I’m just shy of 21. In a month.”

“I just turned 24.”

“So you’re about to graduate?”

“Yeah, engineering. You?”

“I’m in my third year of Modern Languages.” Charles explains, and his phone pings loudly. “Actually I was checking on a group project when George called us to gather…” But he ignores the phone and sits right next to Carlos on the bed. Carlos feels the bed dip under his weight and leans towards Charles to bump his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s why you were frowning so hard.” He quips, sliding slightly closer to Charles in his movements. He didn’t seem to notice, but the next question made Carlos take pause.

“So, you were staring.” Charles says, more of a statement than a question.

“What if I was?” Carlos replies, a little defiance creeping into his tone. Charles laughs very softly, a twinkle in his eye.

“Are you straight or bi?” Charles goes right for the kill. Carlos, emboldened by the question, places a hand on Charles’ thigh.

“I’m bi. You?” He replies, clearing his throat and looking for eye contact, finding Charles’ eyes already trained on his.

“Gay.” Charles replies, almost a whisper.

“Huh.” Carlos says, inelegantly, his eyes darting towards Charles’ lips. His cupid’s bow is ridiculously charming and inviting. “Does it really matter, though? I’ve wanted to do this all night.” Carlos says, his face getting so close to Charles’ they’re sharing the same breath.

“I’ve been staring at you since you arrived.” Charles replies, his eyes trailing Carlos’ features and focusing on Carlos’ mouth as he smiles mischievously. Then, Carlos proceeds to lick his lips, and notices how Charles’ pupils start to dilate, and his eyes follow the movement.

“You’re cute.” That’s the last thing he says before he captures Charles’ mouth in his. He licks Charles’ lower lip, making him moan softly, shifting slightly on the bed to make room for Carlos to get closer, and Carlos takes the opportunity to push inside Charles’ mouth, tasting him all over. Charles is incredibly responsive, his body going pliant under Carlos’, who pushes him so he can lie on the bed. He shifts his position to lean on top of Charles, who now is lying flat on the bed’s surface.

After noticing how close Charles is to the edge of the bed, he pushes back on his knees and grabs Charles’ hips, lifting him slightly and moving him so they can both be centered, and Charles kicks off his shoes in the process. Carlos does the same and goes back to kissing Charles with abandon, but Charles takes his time, leaving soft, tantalizing bites on his lower lip, and it makes Carlos shiver.

When Charles is grabbing a fistful of hair and Carlos’ hands are roaming under Charles’ shirt, a faint knock on the door is drowned out with soft whimpers and moans as they both roll their hips together, Carlos fitting a knee between Charles’ legs and making him squirm and groan. Charles pulls at Carlos’ hair and rolls his hips once again, looking for more friction, and Carlos can’t help when a very loud moan escapes his lips.

Another knock, this time loud enough to make them pause.

“—los, the seven minutes are up!” Lando’s voice is heard behind the door, and Carlos can’t help when a petulant little moan escapes him as he leans over Charles to shield him from prying eyes in case they were to open the door.

“I heard you! Give us another second!” Carlos replies as he fixes Charles’ shirt, covering him up again. He tends to his hair, too, that got all rumpled with the pillows.

Charles giggles under him, covering his face with both hands and then using a pillow to hide his expression, but Carlos notices he’s blushing furiously.

“Hey. Charles.” Carlos says, lifting the pillow off Charles’ face and grabbing his chin so he could meet his eyes. “Do you want to go to the movies with me tomorrow night?”

Charles lets out another nervous giggle. He nods slowly, a big smile spreading across his lips and making his face light up. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

Carlos can’t help the moment he leans over again and kisses Charles, softly, tenderly, before he pushes himself off him to retrieve their shoes.

They both stand up at the same time, and as Carlos leads Charles towards the door, the other man pulls his shirt to make him turn.

“Let me fix your hair.” He mumbles, running soft fingers through the thick locks of black hair, and Carlos does everything in his power to suppress a full-body shiver. Still, unable to control himself, he pulls Charles towards him with his right arm, their chests pressed tight against each other.

“If you do that again I’m not leaving this room.” He whispers against Charles’ lips, and Charles lets out a shaky laugh before leaning in to kiss him again, Carlos reciprocating by pressing Charles against the door with a thud.

“George wants his room back!” They hear Alex shout from the other side of the door, and Carlos groans again as he is forced to break away from Charles.

“Mierda.” He curses.

Charles lets out another laugh as he turns around between Carlos’ arms and opens the door, the picture of innocence and decorum.

Until the light hits his face and his lips look bitten-red and a little sore.

[impulsesimp]

phil doesn't do romance.

romance didn't really go hand in hand with his whole anarchistic slash fighter slash father persona. he rolls his eyes at public affection. he brushes off the friendly flirting from his peers. he's always at a lost for words whenever tallulah asks for a love story at bedtime.

phil never considered himself a romantic.

but phil does have multiple pages in a photo album filled with memories he captured at cellbit and roier's wedding. he does smile warmly and poke fun at foolish when the topic of vegetta's generosity and physique comes up. he helps the kids' put together gifts when the island's couples start having anniversaries. he does have a purposefully placed skull on his backpack for commemoration.

phil thinks about romance sometimes.

as he tucks away the armor that he had displayed for months for missa's return, he thinks about romance in his life. has he experienced romance? courtship? has he courted?

when cellbit and roier hold hands as a group of them walk towards the movie theater, phil remembers the times missa would grab his arm in fear when mobs would come at them. phil remembers how the touches startled him at first. the closeness, the warm squeeze of their hands, it was new. not unwelcome, just new.

when baghera plays her ukulele at a campfire get together, everyone huddles together and basks in her soft voice and sweet tunes. phil sits with his kids, his back rested against a tree trunk, eyes closed as he takes in the peace. he begins to reminisce about missa playing his guitar for chayanne's nightly lullaby. they'd sit in their front yard, chayanne and phil crisscrossed on the grass, looking up at missa who sang spanish melodies.

---

deciding to not let my writing drabbles collect dust and share them with the community :) this one's clearly unfinished but i enjoy the softness of it

i wrote this in september of last year so it doesn't quite match the recent lore lol

[thechaosdomain]

Prompt: The Beemer

Word count: 377

characters/ships: Steddie

Pulling into the trailer park Steve is not at all surprised to see that Eddie is in fact not ready and waiting out front like he had promised yesterday when he’d asked (read begged) him for a lift. Parking the car he presses the horn once and waits for the metalhead to appear.

After a few minutes Eddie spills out the door of his trailer looking like he’d only just woken up. Stumbling towards the Beemer he pulls the front door open.

“You’re sitting in the back.” Steve tells him, meeting his eyes. Eddie freezes a confused frown on his face as he tries to figure out if Steve’s joking or not.

“Why?”

“Robin sits in the front.” Steve tells him mater of factly turning the key in the ignition, the beemer jumping to life.

“But you picked me up first.” Eddie says still standing in the open passenger side door.

“It’s not me you need to fight it’s robin.” Steve tells him and something about that sentence makes Eddie draw his cheek into his mouth and squint at Steve as he thinks.

“But I’m your boyfriend.” He says

“So.” Steve asks, meeting his eyes.

“So I should get to sit in the front, not Robin.” He argues and Steve glances at his watch checking how late they’re going to be picking her up.

“Look it’s not me you have to convince. Just get in the car.” He says placing his hands on the steering wheel.

“Ugh fine.” Eddie huffs out throwing his head back dramatically before slamming the front door.

“Hey don't slam my door.” Steve calls as Eddie pulls open the back door.

“Just cause your van broke down doesn’t mean you need to take it out on mine.” He adds as Eddie throws his back pack into the seat before sliding in and sitting in the backseat behind the passenger seat.

“This is unfair.” He grumbles

“Yeah yeah it must be such an injustice to have to sit in the back seat.” Steve meets Eddie's eyes through the rear view mirror, a smirk on his face, he laughs when Eddie sticks his tongue out at him. Shaking his head Steve slowly turns around and starts the drive to pick up Robin.

[forlorn-crows]

crow just tell me, tell me that mountain is not the somno enthusiast ever. that's right you can't!!! cause he is and I'll absolutely die on this hill

his big dick may be desperately rattling the bars of it's enclosure and losing when mount's awake but when big boy's asleep it takes over!!! he's soooo reactive but also a dead sleeper and oh how he loves waking up with sticky pants, just that delicious little sprinkle of humiliation in it all

I dunno imo he just is the somno boy, don't ya think?

mountain absolutely has a humiliation kink. plus, king of cumming in his pants, cumming untouched, and wet dreams? makes him the perfect target for some somno fun. not sure if anyone remembers "stuff that grows from mountains head", but that little ficlet of dew whispering sweet nothings just to watch the snapdragons grow, hinted that he likes to get a little filthy sometimes too . . .

dew influencing mountain's wet dream w/a side of somno handjobs under the cut, feat. mentions of how hot cumulus is

happy birthday, tee hee ♡

Dew loves watching him like this. Expressive and unabashed in his sleep, unaware of anything except the fantasies playing out in his mind. His dick taking over his self control and bending him to the will of pleasure. 

Plus he’s cute and fun to mess with. Can’t blame a ghoul for wanting to play a little. 

“What’s goin’ on in there big guy? Hm?” Dew cards his hand through Mountain’s hair. He’s fallen asleep with his head in Dew’s lap, pleasantly warm and lulled by the soft rock record Dew had put on. Middle of their conversation too, the goof, but the fire ghoul won’t hold him to it.

Mountain’s only response is a small, high-pitched noise, paired with a twitch of his fingers. His cock twitches too, already tenting in his linen pants. Dew wants nothing more than to yank them down and expose that beautiful length, watch it sway and bob as he gets harder and harder. 

Later, though; he wants to have a little fun first.

“Let me guess . . . Rain?” The fire ghoul waits for a response, but isn’t granted anything that signals his guess was correct.

“No? Hm. Swiss?” Still nothing. It’s a quick round of Guess Who? before he reaches his answer: “Lus?”

Mountain’s mouth drops open in a soft sigh, cock twitching again. There’s a little wet spot on the front of his pants now, and his ears twitch as Dew laughs knowingly. 

“She’s got you wrapped around her curls, doesn’t she, Mount?” Dew sighs with a smile, petting at the freshly-sprouting justicia blooms around the base of one horn. Pretty fuchsia petals the same color as her favorite lipstick.

“Lucifer, she’s so gorgeous, huh? Wonder what you’re dreaming about . . . maybe she’s got you worshiping her tits, suckin’ on ‘em just how she likes . . .”

The earth ghoul lets out a throaty moan, top lip twitching to show a flash of teeth and tongue. Dew hums and traces along his mouth with his thumb. Back and forth, back and forth; sliding the pad of it along the tip of his tongue with each pass. Mountain’s mouth twitches again, and Dew is eager to slip his thumb inside. Watching as his lips close around the digit automatically, as they have so many times before, and he starts to suck. It’s ever so gentle, and a little bit sloppy, but it still makes Dew go all fuzzy inside. 

“Yeah, bet it’s just like that,” he continues. “Sucking on her nipples until she gets all wet. Bet she calls you a good boy while you do it.”

Mountain huffs a moan around his finger. His leg kicks out, momentum rolling him fully onto his back, limbs sprawling out every which way as the true amount of his arousal is exposed to Dew: his cock is absolutely pressed to the seam of his pants, leaking into the fabric enough to rival a water ghoul. 

“Fuck you’re as wet as she’d be, aren’t you,” the fire ghoul breathes. Mountain’s head lolls to the side, and his thumb slips out of his mouth, a line of drool following his fingernail. “Drooling all over her while she gets on your lap. Probably wouldn’t even have to take you to get you to bust, she could just rub her cunt all over you and you’d be creaming yourself, wouldn’t you?”

“Huh–uhh,” Mountain groans, all raspy on his exhale. Dew can see his eyes roll behind his eyelids, no doubt picturing the scene to a T. He makes a noise of agreement and smooths his hands down Mountain’s chest, gripping in a way Cumulus might, making sure to press the tips of his claws right in above his nipples. Imitating a pretty manicure pressed into his pecs. 

“So pretty when she grabs you. Pushing her tits together with her elbows and her hair floats around her like a goddess. Callin’ you honey and love and baby.”

The earth ghoul bucks up into nothing, hands slowly fisting into the sheets beneath him. Whimpering when Dew digs his hands in just a little more.

“Bet your balls get so big when she bounces on that cock.” Dew’s own voice is getting a little husky now, dick chubbing up in interest under Mountain’s head. “Fuck, and she feels so good. So warm and wet and you just wanna grab her hips and never let go . . .”

“Wan’ . . . oh,” Mountain mutters, voice pitching up at the end into something breathy and feminine and Satanas does Dew want to hear him make it again. 

“Oh yeah? You make pretty noises like that for her?” He slowly slides out from underneath Mountain’s head, laying it down gently onto the mattress before shuffling closer to his lower half. Dew glances up the length of him, taking in the rucked-up shirt, the hands kneading at the blankets, chest rising and falling a little faster now. Breath coming out in short puffs from his slack mouth, every other one accented with a sweet, quiet noise—almost like a dog yipping in its dreams. His hips follow his dick as it twitches upwards, thrusting into some imaginary curvy body. 

“There you go, make sure you fuck her real good,” the fire ghoul teases, already pressing at that wet spot on the front of his pants. Groaning when he feels how hot he’s gotten there. 

He’s fitting to burst at any moment, really. And Dew would very much like to see that. 

“Wonder if she’s seen you like this,” he continues, tugging on the waistband. “All hot and bothered and you don’t even know it. Does she know how cute you get when you wake up all sticky?”

Dew gets his pants down just far enough to free his length, cursing when it throbs just from the exposure. “Fuck, those pretty nails wrapped around this big dick . . . fucking hells, Mount.”

Whatever hands-off objective he had before disintegrates when Mountain full-body groans and his cock spurts out another bead of pre—Dew can’t resist that, he just can’t. He wraps his hand around him and strokes him root to tip, biting back his own noise when Mountain visibly shudders. 

“Ffuhh . . . mm li’ . . . tha’, gon’ . . . “ He’s babbling syllables again, getting louder the longer Dew jerks him off. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum for her?” he goads, watching his face contort in flashes of pleasure. Feeling his cock get even fuller in his hand. “Shit, fill her up so good it’ll all drip out of her when she sits on your face and you get to suck on her perfect little—”

With a low groan, he’s squirting onto his belly in bursts of white, toes curling and his eyes rolling all the way back into his skull. 

“Oh, baby,” Dew groans, his own cock throbbing between his legs. He just keeps going, wringing out shot after shot until it’s dribbling down his knuckles, the earth ghoul unconsciously mewling as he starts to reach overstimulation. More drool running out of the corner of his mouth as his head is tossed to the side.

“Fuck, Mount,” Dew mutters. He lets his cock flop back down against his stomach, licking the cum from his fingers as he watches the bigger ghoul sigh shakily and melt back into the sheets. Boneless and limp like nothing ever happened.

But Dew’s certainly not done with him yet. 

“Wakey-wakey,” he lilts, pulling Mountain’s pants further down his legs so he can situate himself between them. Smoothing his hands up his thighs to grab at his hips while simultaneously licking a hot stripe from balls to tip, sending a quick zing of heat through his palms to rouse him from slumber. 

Mountain half snuffles, half snorts himself awake, blinking up at the ceiling like he can’t quite remember how he got there. “Wha . . .” He cranes his neck up to glance down at Dew, happily licking up the cum from the hair around the base of his cock with a gaze full of mischief. The earth ghoul nearly chokes as his brain catches up to his body, eyes going wide as he presses up onto his elbows. “Satanas, Dew, unholy fuck.”

“What’d you dream about, big boy?” he teases, suckling briefly on the head of his softening cock. 

“H-oh shit—”

“Yeah?” He kisses back down the shaft, grinning at the heat rising to Mountain’s face with every whimper. “Wanna have some more fun?"

please consider reblogging ♡

[ominouspuff]

Tears on Kamino

CC-2224 didn’t know why the other boy was crying, but he didn’t need to. All he needed to do was pull his fingers over a shaved scalp, slowly so as not to startle, and try not to let on how curious he was to see the way the tears dripped in odd shapes down the hot, red, twisted face.

They were hidden, huddled up together — actually hidden, not just sticking to shadows in the open, because if tears weren’t, the odds were against them that things would get official, and nothing good ever came of something getting official. The closets had no cameras nor microphones, and the one they’d crammed into (seventh basement level, thirty paces from Engineering and the guards at its door) was in disrepair — was in line for being decommissioned, in fact. The Kaminoans were meticulous.

But it wasn’t decommissioned yet, so CC-2224 knew it would be the perfect place the instant that he’d pieced together that his new companion was about three seconds away from bursting into tears. They’d made it to the door in under two, but it had taken a bit of jostling and bony elbows jammed into sensitive places that might’ve accelerated the whole ‘tears’ business. 

They were here now, anyway, and they were safe. CC-2224 considered the maneuver a success.

“Hey,” He said, and it was a useless thing to say but he’d heard that the majority of what was said to crying things was supposed to be useless. Apparently there was something distracting and comforting about just — being chattered to. So CC-2224 did his best. “Our rations are made from bugs. I would’ve guessed fish, but they don’t have the nutrients. Plus fishing is a dignitary sport anyway-”

“Would you - shut up -” The other boy interrupted wetly, heaving with great big breaths that diminished his chest to half its size with every gasp. His face was — if possible — redder than before. His brown eyes were sharp, and they were glaring at CC-2224 from beneath his brows, hardened with a painful-looking panic. “Just- stop talking.”

CC-2224 digested this request (such as it was) in silence, weighing the odds that the boy knew better than he did what was needed. He scrutinized the glare in the dim lighting, but it was clear and steady enough. CC-2224 nodded agreement, lips sealing tight. He kept stroking the shorn head, the space so tight between them that all he had to do was swivel his wrist a little — the boy hadn’t asked him to stop that, and he hoped he wouldn’t think to.

He signed with his free hand instead of speaking, furrowing his brow to clarify it was a question.

The boy’s glare wilted slightly as he focused on tracking the signs. Finally he blew out a shaky gust of air. “CT-7567.” He said, and it was very strange to hear him try to put firmness and confidence into it when he could still barely breathe without hiccuping. “You could tell that by checking my code anyways.” He explained defensively — as if he thought CC-2224 might judge him harshly for revealing it or pounce on some kind of opportunity.

Then again, if CC-2224 hadn’t just dragged them both into a protected space, it would’ve been smart to be suspicious — and he would have had to investigate a bit to find the other boy’s code. Seeing as CC-2224 had done all sorts of helpful stuff, though, the second-guessing was a poor show — one that immediately made CC-2224 that much more certain that CT-7567 had been crying because he was an idiot.

He’d heard that, in some places, ‘idiot’ was just an insult. It wasn’t that way on Kamino. Idiots didn’t last long; the Kaminoans were, after all, meticulous about utility. Closets weren’t the only things getting decommissioned. Pretty common reason to cry as far as CC-2224 figured, and it would explain their current predicament.

It was enough to grim up any vod, but there might be hope yet. 

CC-2224 settled his back against the wall, breathing deeply, and imagined he could see the sim-walls — that he could read the fake mission update on the holo, letters glowing, challenging him to find a way to beat it. (Pretending helped him think faster. Being too confident was a weakness, but if CC-2224 knew anything, it was that he was very good at this.)

There were immediate gaps in information he needed for the mission’s resolution — holes that needed filling before he could pick the next direction. His hand moved almost of its own accord, signing fast and hard. 

CT-7567 watched, his breathing evening out by painful increments, brows furrowed in concentration where another cadet would have followed easily. (CC-2224 held his breath at what that might indicate about CT-7567’s intelligence, and he resisted an urge to suck his teeth.)

“Stop, stop,” CT-7567 finally snapped, flapping a hand right into the middle of the signs. “They haven’t taught us that, yet — I only know pieces. Talk instead.” 

“Oh, good, I thought you were stupid.” CC-2224 said in relief, and startled when the other boy hit him hard on the shoulder. “What? It’s not uncommon. If you had been, you’d be dead soon.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes and leaning backwards.

CT-7567’s red face blanched, both splotchy and pale at once, and CC-2224 nearly got distracted by how different it made him look. Later. He could think about it later, when CT-7567 wasn’t in danger anymore.

“Stop panicking.” CC-2224 said, and it came out a bit nasty, but his shoulder was still aching. CT-7567 hit hard. “What’s your defect?”

CT-7567’s fear turned to outright terror, but they were so far beyond that now it was almost silly to see. CC-2224 was no Kami, nor a Good One — if he had been, he’d have reported CT-7567 from the start just to get an edge.

(Among clones, it was a taboo question. It still got asked, but only as a last resort; usually quietly, to a terrified boy in a corner with several others hemming him in, trapping and shielding all at once. Tell us, the braver ones would say, maybe we can help. 

Sometimes they did help. Other times they made things official. ‘Identifying and reporting issues’ was something high-functioning property was supposed to be good at. They liked how following procedure made things easier for them, and if it didn’t come at the expense of another clone, CC-2224 might not have blamed them.)

CT-7567 stared at him like he’d damned the name of Nala Se herself. But just as CC-2224 was bracing himself to hear something stupid, like ‘what defect?’, CT-7567’s eyes narrowed and his spine straightened and CC-2224 suddenly knew — 

‘Idiot’ wasn’t the defect. The defect wasn’t even in that category. CT-7567 was just smaller than CC-2224 had figured, and there was something more serious going on — something big and obvious and unfixable that made little things helpless the bigger they got, the more it grew, the harder it was to conceal. Helpless vod got desperate, and sometimes acted like idiots, but that didn’t make them one. 

“You’ve got your hand on it.” CT-7567 said cryptically, but blessedly (for the sake of CC-2224’s dwindling patience and proportionally increasing anxiety) followed up with: “My hair. It’s wrong; gets white splotches when it grows.”

Ah. Actually, CC-2224 knew something about things like that. “That why you have it shaved?” He clarified. The buzz felt nice under his fingers.

“Yes.” CT-7567 muttered. “But the splotches are getting bigger.”

Bleaching. CC-2224 knew even more about that, though not from experiencing it personally. 

Bleaching was common. It meant that hair began to lighten in odd places or patterns — usually before maturity, but some unfortunates were late bloomers.

CC-2224 had once caught a glimpse of a fully fledged CT being transferred on a hover bed to decommissioning, hair speckled with white. It had been a shock to realize it could happen that late — that they couldn’t be sure they were safe, even after maturing.

There were some solutions he knew of already, but they were difficult, and resources limited. Even the best ones relied on luck so heavily that CC-2224’s nose wrinkled, and he bent himself to the task of thinking up other solutions. 

Five minutes of silence and thoughts and buzz beneath his fingertips ticked by before CT-7567 brought CC-2224’s awareness abruptly back into the closet. 

“Your fingers are trembling.” He said, so much steadier now — maybe because he was focusing on someone else’s problem. CC-2224 knew the feeling well; if a clone wasn’t careful, they could get obsessed with it, to the point they forgot to take care of their own business entirely — and that ended in death too, of one sort or another.

“They do that,” He said distractedly, stifling the spark of irritation that being interrupted ignited in his chest — like a petty little mouth full of sharp teeth, nipping at his ribs. He focused on the buzz beneath his fingers. “They do it when I’m thinking. I like solving problems.”

“Oh.” There was a lot in that ‘oh’, but CC-2224 couldn’t spare much brainpower to track it — he was using it on other things. Then, after a pause, CT-7567 quietly said: “Thank you.”

“Haven’t solved anything yet. Thank me when I do.” CC-2224 pointed out — this time with significant impatience at being interrupted — and CT-7567 grunted in acknowledgement of the wisdom behind that, at least.

CC-2224 thought harder, holding his jaw carefully loose so he wouldn’t chew his lip. The silence stuffed his ears full, and he danced from idea to problem, from solution to unexpected flaw, until there were no more flaws and his lip hurt because he’d forgotten not to chew it.

The closet came back into clarity, and CC-2224 stilled his shaking hand. He couldn’t quite contain his grin, though. “Got it.” He said — and because he really did have it, he let his pride show. With luck, it would help reassure CT-7567 it was true, and he’d be confident instead of second-guessing everything. “C’mon. We’re going to need a few things.”

They spent the next few minutes trying to do damage-control on CT-7567’s unbelievably splotched face. 

CC-2224 donated his socks to the cause, wetting them in the sanitization pump (it leaked on his bare feet, but he offered that up as a painful necessity), and wiping the tears away methodically. CT-7567 bore it stoically, every ounce of his will bent on forestalling more tears — and he managed it. His skin went back to normal and his pinkish eyes cleared up. They couldn’t help the swelling of his lids and nose, but that was a manageable risk.

CC-2224 did some rinsing and ringing out, then put his slightly soggy socks back on, sealing his boots up just as he would for a dry pair, already resigned to the blisters. CT-7567 dithered a bit, watching with a distracted nervousness and looking ready to suggest they wait out the swelling too, but wisely thinking better of it. They’d been in the closet for fifteen minutes already; any longer would definitely be too much of a risk for being noticed.

“On me.” CC-2224 said authoritatively once he was done with his boots, and at first it felt silly to include the other boy in pretending, but CT-7567 straightened and took it seriously and calmed in an instant, and CC-2224 felt vindicated that he’d guessed the right approach — that he wasn’t the only one who liked this tactic. 

“Sir yessir.” CT-7567 said — and the unexpected honorific hit CC-2224 like a battering ram. 

It felt — Bad. Strange. His mouth dried, and he blinked slower so he could hide a moment in the black behind his lids. 

Mission, they were on a mission, and CC-2224 was a commander, like he was supposed to be. He needed his brain working fast and his CT obeying faster, if this was going to work. 

“Let’s go.” He croaked, a bit hoarse, a bit excited. (His hands still trembled a bit when he opened the door.)

[natalievoncatte]

Kara knew something was wrong from Lena’s heartbeat. That alone, the barely detectable change in rhythm and tempo, was enough, but her breathing was erratic and as Kara drew nearer, drifting through the afternoon air, she could hear the soft sobs.

A bad feeling had come over Kara. Things had been quiet between the two of them ever since the wedding; there had been a strange tension between them on that happy day and Kara couldn’t say why

(she knew what she wanted it to be but didn’t dare hope)

and with Alex and Kelly away on their honeymoon, Kara had mostly been on her own. Nia was spending most of her free time with Brainy and Kara sensed a proposal coming, and she was busy preparing for her public interview with Cat Grant. She was going to rip the bandages off and reveal her identity. There was a great deal of work involved, and Kara had spent a lot of time fretting over the details, and in the back of her head she was worried about the ramifications of years spent reporting on Supergirl and using “her” as a source. It was a massive ethical dilemma, and thought it always made sense at the time…

Right now all that mattered was the heartbeat. Kara had been giving Lena the space she sensed she needed, but Jess had called Kara from the Foundation and told her that Lena hadn’t come to work in three days, and no one had heard from her. It was uncharacteristic of someone who ran her life with almost military precision. Kara had even asked Alex to text Lena, but they’d gotten the same single word replies.

Kara pulled in a big breath, feeling her stomach churn as she lighted on the balcony and slid open the door, knowing it would be unlocked. She wished Lena would stop doing that, but also felt a little tilt in her chest from knowing Lena hadn’t locked her out.

She was on the sofa, curled up on her side and asleep. She’d probably had the same pajamas on for two days and there were empty bottles of wine in a neat row on the table in front of her. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her cheeks a little raw. Kara felt an instant pang and reached for her, before stopping to deactivate her suit.

Kneeling next to the sofa, Kara touched her fingers to Lena’s shoulders. Lena woke instantly with a start, head jolting up as she sucked in a reedy breath and her heart raced explosively, sending a shock of terror up Kara’s spine.

“Oh fuck,” Lena blurted, kicking out her legs as she bolted upright. “Oh God, Kara what…”

“Hey,” Kara said softly. “I was… I’m sorry. Are you okay? I came in through the balcony. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lena’s chest heaved as she gasped for breath, staring at Kara with watery eyes. “Are you real?”

“What? Yes, of course I’m real.”

“I must have been dreaming. It was a dream. Just a dream. I was dreaming,” Lena muttered.

Kara rose from her knees and sat down on the couch.

“Come here.”

Lena almost crashed into her, wrapping her arms tightly around Kara and squeezing hard. She smoothed her fingers over the soft dark waves of Lena’s hair and pulled her in as she began to sob into Kara’s shoulder.

“I dreamed he killed you,” Lena choked out. “He came back again and he killed you and I couldn’t stop it. It felt so real.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Lena continued to sob, her entire body shaking with the force of it. Kara wrapped her in a fierce hug, trembling as she did.

“Every time I close my eyes he’s there, and when I’m awake all I can think about is that I killed my brother.”

“That didn’t happen in this timeline.”

Lena choked out an angry, frustrated sob. “It happened for me. I aimed a gun at my own brother’s chest and I pulled the trigger. And he came back! He came back and he almost killed you two or three fucking times, I can’t count.”

“He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“You can’t just say that!” Lena screamed into Kara’s throat.

Stunned, Kara softened her grip on Lena, only for Lena to pull her in harder, like she was trying to climb inside her.

“Why can’t I stop mourning him? He ruined my life. He was the person I trusted most and he turned out to be a monster. He used me my whole life and my emotions were just a game to him. He tried to to kill the woman I… tortured you, took you away for months and I thought I’d never see you again. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was and how much…”

Lena cut herself off with a sob.

“I know it’s not the same,” Kara murmured, “but when I was a little girl I worshipped my father. I wanted to grow up like him and do what he did. I was going to be a scientist too.”

“You’d have been a good one.”

Kara shook her head. “My father was responsible for the Medusa virus. A bioweapon designed to eradicate non-Kryptonian life. A weapon of genocide.”

Lena shuddered.

Kara swallowed, hard.

“My world wasn’t a paradise. It felt that way because it was simple for me. There wasn’t all the pain of learning alien ways and an alien language and controlling superpowers and everything else. My father taught and protected me and my mom maintained order. But it was wasn’t a paradise. My people were… Krypton was… I think in a lot of worlds out there, we were the bad guys. Okay, the Daxamites were slavers, but on Krypton people were born into the labor guild and did menial jobs their whole lives, while people like me were born into privilege. Is that much better?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t judge you for mourning Lex, Lena. He was your protector and your friend, and it was real to you. If there’s anything I hate him for, it’s hurting you.” Kara swallowed. “The one thing I can’t abide is anyone hurting you. I’ll break all my rules to keep you safe.”

Lena’s breathing eased and Kara could feel her relax.

“I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I figured you needed space. I wasn’t sure why but I trusted you to tell me if you need to.”

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Lena said.

“Kara, I can’t do this. I can’t share you.”

“Share me?”

“When you reveal your identity,” Lena pulled back, “you’re going to be the most famous person in the word. Everyone is going to be all over you. The press, politicians, everybody, and everyone who has a grudge against you or your cousin is going to know exactly where to find you, all the time.”

“I’ll keep you safe, no one will…”

“I didn’t say anything about me. You, Kara. What about you?”

“I’m Supergirl. I’ll be fine.”

“And what about me?” said Lena.

“I told you…”

“No. What about me when I have to watch you getting beaten to a pulp by another alien? What about me when you’re in a coma on the sun bed? What about me when I see on the news that a bomb went off in your apartment and I have to wonder if it was laced with Kryptonite shrapnel? I’m not worried about people coming after me. I’m a billionaire with magic powers. I could put on a goofy costume and join the club if I wanted. I’ve already lost you so many times and I can’t do it again.”

Stunned, Kara sat with her eyes wide, not sure when exactly she’d lifted Lena into her lap.

“It’s so selfish of me,” Lena went on. “You don’t belong to me. I don’t get to make demands of you. But don’t want you to out yourself. I don’t want to lose you again. As soon as you do this you’re going to be hounded by the whole world and they’ll claw you away from me again.”

Kara’s own heart raced now, hammering in her chest. Lena sounded so desperate and so sure, clinging to a Kara like she might disappear.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s your choice and I have to respect it. It’s okay,” she was clearly telling herself.

“No,” Kara choked out, “no it’s not. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

“Kara,” said Lena.

“No. I have been. I can’t believe I said what I said to you at the wedding, about not being my authentic self. To you, of all people.”

Lena swallowed hard. Kara drew back and looked at her, really looked at her, drinking in the soft beauty of her eyes as she swept back a tear with a brush of her thumb. Lena’s eyes were huge, her lips trembling, and Kara felt an almost painful pang of sorrow and regret and a powerful stirring, long thrust down and buried and now clawing its way forth as Lena stared back, the deep sadness and loss in her own eyes tinged by a hint of forlorn hope.

“I can’t believe that I can see through walls and I’m so blind.”

“Kara?” Lena whispered.

“I’m calling it off. I’ll keep my secret.”

“You don’t have to do that just to please me.”

“I don’t need them. I need you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Lena’s heart raced so fast that Kara briefly thought she might have to fly her to the hospital. Instinctively, she slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders and stood, lifting Lena as if she weighed nothing.

Eyes wide, Lena bit her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean when you say you’re mine? I need you to say it, Kara. I was too scared at the wedding. I can’t do this. I need you to.”

Oh.

Kara shifted her Lena’s weight in her arms, bring them closer together. She’d danced this dance before; she thought of the day she came back from the Phantom Zone, when she held Lena in her arms and felt the sun again and she almost did it, she almost just fucking did it…

And she did it.

She kissed Lena, already ready to sputter an apology and find a way out of this, but her words were lost when Lena’s soft lips met hers and Lena was ready to devour her, happily rocketing past chaste first kiss as she grabbed Kara with both hands and pulled her in.

Kara’s stomach flipped. She didn’t know what to do. She’d been kissed, she thought she’d been intimate, but she could see now that those things had been mere stimulation and nothing more. Something soared inside her as she had soared in the sky the very first time she flew. Joy unbridled swelled in her chest and she could feel Lena laughing exultantly into her mouth and even as tears mingled on her cheeks.

She wanted this. She wanted this. It was right here all along.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “I…”

“Should I put you down?”

“On the bed.”

[iamthecomet]

hi, do you still take requests? I would love to see some broken limbs related comfort (does that count as a sick fic?). like mountain helping rain walk cus he lost his crutch or cirrus helping cumulus wash her hair since it's hard to do with a cast on her arm. (implying there's a reason they can't insta heal)

I do still take requests! It just sometimes takes me a really long time to get to them. But this one got my brain whirling. I haven't written much (any?) of it in the Ghost fandom but I am a big fan of whump (the injury version of a sick fic). So thank you for giving me an opportunity to inflict some pain (and comfort) on our favorites. Almost 1.2k of Aeon & Swiss hurt/comfort under the cut (no broken bones, because this is what came to me instead).

Aeon loves quintessence. He loves the electric shock of it. The tingling warmth. The way he can ease pain, and loosen muscles with a little press of his fingers. How he chases away Dew's headaches, and Cumulus' lower back pain. How he can loosen up Rain's hips, and Mountain's shoulders with barely a flex of his muscles. The only thing he hates about it, is the limitations. The fact that he can't do it to himself. Can't turn his power around and soothe his own aches. Most of the time, it isn't a problem. He's flexible, loose, spry. His vessel isn't prone to tense muscles or joint pain--maybe a product of his quintessence nature. He doesn't know. What he does know, is he's in agony. Something happened during Square Hammer. He got a little to overzealous with his movements and slipped on errant confetti. Hand coming up to grip the closest thing to him--the edge of Mountain's drum platform. His grip kept him upright, but wrenched on his shoulder as he regained his balence. Forcing an uncomfortable pop in his shoulder that he felt radiate through his entire body. A sickening thud, followed closely by immediate alarm bells in his head. That's not right. Something is wrong. It didn't hurt--not right away. Too caught up in the sudden wrongness of it. Adrenaline, already pumping through him from the show, dumping into his blood at an alarming rate. He thought he was fine. The pain started just before the end of the song. A dull ache radiating across his shoulder. Slowly gaining heat and intensity. Now, he's standing next to Swiss, about to bow, feeling like if he doesn't get off of this stage right now he's going to collapse in front of twenty thousand people. His stomach twists. The pain is bright and not now. Molten. Deep in his shoulder. Moving it, even just a little, raises a strange sense of dread through his body. Like something at the base of his brainstem knows he shouldn't do that. That catastrophe will happen if he does. Fight or flight directed toward his own body--his own pain. He wishes he could run from it. That he could just take off--run fast enough to leave this pain on the stage. Spread out and abandoned. Instead it's all he can do to bow without bursting into tears. When Swiss claps his hand over Aeon's shoulder, he winces. Pain drags up his neck, into his skull. Swiss notices, of course he does. Gaze lingering on Aeon for a second too long. Aeon flushes under his mask--embarassed even though he doesn't know why. He can't see Swiss' eyes but he can picture the way they're narrowing behind those dark lenses. Aeon looks away first, he shrugs it off. He makes it off stage, into the dressing room, and halfway out of his uniform before the trouble really starts. Everything is fine until he goes to pull his compression shirt off. The vest went fine, and the button up shirt beneath. He'd shrugged them off, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. But now--this--fuck. He should have just worn the sleeves tonight. He curses himself, looks at the compression sleeves sitting neglected in his trunk. He thought about it--but after a few shows of constantly having to adjust them back up on his arms he'd opted for the full shirt to save him some aggravation. He swears, under his breath. Glamor rapidly failing him as he feels fangs prick against his lip, and the bite of claws into his palms. He tries to get it under control, grasping at straws for any hint of control, of magic, of relief. "You ok, Bug?" Swiss is gentle this time when he touches Aeon. Avoiding the shoulder all together and opting for a heavy warm palm on his waist. Aeon feels panic crawl up his throat, hot and insistent. Filling him with the need to go. To run. To scream. Instead, he whines. Pain breaking out through his clenched teeth. Swiss stiffens, the usually casual air of his evaporating, replaced with worry. "Aeon." "I did something--my shoulder," Aeon's cheeks get hot, eyes watering. "It's not getting better. And I can't get my fucking shirt off."

"Let me help." Swiss is gentle when he slips his fingers beneath the compression fabric. Aeon allows himself to be undressed--not much else he can do. He can barely lift his arm, but Swiss manages, gentling the fabric of hot swollen flesh and dropping it onto the ground with everything else. "Hurts," Aeon says as Swiss looks at his shoulder--investigating without being asked. Aeon wishes Aether were here, he'd at least talk to him while he did this. He'd make Aeon feel better. Swiss just looks, shifts Aeon's arm this way and that like he knows what he's looking for. "I'm sure it does," Swiss mumbles. Then Aeon feels it--a tiny spark. Quintessence. Just a little. Tenative. Like Swiss isn't used to using it like this. "I'm not Aether, obviously. But I think it's a sprain. You'll be alright." Aeon feels those words somewhere at his core. Solid. True. Maybe it's Swiss' quintessence. The power of suggestion. But he believes him. Even as the pain rages, barely touched by what little quintessence Swiss has given him. He wants to beg for more, he almost does--but Swiss is still talking. "....get you dressed and back to the hotel. I'll take care of you." "You?" Aeon looks up at him. Swiss laughs, lopsided grin finally slotting back into place. "Yeah, me. Why you hoping for someone else to play nurse?" "No! No, I just mean--you're not--I figured you had better things to do. Weren't you and Dew going to go to that bar or something? I'll be ok--" "I know you'll be ok. But I want to help. So let me." Aeon wants to protest. He knows he's a part of this pack as much as anyone else--has never been lead to believe he isn't. But he's still new, still worries that he's one misstep away from being rejected. But Swiss has never given him a reason to think that, and he looks so earnest when he asks. Wearing his glamor. Looking so startlingly human with warm brown eyes and that crooked smile that always makes Aeon's stomach flip. Swiss grabs Aeon's t-shirt and holds it out to him--ready to help, and Aeon sags in resignation. He can do it alone--he can take care of himself and battle through this pain without any help. But why would he want to. "Will you even wash my hair for me?" Aeon asks, half a joke, grinning just for the opportunity to see Swiss grin back. "Maybe," Swiss laughs, helping Aeon into his t-shirt. "But, I might just dose you with enough quintessence to knock you out so I can go party with Dew." "You won't," Aeon says, sure. Feeling lighter despite the pain radiating down his arm and into his fingers. Swiss pulls him close, guides him out of the dressing room with a steady hand on the small of his back. "No," he concedes. "I won't."

[frankenjoly]

elise & ango + "you're a worm"

kunikida & fitzgerald + "support your family like the rest of us, be born billionaires"

lucy & kenji + "do you need any help?"

or, if you'd prefer something less obscure...

kunidazai + "your facial features are in the right spots"

poiuygfttgyhuio enjoy the randomized pairings lol <333

i love all of these :3 lemme just post them in 2 pairs bcs i'm nowhere near patient enough to wait to have all 4 lkjlkj

elise & ango + “you're a worm”

“You’re a worm.” Elise announced, snickering when those words caused exactly the expected reaction: Ango frowned, clearly trying to choose his next response carefully.

“That’s rude, you know.” He said, simply and plainly, because of course not letting her get away with saying whatever wasn’t an option; that was a power she never intended to stop using.

“Ah, no.” Was her answer, once she had enjoyed that part enough. “We’re playing this board game, and you’re getting the worm figurine. I’m saving the rock for Osamu, and the glasses for Hirotsu, and so on.” As she explained, Elise lifted up the tiny piece of plastic and offered it to Ango, who took no actual time on taking it.

“Will you explain the rules to me first? I doubt I’ve ever played this.”

kunikida & fitzgerald + “support your family like the rest of us, be born billionaires”

“C’mon, there were a million ways to do this, and you chose the worst one. Support your family like the rest of us, be born billionaires.” Kunikida had barely finished speaking when Fitzgerald snorted with no trace of shame.

“Born? Please, lad, I had to work my ass off for everything I’ve got now.” Chin up, a deep frown… no, he had by no means finished. “I don’t give a single fuck about what you think about me, understood? I was willing to burn this city to the ground if that meant I’d managed to make my Zelda smile again. If that meant we’d all could go back to being a family. I may have not succeeded, and I changed my mind now that’s not possible through that path anyway. But I’d do it all again.”

Kunikida let out a deep sigh. Alright, there was no reasoning in that case, not when they were bound to clash.

(Also on ao3.)

[not-freyja]

For the fic prompt thing: Twilight introduces everyone to the existence of cats.

Here you go! Very tiny, but hopefully sufficiently fuffy! <3

"Oh my Golden Goddesses," Sky breathes, practically throwing himself to the ground and scooping up one now-agitated ball of fur. "Aren't you just the cutest thing I have ever seen?"

Twilight laughs, and scoops another kitten off the ground with far more care, depositing it in Time's hand. The man instantly softens, pulling the tiny purring bundle close to his chest. He goes to hand the next one to Four but the Smithy takes a short but quick step back, eyes wide.

"...You good?"

"Yup!" Four flashes a terse smile. "Great. Fantastic! Just... don't want to get clawed."

The Ordonian blinks. "Four, it's a kitten. It's like two weeks old. It ain't gonna hurt you none."

Wild agrees at least. Twilight can see that much from the way the boy has flopped onto the ground and is trying to pet about seven kittens at the same time.

...Because of course he is.

"What are these animals called?" Legend asks, daring to creep closer to the mewling pile of fur swallowing Sky and Wild alive. "I've never seen them before."

That makes the Rancher pause. "You've never seen a cat before?"

Legend and Hyrule shakes their heads in a slow synchronized movement. Twilight blinks. Huh. Time shenanigans never cease to amaze him. He grabs both boys by an arm each and drags them into the center of the barn, right to the edge of the nest the mama cats have made in the pile of hay.

"Sit," he says, and pushes them down. "Now here, hold these."

A few seconds and some carefully scooping of absolutely precious babies later, Legend has gone soft, expression gentle as he carefully strokes over the backs of the mewling bundles of squirming kitten in his lap.

Wind squeezes himself between the pair and removes a cat from Legend's pile, dropping it on Hyrule's knee. The traveler goes bug eyed, looking up at Twilight with deeply visible concern. "Why is it vibrating?"

He manages not to laugh. Barely, but he manages. "That means it's working."

"Huh."

[reallygroovyninja]

The evening light filtered through the window of the hotel room, casting a warm glow that seemed to dance on the walls. Lexa sat gracefully on the wide windowsill; one leg crossed over the other as she slipped her foot into a sleek heel.

Clarke leaned against the wall; her arms crossed over her chest as she watched Lexa. There was an undeniable elegance to her movements, each one measured and smooth, a testament to the quiet confidence she carried. The setting sun framed Lexa perfectly, highlighting the contours of her legs, accentuating the strength and poise that Clarke had come to admire so deeply.

"You know, you have amazing legs," Clarke said, the words tumbling out laced with admiration and affection. Her eyes sparkled with a playful delight, reflecting the myriad of thoughts that danced through her mind whenever she looked at Lexa.

Lexa paused, her hand holding the strap of her shoe. She turned her head, a gentle smile playing on her lips. The compliment, simple yet so heartfelt, washed over her like a sweet melody. Her eyes met Clarke's, and in them was a gleam of love and a dash of mischief.

"Only noticing now, are we?" Lexa teased, her voice soft but warm.

Clarke pushed away from the wall, her steps silent on the carpet as she moved closer to Lexa. "Oh, I’ve noticed," she replied, her voice lowering to a whisper as she reached out to trace a finger gently down Lexa’s calf, "I always notice."

[shards-of-silver]

Ficlet that popped into my head

(In an effort to seem more approachable to his crew, Thrawn agreed to play 21 Questions with his officers)

One Brave Soul: what's your body count, Grand Admiral sir?

Thrawn: (looks down, then back at the asker) Unlike some in the Empire, I do not keep score of how many I have killed in my years of service. I take no pride in the ending of a life. It is sufficient to say that for all my efforts to minimize casualties, a great many have passed from actions taken under my command.

Eli: (blushes) Er, that wasn't the question, sir. That's a kill count, not a body count.

Thrawn: ...I do not understand. I have heard many soldiers compare their "body counts" before. What else could they be describing?

Eli: (leans in to whisper) they want to know how many sex partners you have had.

Thrawn: Oh, I see. (Beat) Three.

[risewriter]

ROTTMNT: Grafitti

Mikey stands in front of one of the sewer walls with spray paint in hand. Though, it's one of the few surfaces left he can release his creativity on. Painting near the lair is ''dangerous'' and ''could lead unwanted guests''.

Even when the box shelled turtle pleaded with ''I could draw arrows in the opposite direction?'' He got send away by both Splinter and Raphael. So, what he is about to make must be his best work yet.

Michael thinks and thinks, scratching the back of his head with his painted fingers.

''I already made a Raph, Donnie, April, me and even Splinter! Not to mention I drew Leo waaay too many times.'' With a sigh, Mikey plops on the concrete.

''Well, this isn't like you, Michael.''

A familiar snarky comment strikes Mikey from behind. The orange turtle's head turns.

''Donnie? What are you doing here?''

Donatello's eyes dart away. ''I'm just.. collecting samples for some.. friends.''

''Mhm, so, what you're actually sayin' is that you're collecting me, because there's only cookable things in the house and everyone is hungry.''

''Perhaps..'' Donnie then darts to the wall. ''Anywho, what are you creating this time? It's not like you to leave any surface empty for longer than 2 minutes.''

''I don't know.. I'm out of ideas.''

''Out of ideas? You? Never thought I'd see the day.'' Donnie smirks, but didn't get the backlash he usually gets from his little brother. ''Can't you just.. doodle anything on the wall?''

''No! It has to be meaningful! It's the last wall far enough from the lair to paint on..''

''Hm, I see.'' Glancing down at his depressed brother, Donnie takes hold of one of the spray cans. ''I don't have as much.. artistic skill as you do. However, doesn't meaning equal fun? Science equals meaning to me, so..'' He then hands the paint over to Mikey. ''Doesn't that mean that you can also just have fun?''

Michael's eyes light up as he takes the spray can in hand.

''I guess you're right!'' As the spark of joy returns to him, Mikey also hands Donnie a different spray can. ''And you know what would make this more fun? Doing graffiti together!''

Reluctantly, Donatello grabs the can. ''You do know I can't draw, let alone graffiti, right?''

''Doesn't matter! As long as we're having fun!'' Mikey pets his brother on the back.

Donnie cracks a little smile, using the red paint on the big canvas in front of him.

''Alright, but I'm making lots of explosions!''

Credit for idea to @lightningjo58 ! 🐢 🧡 💜

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Wedding Night

historical, aob, steddie, the sensuality of see-through silk tulle

Steve has given plenty of thought to his trouseau, ensuring he has enough step-ins and slips and nightgowns to last his entire two week honeymoon.

But the most important piece is the one he will change into once he and Eddie leave their wedding reception. The silk is gossamer fine, concealing nothing.

He pets over his beautiful boudoir suit, knows his mother would call it a frivolous waste.

And it is. 

On his wedding night, Steve changes, every part of him on display as he lounges coquettishly at the foot of the bed. 

Eddie enters, still in his suit, pulling at the knot in his bowtie, his jaw practically dropping to the floor when he sees Steve. All of Steve.

He shucks his coat, throwing it on a chair. His waistcoat follows as he growls, “My love, what a surprise you are.”

“You like it?” Steve asks, coy as he drags a hand up his thigh, drawing Eddie’s gaze.

“Oh, darling, you put Venus to shame with your loveliness.”

Eddie struggles to remove his cufflinks, all the studs from his shirt front, jet and gold and mother-of-pearl falling to the floor—a problem for the morning—as he casts off his shirt and suspenders. His trousers go next, leaving only his drawers.

Steve stands, lets Eddie embrace him, his husband sucking hungry kisses along his jaw and down his neck. 

Their mouths meet, and Steve knows he’s already begun to ruin the silk with his slick.

Stepping back, taking a much needed breath, Eddie’s eyes rove over Steve’s body. He traces over a rosy nipple, runs his fingers down to Steve’s hips. Cups the round swell of his buttocks. Whispers, “Mrs. Munson, let me taste you.”

“Yes, alpha. I’m all yours,” Steve whispers back, melting into a kiss as Eddie undoes the tiny buttons down his back.

Soon he will know the pleasure of his alpha’s knot. The beauty of the marriage bed.

It took fewer than ten minutes for him to be naked, in his husband’s arms.

He may as well have started out naked.

A frivolous expense.

But he felt so beautiful wearing it.

[thechaosdomain]

Prompt: oops, that wasn’t the plan

Word count: 462

Pairing/character(s): steddie

Staring intently at the recipe in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adds ingredients cooking really shouldn’t be this heard he bemoans to himself as he looks down at the pot of the strangest colored pasta sauce he’d ever seem oh well it’s probably edible Eddie shrugs and it’s the thought that counts anyway.

“A pinch of salt.” He frowns how much is a pinch as he grabs the salt shaker looking at it like it might give home the answer before shaking it into the sauce one, two the lid falls off into the sauce with a plop and the entire contents empties itself into the pot before Eddie can do anything about it.

“oops that wasn't the plan.” He tells the empty room, whilst staring into the pot like he’s hoping if he stares hard enough that’ll fix it,

What’s he meant to do now this was meant to be a romantic gesture instead it’s turning into a nightmare and is that the front door, well shit.

“Hi.” Steve greets walking into the kitchen “Are you cooking?” He asks looking so confused

“Yes I do that sometimes.” Eddie answers indignantly no he doesn’t why is he lying Steve knows he doesn’t

“Since when?” Steve laughs looking down at the strange looking liquid.

“All the time Steve I’m a man of many talents.” He proclaims receiving a soft snort in response, horror spreading over him as Steve picks up the spoon he’d been mixing it with slowly lifting it to his mouth.

“Don’t eat that.” Eddie shouts lunging forward and knocking the spoon out of Steve’s hand

“What, Eddie!” Steve shouts in surprise

“Why can’t I try it?”

“I lied-“ Eddie admits “-I don’t know how to cook and that recipe makes zero sense I’m not even sure some of those ingredients really exist and I poured the entire salt shaker in but in my defense it was an accident because the lid wasn’t on properly and who knows how much a pinch of salt actually is.” Eddie rushes out before taking a deep breath and adding

“Let’s order pizza.”

Steve’s drawn his bottom lip into his mouth and looks like he’s trying desperately to hold back a laugh.

“Okay, pizza sounds good.” Is what he says when he finally manages to get his words out.

“Great you call.” Eddie smiles “ and I will dispose of this.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of his failed attempt at cooking.

“Are you sure you don’t need to call biohazard specialists?” Steve chuckles, dialing the number to their local pizza place.

“Haha, very funny.” Eddie rolls his eyes. turning his attention back to the problem he had created should he throw away just the contents or the entire pot?