#I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS Y'ALL

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

PLEASE CLICK A BUTTON

No knowledge of either media is needed. Please. Click a button. Click what sounds cool! You not caring HELPS!

If you WANT knowledge about what you voted for, I've written out a description of each faction down below.

If you know both stories, pick what sounds most interesting to you. Your vote shapes a story!! I'd appreciate a reblog for more votes!

(The top 5 groups will be featured somehow in the fic)

Why am I doing this? Well, I am signing up for the Izzy Hands Bingo! Only issue, I want to use my bingo card to create an AU based around the world of Fallout. I have 1 issue.

I don't want to decide this one choice, as to me, planning any aspect of a fic before a writing challenge defeats a bit of the purpose of the challange. You know? So I'm letting y'all choose Izzy&Ed's background. Their background influences how I write almost everything else. The moral, the main beats of the sotry, the romances, etc. All on THIS choice.

So I am relying on the people who don't know shit about the fallout universe to act as a random dice throw. BUT PLEASE VOTE IF YOU KNOW WHO THESE FACTIONS ARE! This fic is going to be written for those who know nothing about this world, but if you want to see Ed and Izzy with a certain background, VOTE WITH BIAS!

QUICK EXPLANATION OF EACH FACTIONS FROM ME, WITHOUT GOOGLE:

New California Republic: After the world has been destroyed, this group believes on forming another democracy. Taking over small societies, and taxing them in return for protection. Full of modern white collar corruption, this faction is prone to murdering their citizens, or giving them HIGH standards they will fail. This group believes that THEY are the superior organization and wants everyone else to be dead.

Brotherhood of Steel: God, isn't it cool that the US has such advanced weaponry? Isn't US culture so COOL? What if the US was destroyed, and now there's a faction built around gathering technology of the Pre-bombed world, dead set on taking over the US? Willing to die for a pre world toaster. OH- AND they are a psudeo-Christan/Catholic faction built around following some pre war religious ideas. Including chastity, and following a ridged social ladder. This group believes that THEY are the superior organization and wants everyone else to be dead.

Raiders (Unfriendly): Why build a new society when you can just kill people and take their shit? Not a faction, but SOME build small settlements. They are the vultures of the wasteland. Murderous vultures. Very close to historical pirates, tbh.

Raiders (Friendly): Groups that usually don't trust any of these fucks as shit goes wrong WAY too often. A few friends that take over a building/farm and chill. They will raid, but often choose abandoned buildings and can rely on trade.

Caravan Merchants: Traders that walk the wasteland trading their items for money. SOMETIMES affiliated with one of these factions, but not always. They just explore, find shit, and sell shit. Actual vultures. Chill bros.

Child of Atom: AKA the radiation monks. THESE GUYS FUCK. Not to bias this vote, but out of all of these, these guys are usually my favorite in game. Imagine if after the nukes that end the world drop, you decide to worship the bomb. The live/stay in water that is toxic and live their lives surrounded by mutated monsters. Children of Atom LOVE radiation of all forms. In the games, half your quests with this cult is spent secretly deactivating their radioactice items without their knowing so these fucks can live another day. This cult is my wild card, I have no idea how I'd write this lol. (Image below just fucks too hard for me not to include it)

Minuteman: Basically Raiders(friendly) + NCR. A bunch of settlements that vow protect each other, but without the taxes of the NCR. Often small factions that promise to step in if their land/property gets attacked.

The Railroad: Robots are better than people, we are willing to die to save synths(robots) Yes, it is based on the underground railroad. They save robots, kidnap them from the institute(described down below), wipe all of their memories and personalities, and abandon them without resources somewhere far from them. You know...when you say it like that, comparing this organization to the REAL underground railroad is a bit fucked up.

The Institute: It goes like this, kidnap someone, copy their memories, and put these memories into a robot body. Many Synths don't know that they are human. This group believes that THEY are the superior organization and wants everyone else to be dead.

Pre War Ghouls: Congratulations, you survived the nuclear apocalypse! You're reward? Well, you have a chance of being immortal, and a change to turn into a mindless zombie. You live 200+ years and get to watch society rebuild. Only issue, you look like death. Most factions HATE you. You know how Elves are treated in fantasy? That's how ghouls are treated. This path gives Ed/Izzy a SHIT ton of angst as two people that are some of the only people left who remember a life before survival.

Synths: Robot copies of a person. If this is chosen, I am 50/50 on if they themselves know they are synths. If this wins, I will post a second poll on who knows they are/aren't a copy of a living person. Or if they even look human. as some synths, like the guy on the left, don't look human AT ALL.

[To not step in bad water, I have excluded the following 'factions':

*Slavers. In this world, being pulled into slavery is one of the many things that threatens the player chatacer. If a city is taken over by a faction, sometimes people of any race are sold into slavery. I'm not touching this. I'm not making Ed and Izzy into Slavers, or victims of Slavers.

This plot is important to the world and shows how society has fallen back into chattle slavery, I'm not touching it for this fic. In fact, most fallout fans who write fic don't include Slavers or Slavery. These stories that feature slaves predominantly happened in the games fallout 3/new vegas, and often featured women being used as sex slaves. These plots were not picked up in later titles. As this fic is predominantly a survival romance/mystery story, I don't need to add this topic as a narrative tool to build temporary tension. Some narrative tools deserve more respect than others. Especially that of *slavery* (cough cough to the anon who sent me hate about this part, no shit slavery is a thing today....like? This entire post has been summarizing these games. Why would i add a psa about how slavery is still a thing mid post? I swear. Anon on tumblr can be a burden and a curse)

*The Enclave: they believe in social Darwinism, and are generally racist to those outside their faction, and mutated people. (But why did I include the brotherhood? Because power armor. They're assholes, but Izzy and Ed are going to spend this story learning their world view is wrong. Making them Brotherhood members is easy mode plot wise, as they learn to live their lives. Compare this to the Enclave? I can't personally justify fixing an enclave member.)

*Any new Vegas specific groups. I don't want to limit my location to Las Vegas/Nevada. I'm literally going to spin a wheel for a location, and having 'the Kings' be in Missouri doesn't work for me. (If NCR is the most popular I'm fine with it as historical lyrics they spread through a LOT of the wasteland. It excludes like, 20 US States). For the institute/railroad, I'm going to rename the faction but keep the belief of the factions. ]

If you are reading this- THANK YOU FOR INDULGING MY HYPERFIXATIONS lol. I have some lovely ideas for how to combine OFMD and Fallout's humor, and can't wait to dive in!

I would love to hear what you voted for!!

[ariaste]

swear to god if I read another motherfucking fic where these vampires pause to get the lube I am going to have a fucking mental breakdown and chew holes in the walls. i have had it up to here. this is an intervention. this is a come-to-jesus moment. what are you doing. are you thinking about your choices. why are you making them have sex like they're humans instead of weird fucked-up vampire sex. look into my eyes. can you please consider your worldbuilding choices and make ones that are less excruciatingly boring. look at me. you're being the softest beigest pillow if you make them use human lube. i'm serious. i will die on this hill.

fight me in the comments if you disagree or you feel huffy about this, i don't care. come at me, bro, i own the night.

[mothwingwritings]

Animal Magnetism

F!Reader X Yujiro Hanma (Omegaverse AU)

Well folks, here is my first ever attempt at a true Omegaverse fic. I wanted to start out with something little to get a feel for it, but since I don’t know how to chill it ended up being a bit longer than anticipated. ^^; I’m still getting the hang of it all, but I hope you enjoy it regardless! Thank you so much for reading!!!

Also, I have a rather busy end of May-June coming up, so I’m not sure how much I will be able to write and update during that time. I apologize in advance. That being said, I wrote this pretty fast and edited it even faster so that I could get it out before I get swamped, so I apologize if it reads a bit rushed. (シ_ _)シ

THIS FIC IS NSFW, SO 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

WARNINGS: Noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, ABO/Omegaverse AU (reader is the omega ofc), death, strangulation, brief mentions of stalking, reader is degraded and treated like an object by Yujiro Hanma. You know how it is. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

You considered yourself lucky to have found the love of your life.

That wasn’t always the case for Omegas. Since your childhood, you’d heard countless horror stories from your parents and friends, tragedies and cautionary tales of the horrors Omega’s faced when looking for a mate. Many of your kind faced dismal futures as breeding factories or were forgotten and neglected by their partners whenever they weren’t in heat. It was a lonely, painful, and unfulfilling existence, but a sad reality that many Omega’s endured nonetheless.

Because of this your parents sheltered you, doing their best to keep you from the cruel power imbalance of the outside world. Your father made sure he was the only alpha allowed near you on the property, the rest of your friends and acquaintances consisting of either other Omega’s or Beta’s. Not that you much minded, after all the negativity you heard surrounding Alpha’s you figured this was for the best. You weren’t missing out on anything, and as long as you took your suppressors accordingly, you were sure you could live out the rest of your life just fine without Alpha influence and still feel completely fulfilled.

That was to say, until a certain bodyguard was hired as the family escort, specifically YOUR escort. You had heard he was an Alpha and were quite shocked that your father would allow such a person so close to you, especially with all his previous warnings. But as time passed and your curiosity grew, you would eventually introduce yourself to the man of your own accord, excited and nervous to see what manner of individual he truly was. At the time, you would have never ended up guessing that one meeting would end up turning your entire world on its head, bringing more joy to your life than you could have ever imagined.

You were smitten the moment your hands joined in the initial shake, taken in by his easy smile and sparkling eyes. He had respectfully kept his distance from you at your father’s request, but you could tell he was elated to finally speak with you, a small blush gracing his cheeks as soon as you said ‘hello’. He was a kindly man, mild mannered and soft spoken, but strong where it mattered and protective to a fault. Were it not for the unmistakable scent that exuded from him, you wouldn’t guess he was an Alpha at all, or at least he certainly didn’t fit the description of most of the Alpha’s your father warned you about-all full of machismo and brutality, ready at a moment’s notice to tear you apart to satisfy their own base urges.

This man was the opposite of that, and when you fell for him, you fell hard.

Years past in a whirlwind, from the initial awkward first dates, to buying your own place together, to his heartfelt proposal to you. Through it all he always remained respectful, giving you all the space and time you needed to adjust to your life with him, never pushing his boundaries or showing any untoward aggression or advances.  Because of this, even after spending years together, you were able to remain pure, saving yourself for the day the two of you would join as one, marking each other to truly solidify your union.

And so time marched on, moving so fast that on more than one occasion you wished you could stop the clock altogether, just to steal a few more moments with him.

But now, you would never enjoy his company ever again.

His corpse had been tossed aside, discarded several feet from where you lay. It was so bloodied and broken you could barely recognize it as human, let alone as someone you once loved. Your chest rose and fell with erratic breaths punctuated by fear, the desire welling inside of you momentarily quelled by this sudden nightmare.

Minutes ago he was atop you, peeling the clothing from your aching, hot body. Moving painfully slow, he took his time enjoying your first heat with him, no longer constrained by the suppressors you had taken your whole life. You were scared of the process, worried about losing control of yourself and becoming mindless, driven by only your base needs. Not to mention the pain it would entail, the endless torture of emptiness, and the desperation you would experience relying solely on him for release from your torment.

But he had been patient and understanding through the whole process, explaining how it would all go down and how he would help you through it, alleviating any rogue fears that still remained. He even went so far as to help you prepare your nest, purchasing you any and everything you may need to make it comforting and inviting for when the time finally arrived. Meticulously helping you arrange everything while gushing about how excited he was, how lucky he felt having you as his mate, the one he would be eternally bonded too. He seemed more into the prep work than even you did.

Now, the nest that was to be used to consummate your love was stained in crimson, his blood splashing across it in vibrant streaks the moment he was knocked off you, flung across the room like a rag doll. No matter how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lifeless body that used to be your beloved. Everything that had made him shine had been stolen in the blink of an eye, leaving only a husk remaining.

Above him stood his murderer, Yujiro Hanma, looming with a bestial sort of feral energy as he stared at the carcass by his feet.  Before this moment, you had never interacted with the man they called ‘The Ogre’, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know all about him. It was hard not to-the strongest man in the world was a celebrity in his own right, renowned the world over for his ferocity and ruthless nature. He had started and ended wars by simply existing, going wherever he pleased and doing whatever he wanted because there was no one who could stop him. He ruled countries from the shadows, amassed wealth and respect from the most influential men in the world. Truly, he was not a person to be reckoned with.

All that aside, you knew him best as the man your father despised the most. A once respected comrade from your father’s military days, you were aware that Yujiro had done something unspeakable to your father in the past, therefore disgracing him from your entire family. Your father had always been an amicable and fair man, someone that you couldn’t imagine having any enemies (even with his military background), let alone ones that used to be dear friends. And while the mystery of what Yujiro may have done to your father to receive this treatment gnawed incessantly at your brain, you kept your questions to yourself, not wanting to open any old wounds that may hurt him in the process.

Now you wished you had pressed the issue more, maybe then you would have a clue as to why this mythical family villain had abruptly entered the scene, irrevocably changing your life in the process.

The slaughter happened so quickly that Yujiro didn’t even break a sweat. Not that he would have anyway-the differences in ability were clear as day, you didn’t need any fighting prowess to realize that. Your mate never stood a chance.

The ogre’s fiery hair danced wildly around his head like a halo as he turned his attention your way, his figure both terrifying and awe inspiring as he took his time stalking towards your vulnerable form. There was no need for him to rush- the power of his presence alone was enough to root you in place.

Splayed out in your nest, you were completely exposed. Your nude chest heaving as a thin layer of sweat coated you, anxiety and confusion mingling with the raging heat your body was going through. Even after watching the execution of your mate before your very eyes, your body was still yearning, causing a horrible, all-encompassing burning that scalded you from the inside out. It made you desperate for release as your mate was in the process of marking you, taking his time exploring the body of the woman with whom he was destined to spend the rest of his life with before carrying out the duty.

And while his drawn out advance was driving you to the point of madness, amplifying the throbbing ache in your core with each teasing touch of his hands and sensual kiss of his lips, you knew the sluggish pace was for your benefit-to prepare you properly. It was your first time, the start of your forever with him. He wanted to make it special, for your pleasure to be immeasurable when he finally entered you, making you feel so good that when he bit down to mark you as his, the pain would be nothing in comparison, if felt at all. You had a life time of love ahead of you, but that was no excuse for him to give in to his desire and rush your first union.

But he was gone now, and his kindness had left you feverish and wanting-so desperately wanting- release. Craving your alpha, needing him so badly you could barely stand it, you writhed pathetically on the ground, whimpering in agony at the absence of fulfillment. Unable to control yourself, your hand traveled to your privates, tears flooding your eyes when stuffing your fingers deep inside of yourself only seemed to hurt you more. It was hollow and empty, not what you needed, not what you craved.

Were you in your normal mindset, revulsion would have washed over you at your actions-the love of your life had just been slain and here you were making a sorry attempt at masturbation while his body lay decomposing beside you. What kind of woman does that? How could you live with yourself after this? How could you tell yourself you truly love him, when now that he’s gone the only feeling your addled brain can conjure is disappointment over the fact that you won’t get the fucking you have become so desperate for?

How had you become so disgusting? You lightly shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts of self-loathing. Perhaps the blame did not lie fully on your shoulders, but to another culprit, one who was stalking his way closer and closer to you with each passing moment, hunting you as a wolf does livestock.

In any other scenario, this heart-rending moment would have been enough to crack the shell of haze your heat had left you in, no matter how worked up you had become. But the man who was now standing above you, Yujiro Hanma, was dangerous in ways you hadn’t even begun to fathom. His smell of his musk was so overbearing you nearly choked on it, the lust it sent coursing through your body turning you into something unrecognizable. You honed in on Yujiros scent long before his arrival, at first mistaking it for your own mate’s scent that had been amplified by your combined heats. And while it disgusted you to admit it, this new, intoxicating scent excited you far more than your own lover’s ever had, turning your mind to mush the longer you inhaled its aroma.

Yujiro’s cruel eyes bore down upon you, a look of mild amusement displayed on his face as he took in your weakened state. The smirk he wore as he killed your lover began to grow, his lips spreading into a full on smile, baring his teeth in a look that could only be considered as malicious.

“Well what do we have here,” he leered, the mere sound of his husky voice enough to make you moan, “Feeling a bit neglected, are we?”

He bent down on his knee, kneeling beside you as his eyes flicked across your body. After a brief once over, his large hand reached out towards your head, thick fingers knotting themselves into a fist as they gripped your hair. Roughly he yanked you up, dangling you mere inches from his face as he continued to stare at you with his horrible, ravenous eyes.

You scrambled to get your bearings, perching yourself on your knees to help alleviate the pressure on your scalp. Positioned so closely to him, his pheromones became even more intense, slick starting to seep from inside you from the proximity alone. Bright red bloomed across your body, a mixture of extreme arousal and embarrassment, as you wriggled in his hold.

Yujiro scoffed, “Look at you, I haven’t even touched you and you’re already leaking,” He swiped his fingers briskly against your weeping pussy, making you cry out as he gathered the evidence of your intoxication on his hand. Holding the glistening fingers up to your face, his smile returned as he goaded you.  “Bet your little boyfriend lacked the power to make that happen, didn’t he?”

Any anger that may have welled inside you over the slight against your beloved was instantly quelled, eaten by the tumultuous feeling of frustration the situation ensnared you in. All you could do was stare at Yujiro with pleading eyes, any words you attempted to speak dying out the moment you tried to voice them, becoming little more than whiny, petulant mewlings. Rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to create friction, you prayed he would show an ounce of mercy and grant you release soon, fretting over how much longer your body could handle waiting.

Yujiro sighed, chuckling softly under his breath, “Your father is a damned fool, you know that? I told that stubborn bastard that his cute little Omega daughter was meant to be mine, knew it the moment I saw you. I warned him that he could try and pair you off with some other lesser Alpha, but it would be a waste of time. You were fated to be mine- made to take my cock. Trying to make you anything other than my bitch was both asinine and disgraceful.”

He shot you another wicked smile, “Idiots like him may not realize what a fucking honor it is to be my cumdump, but surely you do, right sweetheart?”

You squeaked as he tugged you closer, his breath fanning your face while he stared down his nose at you, “Or maybe you don’t, given the situation I found you in. Looks like my ravenous little whore just couldn’t contain herself, could she?”

His lips curled into a snarl, his booming voice reverberating through your bones as he continued to address your misdemeanor. “Nesting with some weak piece of shit like that, have you no pride in yourself? I’m embarrassed you even gave him the time of day, let alone bared yourself to him. Who do you think you are, trying to fuck basic trash when you belong to me?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he released his grip on your hair, shoving you roughly to the ground in the process. Hearing him move behind you, you attempted to push your feeble body into a sitting position, trying to reacclimate yourself. However before you could achieve this simple goal, his hand latched to the back of your head, shoving it down until it was smothered in the soft blankets beneath you. His free hand yanked your legs out from under you, pulling your ass up in the process. Though you couldn’t see him, the power radiating from him was immense, his aura so domineering you felt as if it alone was steadily crushing you. Were you in any sane frame of mind you would fear for your life, struggle and fight against the oppressive hardness that slotted itself against your dripping entrance.

But the slave you had become welcomed the intrusion, and as he tightened his hold on you, growling in your ear like the wild animal he had proved himself to be, you couldn’t stop your body from shuddering in anticipation of what was to come.

“It’s time for some corrective action.”

He entered you violently, his thick cock impossibly hot as he sheathed himself inside of you. The initial pain tore a scream from your throat, your vision dotting as you felt blood trail steadily down your shaking legs. He gave you no time to adjust, continuing his brutal assault as he pounded into you, uncaring of the damage he was inflicting upon you. The smack of his skin against your was punctuated by your cries, at first full of pain, but slowly morphing into expulsions of pleasure.

When the abruptness of his entrance fully subsided, you began to focus on the feel of him inside of you. Each slam of his hips ignited you, creating a feverish frenzy within that blocked out all other sensations and judgment. He filled you so completely, easily reaching all the spots that your fingers tried so desperately to reach just moments ago, satisfying all the areas that had been so urgently in need of attention with each stroke of his cock. You wanted more, needed more, moving in time with him as you chased after your pleasure. Wanton moans spilled from your lips, muffled by the bedding that was being shoved into your mouth with each thrust.

Even in the uncomfortable position he had locked you in, unable to breathe properly or escape from his grasp, all you could find yourself caring about was the alpha behind you and how he was making you feel- a strange sense of pride bubbled inside you the longer he went at you. The most powerful man in the world was doing little more than using you, and yet it was the fact that he chose you to begin with that filled you with flattery. A nobody like you being sought out by an alpha like him... Isn’t that what all Omegas dreamed of? To be desired by a dominant Alpha, having the honor of bringing them pleasure and receiving pleasure in turn, wasn’t that your only purpose, your reason for being?

You never dreamed you would feel that way before, but now you were finally starting to understand. The delirium of your desire had launched you into a state of inescapable euphoria, rebirthing you as nothing more than a shell of a woman who had finally realized her purpose, completely giving herself over to her unquenchable cravings while her Alpha’s assault molded her destiny.

Yujiro was a monster. Any man who did what they had done to the love of your life, any man whom your father had hated to the point of excommunication, any man who would violate you in such a way without so much as batting an eye, was an abomination-the remaining rational part of your mind understood this.

Yet as this demon, deserving of nothing but your scorn and hatred, spilled himself inside of you all you could feel was thankful. Thankful that the ungodly heat was starting to subside, happy that the pain the experience had brought you was alleviated, and blissed out over the feel of him nestled deeply inside of you, convulsing as the twitch of his cumming cock rained pleasure down upon you.

Finally, you felt complete.

After pumping you full of his hefty load, he hoisted you up in his arms, repositioning you so that you were facing him, straddling his lap. Gasping the moment you gained access to fresh air, a distressed groan croaked from your throat as his incisors latched to your neck, sinking deep into your scent gland. Your body shuddered at the sensation, fresh waves of pain and rapture coursing through you as he marked you decisively as his.

The cock that was still stuffed inside of you remained rigid, showing no signs of softening as your walls fluttered around it, the next round of your heat coming far sooner than you had anticipated. His hand wrapped securely around your throat, replacing where his lips had just been. He clamped down hard, pain pulsating from the open wound your scent gland had become, struggling once more to breath. His other hand grasped your hip, both limbs working in unison to bounce you on his dick-using you as if you were a human fleshlight.

“Don’t forget your place again,” he grunted, pulling you down on his cock so harshly, you saw stars, “You’re mine now.”

[smolgirlbigdreams]

HEY YOU, G/T WRITER!!!

Yeah, you! C'mere!

I've seen some talk in the community recently about writers not really getting the attention they deserve/not getting as many notes as artists (and no prob with artists! We love you artists ❤️). So I thought, why not call all the g/t writers together so we can support each other? Y'know, kinda get a little g/t writing sub-community going here on Tumblr if that makes sense!! The idea being that if we band together, it's harder to get lost in the heaps of short-form content that's out there. Plus, we can read each other's work and support each other! :D

Here's an idea:

Reblog with a little bit about you and your writing! (If you write anything that might make anyone uncomfortable please leave a warning as well.)

Link your awesome g/t stories!!!

Check out other awesome stories by other g/t authors and show them some love~

I'll start!

Hi! I'm Eliza and I've been writing since around 2016, although I was a bit too scared to post anything until I started working on my current story!

Right now I'm working on a book called Too Small To Be Afraid, about a human girl living on a distant planet who has a fear of the giant race, pertheans. Only, she has to learn how to share a desk with one at school!

But enough about me! I want to hear about you! I'm excited to hear about you all and see what you're writing!!! :D

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

So there's a 60s song. One of my favorites. I have several, but let's not focus on that. Its called Give Him A Great Big Kiss by The Shangri-Las, and everytime i hear it, it makes me think of steddie.

More so of Steve finding the song, probably in his mom's old record case. And he's always loved the song. But then he met Eddie. And it's meaning changed. His thoughts constantly drifting to Eddie when he hears it. And he starts singing it all goofy and love sick when he hears it now.

He and Robin work at a bar downtown, Eddie works at the mechanic shop around the corner. He comes in for early lunch a lot, and that's how they meet. They get along great. All of them do. Robin loves him to death. As far as she's concerned she gained another soulmate along side Steve. One who blabbers like her and they rant at each other constantly, Steve watching them fondly.

But he's also got it bad for Eddie. Obviously. And Robin knows this. Knows about the song. And the way Steve sings it all gooey and adoring and lost in thought.

After a few plays of the song she sings along with him, they duet they're hearts out when it comes on and the bar is empty. Usually right before they open. Both of them using mops, or bottles, or dishrags as microphones as they sing.

Eddie is pining too. He's got it so bad for Steve that he finds it hard to look at him sometimes. And Robin, drukenly one night, after Steve had fallen alseep in his chair beside the pool, had told Eddie to shoot his shot. That he'd sink it, or get a home run, or a touchdown, or some other sports term that neither of them really understood.

But everytime Eddie has tried to make a move, something comes up. They get interrupted. Every. Single. Time. Eddie had decided fate was against them and almost given up hope.

He'd had a plan today. Come to the bar for lunch before they opened, ask him, whether Robin was there or not. She'd been making it a point to not speak to them if it looked like they were talking about something important. Eddie knew it was pity for him. Was endlessly greatful.

But that was how he ended up at the bar. Ducking in the side entrance they left open for him. And he's about to burst in like normal, all loud enthusiasm to see his friends, but he hears Steve groaning about something, hears Robin laughing, hears his name, and it stops him, his hand pressed gently to the door.

"Uuugghhh my god. I'm useless. I was so good at this in school. I could ask anyone out. Like it was nothing." Steve grumbles, Eddie's stomach flutters, he pushed the door open, just a crack, can only see Robin where she's perched on the bar top, legs crossed.

"Maybe that's the problem." She shrugs, Eddie sees her drop her hand to the left, he bites his lip and carefully pushes the door a bit further. He has to stifle a laugh when he sees Steve, looking forlorn, head dropped onto the bar, Robin's hand petting at his hair absent-mindedly. He turns his head to look up at her and Eddie moves to the side a bit, hoping Steve doesn't notice him.

"Huh?" He huffs, glares up at her. She pats the side of his face a couple times and takes her hand back.

"You said you did it like it was nothing. Maybe this isn't nothing? With Eddie, I mean. Maybe it's... bigger. Better!" Her hands move in a flurry in front of her as she talks, Steve ducks away from them as he sits up on the stool properly.

"Better. ...elaborate?" He says slowly, his eyes on the ceiling, his face all screwed up the way Eddie loves, his concentration face, it would be Eddie's downfall one day.

Robin nods enthusiastically, plops her feet down onto the stool next to Steve.

"Well does it feel different? With Eddie? Than it did with all those other people?" She asks, looking down at him with an impossibly fond look.

Eddie watches Steve bite his lip, think for a long moment, his hand moves absent-mindedly to his stomach. Eddie mirrors him, his stomach fluttering as he watches. Feeling a bit guilty, but he can't look away. He can't move. He has to keep listening. Needs the courage, he tells himself. Steve nods.

"Yeah it does. It's different. He's different." Steve says, and he's got this dopey look on his face that Eddie's never seen. Robin nods, slides down off the bar, her butt replacing her feet as she holds Steve's knees tightly.

"Different then what? Then who?" Robin promtps, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Different then everyone." Steve breathes it like a prayer and then immediately shoves his face into his hands with a groan as Robin makes a high pitched noise in her throat.

"You know what this needs don't you?" She asks, excitement coursing through her now. She's on her feet before Steve answers, bouncing out of veiw, toward the jukebox in the corner. Steve groans again and turns to follower her.

"Alcohol?" He asks, voice dry. Eddie hears Robin snort.

"Maybe after work. But right now what we need, is.... drum roll please." She draws out the please. Eddie watches Steve sit on the stool, watching her. He gives her nothing.

"I said drum roll!!" She shouts, and Steve grins, tapping his hands on the stool between his legs.

"Theeeeeee Eddie song!" She sings, and Eddie faintly hears the click of the Jukebox before a womans voice fills the air. Music kicking in after the first few words, Steve already bobbing along. Eddie's heart stutters in his chest. He knows this song. Has heard Steve humming it a few times. It's not a bad song. Eddie's open to things.

He watches Robin dance back into view as Steve starts mouthing the words, pretending to fight against it. But all Eddie can hear are the lyrics, as Steve really starts to get into it, taking Robin's hand and letting her pull him off his seat.

"Thick wavy hair. A little too long. All day loooong, he's singin his song." Steve starts to sway, and Eddie can't do it, they're moving out of view and he needs to see this. He ducks through the door quietly and sinks back to the back corner silently, both of them lost in the song as they dance. Robin chiming in now.

"Well, what color are his eyes?" She asks Steve, perfectly in sync with the song, they've clearly done this... a lot. Steve shrugs and counters,

"I don't know. He's always wearing shades." He sighs wistfully.

"Is he tall?" Robin asks, climbing back onto the bar, laying on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air.

"Well, I've got to look up." Steve stays out on the dining floor, dancing between the tables, swaying his hips.

"Yeah? Well I hear he's bad." Robin scrunches her face as she sings.

"Hmm. He's good bad. But he's not evil." Steve furrow his brow, 'thinking'.

"Tell me more. Tell me more." Robin sings, kicking her feet to the beat, chin in her hands as she grins at Steve. He does a fancy twirl and falls into a chair, dreamy look on his face as he continues.

"Big bulky sweaters, to match his eyes. Dirty fingernails, oh boy what a prize." He swoons a little, his head resting on his chin for a moment before he spins up out of the chair again, dancing towards Robin as he sings through the chorus again.

Eddie's breathing is fast now, his palms sweating as he watches and listenes to Steve sing about kissing him in the street, and loving and caring for him. Wanting to always be there for him. Eddie doesn't miss how fond he looks.

He's looked fond this entire time. Fond and... something else. Eddie's not sure there's a word for it. But he thinks 'longing' might be close. He wipes his palms on his grease stained jeans and moves foward, slowly, not wanting to draw attention, but he can't stay put any longer. Robin chimes in again, rolling onto her back dramatically, arms crossed over her chest.

"Is he a good dancer?"

"What do you mean is a good dancer?" Steve laughs into the line and Eddie's stomach flutters, he could watch Steve like this forever.

"Well how does he dance?" Robin sings, sitting up and facing Steve as he closes in on the stool in front of her, places his hands on it and practically sighs the last line.

"Close. Very, very, close."

The music fades. Robin singing the last of the 'oohs' gently as it does, both her and Steve smiling at each other. Eddie takes this moment to bump into a chair, sending it screeching a few inches across the floor, both of them flailing as they turn to look at him.

"Oh my god!" Robin yells, her hands clamping over her mouth. Steve is frozen as she looks between him and Eddie. Eddie raises one hand from his thigh, wobbles his hand in an awkward wave.

"Uhh... hey." He says, brilliantly. Steve's face is getting redder and redder as he stands there, and Eddie can see him tensing. About to bolt.

So he does something he's never been very good at. For Steve. He finds his bravery and walks right up to Steve, plants himself in front of him, hands landing on his shoulders harder than he meant too, but Steve doesn't flinch.

"Hey." Eddie breathes, his thumbs soothing over Steve's collarbones.

"You already said that." Steve says flatly, he's still staring at Eddie. Eddie's pretty sure he hasn't blinked since he hit the chair.

"Right. Yeah. Lemme try somethin else then." Eddie breathes, ducks forward, presses his lips gently to Steve's, feels Steve gasp against his lips and then feels his hands clamp down on his hips, hard.

It's a small kiss. Just a press of lips really, warm, and sweet, and gentle. But when Eddie pulls back, they're both breathless. Eddie vaguely hears Robin make that happy high pitched noise again, and clapping. And then any sounds from her are drowned out by the next song that clicks on, You Send Me by Sam Cooke. Eddie loves this song.

"You wanna dance?" He asks, brushes his nose against Steve's cheek, laughs when Steve follows him, trying to catch his lips again.

"I dunno. Are you a good dancer?" Steve asks, smirking at Eddie, though his eyes are shining and soft.

"What do you mean am I good dancer?" Eddie asks, feigning offense.

"Well... how do you dance?" Steve recites, sounding almost shy.

Eddie bites his lip, wraps his arm around Steve's waist, and pulls him tightly to his chest as he turns him further onto the dance floor, guiding them between tables with an out of character grace.

"Close. Very, very, close." Eddie breathes, his heart fluttering as Steve throws his head back and laughs, his arms circling Eddie's neck as they sway together, holding each other close as the music plays on.

[catcorsair]

How is a man to foresee what the Fates have in store for him? How can he predict when his world is to change? Of ever abandoning that lonely bachelor's existence to which I had long-ago grown accustomed, I harbored not a single hope—and then, as if by one thoughtless snip of a shear, I discovered myself no longer a bachelor. Sixty years I had spent in lack of the honest company of a woman and suddenly she was everywhere, in every thought, every action, every desire: I could see nothing past Sophia. Thus the warnings went unheeded, only spiders in dark corners, darting out where they cannot be seen, secrets concealing themselves in the shapes of other things; rarely do those Sisters cut their lines in absolutes. It is the slow unraveling of a thread by which the red strings shorten. But heat makes men mad, and summer is a mad season; despite my attempts to ignore them, the ghosts of Erik’s unsavory history crept up with the rising temperatures. Such specters, I have found, are not so easy to put to rest. The attempt to do so comes too late.

Like Pulling Teeth: Part Six

Read on AO3 HERE

18+ / Very Explicit / EC, EOC, E++ / 50K

Pre to post-Leroux canon. General tags: Gothic, Horror, Drama, Romance, Historical Fiction.

*(edited) cover art by Zhao Dalu

Enjoy!

Please Comment / Review :)

[colibrie]

Uncharted Territory, Part 2

Hello all! Sorry for the delay in updates. As always art credit and eternal gratitude to @trilobitepunch for her amazing art and her incredible patience.

Yakai system: 6 hours later

Mikey liked to think of himself as a turtle with many talents. With so many interesting things to do and experience in the universe, he’d never seen the point in limiting himself to just one hobby. He was a chef, an artist, and an acrobat. He was a jedi in training. He knew the importance of timing and strength. He had worked hard to cultivate balance, and perhaps most essentially, patience. Patience was the difference between a masterpiece and a disappointment. Patience was the difference between peace and agitation. Patience was the foundation of all things…

But his patience was three seconds away from socking Leonardo in the face.

“There’s a rock…and another rock…and, oh look, there’s even more rocks!”

“Thank you, Leo.”

“What? I’m just admiring the fascinating scenery,” Leo’s obnoxiously sour-sweet tone matched the sarcastic show of teeth in the smile he flashed. “You take me to the nicest places Angelo.”

Mikey pulled in a slow and subtle breath, fighting the urge to clench his jaw or bite his lip as he carefully maneuvered their ship around a small asteroid at the edge of a medium sized cluster. He knew what his elder brother was doing. He’d been doing it since he’d woken up crabby from his far too short nap, mood souring further when Mikey had refused to move from the pilot seat. He was trying to get under Mikey’s shell to provoke a reaction. Which really wasn't that unusual. There wasn’t a creature alive who could out petty Leo when he was in the mood to be difficult. The taller turtle seemed to have a sixth sense for spite, an innate talent that zeroed in on the most obnoxious and annoying elements of a situation then dialing them eleven.

It didn’t help that the environment beyond the view screen was the definition of desolation. The Yakai system was indeed comprised of a massive asteroid field, large chunks of dull grey rock stretched in all directions, dust and debris hanging limply in the space between. Two small planets sat lifelessly in the center of it all, surfaces dyed the by gas clouds of the sickliest yellow, green and cream. They were hues he would have immediately rejected from his palette, their image as appalling as they were disheartening. To top it off, the absence of wakes or other disturbances in the area suggested that no one had transversed the asteroid field in a long time.

Mikey was loath to admit it, but the hope that had burned so brightly inside him after their success with the holocron was slowly shrinking. The connection to that bonfire at his core was dwindling, heat leeched away by the seemingly ever-growing black hole of unanswered questions and unaddressed baggage trailing them. The violent introduction to his “deceased” brothers, the unsettled conflict between Leo and their father, the unusually vague details of their plan, and the anxious insecurity of meeting someone who had played such a pivotal role in their childhoods, but who’s image he could not call to mind, no matter how far back he dug in his memories. It was all starting to feel…heavy.

“Hate to say it baby bro, but it looks like this was a waste of-”

“We haven’t even checked half of the cluster!” Mikey snapped, cringing slightly as Leo locked onto the irritation in his voice.

“Running down every speck of dust isn’t going to make someone not here magically appear,” Leo argued, flashing an edged smirk that made Mikey want to kick him in the teeth.

He forced himself to relax, to soften his next words into something closer to a gentle tease. “Don’t count your smooka’s before they hatch Leo. I’d hate to have to embarrass you in it in front of Master Karai.”

George let out a happy chur from his place wrapped around Mikey’s neck, little head rubbing encouragingly against Mikey’s cheek.

“See? George thinks so too!”

“I don’t care what George thinks! George is a dumb animal who will do anything for a treat!” Leo snapped suddenly, the mood in the cabin plunging as an oppressive weight settled over it. Something alien was churning behind his brother’s irises as he struck them with a glare, something that made every nerve in Mikey’s body jolt. George cringed back, tail tightening as he chittered fearfully and under Mikey's chin for safety.

“Hey!” Mikey bristled, one hand coming up to protectively cover his friend as he returned Leo’s glare with one of his own. “You know who else doesn’t get a vote, the annoying raincloud who has contributed literally NOTHING to finding a solution to our problems! At least, I am trying! At least I am doing something other than whining “that’s not how it works!” repeatedly! And George didn’t do anything to you, so quit being a jerk!”

The tension grew as they stared each other down, metaphorical hackles rising as the siblings sized one another up. Mikey kept his face frozen in a stern scowl, pushing down the sympathetic twinge in his chest at how bloodshot his older brothers’ eyes were, how hollow they’d grown, lined with dark bags that were beginning to look like bruises. He wasn’t stupid, or blind. He knew how active his elder brother’s demons had been since leaving home, how the weight of their situation pressed down on Leonardo.

He’d wished a thousand times he knew how to help, but he didn’t. Usually, he could guess what the issue was, or prod the answers out of Leo after giving him some space and time. But those tactics weren’t working now. Up until recently, he'd known little to nothing about the missing half of his family. He still didn't know much about them, and Leo had remained frustratingly tight lipped, even though the past was clearly eating him alive.

The seeds of doubt were quick to bloom as the dark energy pressed in, a weed that threatened to choke off his inner fire as thoughts he’d pushed away for hours returned with a vengeance.

What if they didn't find anything? What if Master Karai wasn't here? What if he really was wasting their time and resources? What if he was wrong? what if....

What if he was just making things worse?

A soft coo broke the tension as George butted his head into Mikey’s throat, tiny body thrumming soothingly against his suddenly unsteady pulse. The gossamer soft sensation of unwavering trust and love poked at the edges of the bonfire inside of him, coaxing it to burn brighter in defiance against the darkness. It gave him the strength to push the doubts away again, to take another deep breath and focus only on the now.

Leo wanted a fight, but Mikey was not obliged to give him one. Maybe he couldn’t take away whatever was hurting his brother, but he could help keep things level until Leo was ready to share it. He pulled in two more breaths for good measure before speaking, careful to keep his tone calm but firm.

“I get that this has been stressful. I get that you are tired, and you don’t really want to be here. But that doesn’t give you carte blanche to be an ass. Especially to someone who can’t fight back. You’re better than that Leon.”

He kept face blank as that thing behind Leo’s eyes slowly faded away, the pressure lifting to be replaced by the lighter and more familiar signs of guilt. He kept himself still as Leo cringed and turned away to look out the viewscreen.

“…Yeah…I’m…”

A strident chime from the radar cut him off. The strain of their argument was swiftly shelved as they both leaned forward, foreheads nearly colliding in their haste to huddled in and study the steadily pulsing blip on the screen.

“There’s something over there! It’s in between those two big meteors!” Mikey exclaimed, pointing vigorously towards a cluster of oblong rocks off to the left of their view screen. “It has to be her, there’s a life support system attached to it!”

“Barely,” Leo huffed, squinting doubtfully at the readouts scrolling across the adjacent screen. “For an energy reading that low, life-support would have to be set to the bare minimum. Not great atmosphere for long time occupation.”

“But it could totally…” Mikey blinked, then groaned as Leo flashed him a tentative smile. “Omigosh, Lee that one was awful.”

“I think you mean awesome Miguel,” Leo shrugged, propping his chin on one fist as Mikey tried and failed to hide a snort. “I know, I know, my humor is a breath of fresh air. You’re welcome.”

“You are…so dumb…” Mikey spluttered in reply, any residual hard feelings clinging on from their spat offset by his own smile. Shell, Leo made it hard to stay mad at him.

“Thank you, thank you,” Leo said, sketching a half bow before blowing kisses to an imaginary audience. “I am here all week. And the week after that, and the week after-ack!”

“Nobody cares!” Mikey cheered as he pushed one hand into Leo’s face, laughing as his big brothers’ arms flailed in a comedic bid to maintain his balance. “Not when they can watch me, the daredevil Michelangelo, seamlessly thread the gauntlet of insane asteroids to investigate that signal!”

“Oooooh okay. Feeling bold today, are we? That looks kinda tricky,” Leo noted, casually leaning over to brace one forearm on the pilot’s chair.

“Absolutely! I’ve got this!”

“Alright big man,” Leo nodded slowly, gently tapping his knuckles against Mikey’s shoulder in a gesture that was both equal support and silent apology before sitting back. “Give it a shot. I am here if you need me.”

“I won’t,” Mikey replied, bouncing a little in his seat as he turned the shuttle towards their target. “Hold on to your shell!”

The engines roared under his touch, rocketing them towards the targeted cluster at heart pounding speed.

“COWABUNGA!”

“WHOAHOHO!” Leo yelled, gripping his seat with white knuckle strength as Mikey banked hard to avoid a chunk of debris.

Adrenaline fizzed in his veins, delight bubbling in his lungs as his heart started to dance in time to the thrum of the thrusters. This. This was the part of flying that Mikey actually liked. No fiddly procedures to remember, no gravity to pull or push him in ways he didn’t want to go. Space was like the ultimate acrobatics’ playground, open and empty and waiting to be filled with his amazing razzmatazz. Weaving and banking around corners, dipping down and rising up to avoid obstacles, even a spin or two thrown in for sheer flare, it all felt natural. It was fun!

Watching Leo slowly turn the same color as his arms stripes wasn’t bad either.

The radar pinged louder, and he eased the shuttle back into a steady cruising pace as Leo sat forward, sharp eyes scanning the surrounding asteroids in search of their target. Small stones tinged gently off the view screen as they drifted past, the only sound within the cockpit the increasingly strident bee-blip of the radar.

“There!”

Mikey’s head whipped around, eyes following Leo’s outstretched arm to their prize. Tucked into the shadows of a deep, craggy canyon was the faint outline of a structure surrounded by six smaller lumps.

“There’s a possible landing area on that ledge above the target, but there’s not a whole lot of room for error. Probably why the smugglers-”

“-or Master Karai-"

“-smugglers, chose this spot for their hideout. We’ll have to be careful with how we approach landing. Move over.”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Mikey, pointing the shuttle nose towards their goal before pressing the controls down.

“Wait!”

He ignored his brothers’ objections as the shuttle responded to his command, nose dipping down sharply to aim towards the ledge. He did not need to be told what to do. He did not need to have his hand held. He could land the ship. Sweat gathered on his palms as the empty vacuum of space swiftly disappeared behind the craggy lips of the canyon walls.

“That’s a really steep approach, maybe pull it back a bit buddy….”

The engines whined as the ship sped onwards, outboard lights throwing jagged spires previously hidden by the gloom in into sharp relief. Sharp pricks of pain burst like fireworks as he dug his teeth into his lower lip, spine curving as he blocked Leo out and threw every shred of concentration into running the maze in front of him. He could do this. He could get them to the target. He could land the ship…

“Mikey, seriously…”

He could find Master Karai. He could become a Jedi. He could get his brothers back. He could …

“Michelangelo that’s way too steep! Pull up!”

The camp was in sight, the ground was growing, but somehow the ledge was shrinking. More rocks bounced off the viewscreen as the walls of the canyon closed in on all sides. Something cold and hard lodged in his throat as his hands slipped, skittering over the buttons as alarms started to shriek. His spine locked, limbs freezing as fear obliterated his thoughts with spikes of jagged grey.

He…He couldn’t…

“PULL UP!”

Blue burst through the grey as something slammed into his shoulder, forcing him halfway out of the pilot seat as iron hands clamped down on the controls. He gasped in shock, then scrambled to grab whatever he could as Leo hauled back hard on the yoke. The world spun as the shuttle jerked, banking into a tight vertical spiral as something hard screeched across the belly of the ship. Metal groaned and shuddered under the sudden strain as his big brothers’ hands danced lightning fast across the consul, shooting them back up into the void above.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Leo whooped, slumping back in relief once they were hovering a safe distance away from any debitage. “Now that was a rush!”

Michelangelo stayed on the floor, chest heaving and body shaking as he stared at the ceiling. Everything felt surreal, like he was only connected to his body by a heart that felt like it was trying to jump into hyperdrive. His lungs felt shriveled, unable to take a full breath. When had it gotten so cold? Was the air truly that thin? Had he compromised the hull in his stupid stunt? Were they in danger of collapse?

“You going to stay down there all…Angelo?”

His eyes stung as they filled with salt, and no amount of blinking managed to clear them. He had messed up. He’d dragged them out here and nearly gotten them killed and…

"Hey, c’mon bro, don’t make that face," Leo cajoled, gentle hands lifting Mikey up to stand on somewhat wobbly legs. Bright green fingers softly grabbed the lip of Mikey's plastron before giving him a gently encouraging shake. "So, you almost spectacularly whiffed a landing that could have majorly damaged the shuttle or injured us, leaving us stranded in a force forsaken asteroid field in the middle of nowhere..."

"Oh wow, thanks Lee. I feel so much better, " Mikey mumbled thickly, shooting a halfhearted glare that turned into a fully affronted scowl when Leo responded by flicking him between the eyes.

"As I was about to say, so what if it almost happened? It didn't, and it won't, because I'm here."

Leo was smiling at him when Mikey chanced another glance up, a smile that oozed confidence and compassion as he slung a sheltering arm around Mikey's shoulders.

“We’re okay Angelo."

"I really thought I had it this time. I thought I could…I just wanted to help…Why is it so hard?!" Mikey groaned, leaning into the comfort as Leonardo pulled him into his chest. Leo's heartbeat was strong and steady under his tympanum, its slightly elevated rhythm methodically walking Mikey's own heart back from its attempts to escape his rib cage.

"Can't be good at everything big man," Leo consoled, planting a gentle kiss on his baby brother’s forehead. "And you help in so many ways! Believe me, I could not do this without you Mikey. You’ll figure out flying eventually, I have no doubt. In the meantime, maybe listen to your talented, brilliant, and handsome big brother, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mikey sighed, leaning back. "Thanks for letting me try Leon."

"Any time. Now, I’ve gotta to run some checks and land us, but why don't you go get the oxygen masks out and prep them to go for a spin."

"Will we need them? Life support still reads as active," Mikey asked as he absently shook the remaining adrenaline from his limbs.

"Trust but verify Michelito. This face is far too pretty to trust to some jury-rigged smuggler set up," Leo replied, breezily tossing his mask tails over his shoulder with a wink.

"Please, it would be an improvement!"

"Rude! Jealousy is not a great color on you Mikey!"

"We'll let Master Karai be the judge of that once we find her!" Mikey shot back, smiling slightly as he made his way to the back of the ship.

He had to stretch to his tiptoes to open the cabinet and retrieve the masks Splinter had jury-rigged for them ages ago. “For emergencies” their father had said, voice as worn as his robes when he'd held their little squirmy bodies still to adjust and ensure the blue and orange straps fit. Though the thick coating of dust on both masks attested to how little use they’d received, colored elastics faded and muted with age, the sight of these little tokens of their fathers’ love was like being wrapped up in one of his warm hugs.

“She’ll side with me.”

“Keep dreaming kiddo.”

Their banter was as familiar and comfortable, jokes and sly digs baniahing the shadows of tension and doubt with bright laughter as Leo carefully brought them back into the confines of the canyon for a smooth landing on the ledge.

“Alright, here is the plan,” Leo called, swinging out of the pilots chair and moving back to the back with an easy swagger in his step. “We are going to pop out, give the place a quick once over in full stealth style. We don’t find anything, or if we find anyone who isn’t Master Karai we book it back here, get the shell out, and try somewhere else. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Mikey agreed, bending his head to allow Leo to check that his mask was secure before handing his brother his own and returning the favor.

“Alright, then lets jet!” Leo proclaimed, hitting the button to open the back hatch.

The air within the life support bubble was cold enough to send gooseflesh erupting over Mikey's arms and shivers down his shell. The buildings were equally cold and dark, filled with the stale sensation of a place long abandoned. Cabinets doors hung open on broken hinges, while much of the rickety furniture had either been smashed or collapsed on itself.

“Dang,” Leo whistled, flicking on a flashlight to banish the shadows clinging to the interior, “whoever was here last must have left in a hurry. And they definitely haven’t been back to clean up.”

“Maybe she’s been using one of the other buildings? You know, to stay inconspicuous?” Mikey offered, heart sinking as he accidentally kicked a piece of broken chair.

“We can check,” Leo indulged.

None of the outbuildings turned up better results beyond broken crates, and Mikey could do nothing but drag his heavy, bruised heart back to the ship.

“Come on,” Leo ordered, voice oddly gentle as he sealed the back hatch and helped Mikey out of his mask, “let’s get out of here. There are other places we can check.”

"I just...I don't understand," Mikey mumbled, staring hard at the ground as Leo moved to the front to bring their shuttle back online. "Why would the force send us on a wild goose chase? What was the point?!"

"It's like I said man," Leo shrugged as the engines whined to life, "it's just not how the force works."

"Except in this case," a soft voice said from behind them.

The two of them shrieked and jumped, limbs flailing as they spun around to face the invader. A figure stood at the back of the shuttle; body covered by a drab gray cloak with a deep hood that hid their face from view. An extra breathing mask sat innocently on one of the benches, along with two pistol sized blasters.

"Who the shell are you?!" Leo barked, fingers fluttering anxiously as they groped along the consul for something to use as a weapon. "A smuggler?!"

"Of sorts, I suppose," the figure replied calmly.

"We don't want any trouble, but believe me, we can bring the pain if you cross us!" Mikey blustered, waving his fists.

"Says the boy who once cried at the idea that someone might not want to be his friend."

"I...huh?"

"I wasn't sure, when I first started having the visions," the figure continued, moving further into the cabin. "It seemed impossible after all this time. And the results were clouded, without direction. To many possibilities. But two motifs were repeated over and over. Sun and lightning. Blue and orange. And then, just a few hours ago, the visions became clear. This place, the Yakai system. I had to take the chance. I had to…"

"What are you talking about?! Who are you?!" Leo spluttered.

Mikey blinked, arms slowly dropping. "Wait... are you..."

"I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time… and you've both grown so much, I hardly recognized you at first. But I could never forget my boys."

The figure reached up, pushing back their hood. Stands of black and grey hair framed dark eyes and a pale face marked by fine lines of stress and age. A slim but fit figure lay beneath the cloak’s heavy edges, dressed in a worn green tunic, pants, and weathered leather boots. Empty holsters sat on either hip.

"Do you still like to paint Michelangelo?"

"OMIGOSH! YOU… YOU'RE MASTER KARAI!" Mikey shrieked, reserve giving way as he began jumping up and down. He threw himself forward, crossing the distance to wrap her in the tightest hug he could muster. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU'D BE HERE!"

Karai laughed softly as he lifted her off her feet. Her small hands patted the sides of his shell, doing their best to hold him back even with her arms pinned to her sides.

"I KNEW THE FORCE WOULD HELP US!" he shouted again, plopping Karai down before whirling around in triumph.

"WE DID IT LEO!... Leo?"

Leo did not look at him or show any indication that he'd heard Mikey at all. His gaze was riveted on Karai, blatant shock mixing with so many other emotions in an expression that was almost painful to behold.

"Lee?"

Leo's throat worked furiously, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly as words seemed to fail him. Finally, one word managed to work its way free. Small and faint, a short word nearly crushed by the weight of all it carried.

"M...Master?"

"Leonardo," Karai murmured, squeezing Mikey's shoulder before stepping forward to stand before his brother. Her hands rose to cup his cheeks, thumbs softly tracing the lower arc of his red crescent markings as she quietly studied his face.

"You've grown so tall, my little blue. You've survived, and I am so, so proud of you."

Mikey blinked hard against the threat of tears as Leo sniffed and melted into Karai's arms. Despite being the same height as the woman, his older brother seemed to shrink until his head fit neatly beneath her chin, face hidden in her shoulder as his hands came up to desperately clutch at the back of her cloak.

"I have so many questions," Karai murmured thickly, gently rocking on her feet as she cradled Leo close with one arm while reaching out to Mikey with the other. "But first, let me hold my brave boys."

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boy Detectives Victor AU Chapter 3!

If the last two chapters were brutal beyond compare, gunshots and hellfire and all that, this one is about a sapling. And about how in order to let new trees grow, sometimes you need a forest fire.

Also- yes, you do see that relationship tag change. :)

There is a way to cushion the blow as it falls. A way to catch the knife on its way down and make it into a slightly shallower wound, less likely to slice down to bone marrow.

So Edwin sits down on the stool next to Monty, takes a deep breath, and says, "I do not want your only experience with sex to be being fucked for money,” and it’s blunt, but they are reaching these final halcyon days before everything goes wrong. Why not embrace them? “And if these attempts at rebellion fail-” Edwin swallows, and he thinks of Charles, and Charles’ sofa, and the light that entered his veins the first time he kissed Charles.

And so he says, “This life does not have to be torture,” Edwin says, “Or, at least, we do not need to add to the torture by punishing ourselves."

And the look in Monty’s eyes is something that Edwin might have once classified as hero worship before he himself wiped such a possibility away. Now, he guesses he would call it something between awe and affection, the place where realized impossibility sits.

“If we only get one night together without the Capitolites there,” Monty says, and he’s braver than Edwin to suggest: “Then we should ask Charles.”

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @icecreambrownies @anonymousbooknerd-universe @magpiemarten @mj-irvine-selby

@hartigays @tragedy-machine @just-existing-as-you-do-blog @orpheusetude

[wolfsbanesparks]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Thank you @zorilleerrant for the tag!

My word is JUICE

J: Just when he thought things couldn’t get any weirder, Batman clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing tight in what was probably a friendly gesture and said, “You really are an amazing father.” (from my fic for the DCUfans4palestine event about Billy as Cap pretending to be the father of the entire Shazamily)

U: “Ugh, boys can be really dense sometimes, do you know that?” Mimi huffed. (from my Digimon fanfic for FTH exploring aromanticism, asexuality, and friendship in the wake of a onesided crush)

I: It wasn't until glass was flying through the air, accompanied by screams from the gala attendees, that Bruce realized what it was that made the Bromfields catch his attention--they reminded him of his parents. (From my FTH story about the Marvel family going to Gotham)

C: Candles, flowers, and other small offerings were placed at the foot of statues of him that had been erected throughout the city, like offerings at the altars of a beloved god. (from a future chapter of Pretty Little Thing)

E: Even if his body had been free from its bonds, there were still enough drugs in his system that he had no faith in his ability to run. (also from a future chapter of Pretty Little Thing)

This was so fun! and I got to showcase all of the WIPs I'm so excited about!

Tags: @cerealboxlore, @penny-anna, @puppetwoman17, @wildglitch and really anyone who sees this and wants to join in! Tag me so I can see all the awesome WIPs you have!

I'm giving y'all the word: LIGHT

[xalandrix]

WIP Snip | (working title) This better not awaken anything in me

Thanks for the tag @hoko-onchi-writes!! I've been working on this story off and on since December and I really want to get it right so who knows when it'll post... but I hope it comes together soon!

++++++++

“Take your clothes off,” Draco tells him.

Harry gives him a flat stare. “You can't just order me around out of nowhere. You have to want it.”

If only he knew. But that's what he's asking for, isn't it? He needs to know that Draco wants him, and he needs to know it the way Draco knows it, as a deep certainty in his bones that Harry is the only thing he's ever wanted like this.

Draco steps closer, moving into his space. He palms his jaw and brushes his thumb over Harry's cheek. His instinct is to keep his gaze cold and unmoving, and it takes a little effort to let it thaw, to let him see the surging want Draco has kept so carefully contained. Harry's lips part, and it gets easier to relax his hold on his bearing. “Harry,” he says, in a voice so low and rough he doesn't recognize it, “take your clothes off.”

And it's worth it to see his eyes go wide, his pupils flare with desire, to hear his breath catch in his chest. He blinks stupidly for a few seconds, momentarily dazed, then gulps. “Ok.”

++++++++

tagging @enparallel @sleepstxtic @themiddleofwonderland @starquestingfordrarry @rainstormradish @jtimu

[theminecraftbee]

alright time to GENUINELY sit down and outline that techno fic i promised. it'll be a while unfortunately (it's multichapter the plan for that one is multichapter) but there are so many things in it i'm excited to do, the most of which is "return to writing techno" and also "i think i might try writing fucking. connoreatspants. how do i write connor? idk but if the syndicate's gonna be here, man." also niki in this is gonna be SO COOL GUYS YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[hamartia-grander]

Starting to slowly realise I'm really not doing well mentally and it's. concerning. I feel like I should take a break from tumblr bc it takes some of what little energy I have but it's also my source of joy with friends so idk what to do, like I'd miss y'all more than I'd feel good about being away. But if you notice me talking less/not responding in days it's bc I just cannot. I leave your message notifs up so I don't forget tho <3

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey ( Ch5 )

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

Layla gasps at the familiar feeling of the world falling out from beneath her as Homelander lifts off from the ground, holding her tight. She’s more prepared this time, and wraps both of her arms around his neck, recovering quickly to kiss him more fiercely. Adrenaline and arousal hit her with equal force. She’s left breathless, pulling back from him with a deep inhale, panting into the sparse space between their lips.

Homelander has drifted out from beneath the tent, and since flown above it. Layla tightens her grip around his neck. Despite the firm hold he has with his arm around her waist, this position feels a great deal more precarious than the way he held her on their initial ascent. She doesn’t know what to do with her feet until she feels Homelander’s shoes bump beneath hers, giving her something to partially stand on. The gesture is so effortlessly sweet, so thoughtful, that she kisses him with renewed vigor. She knows he’s pleased with himself, she can feel it in the way he smiles against her lips.

They land on a balcony several more stories up. Between the wine, the kissing, and the thinning air, Laya’s head is spinning. She would have stumbled once she was on her feet if not for the way he held her, one arm looped around her waist while the other cupped her cheek. He’s impossibly warm, especially compared to the bitingly cold night air. “Inside,” she says between kisses, shivering. “Inside, inside, inside.” Homelander laughs, pulling her to the balcony door. He inputs a quick passcode, and the heavy steel framed glass door swings open with a faint groan. It’s a surprising amount of security–given the staggering height of the building–but Layla doesn’t give it much thought. At the moment, she hasn’t any to spare.

The door closes behind them with a mechanical noise, relocking. The atmosphere is instantly more comfortable, though the air inside is strangely reminiscent of a hospital. It’s sterile, crisp, and kept at a moderate temperature.

Unlike a hospital, however, Homelander’s penthouse is dark and richly colored. There are paintings on every wall, hung in beautiful gilded frames. The body of work is almost entirely 18th century Colonial America, leaving the place feeling more like a museum than an apartment. It’s distracting, but not nearly as much as Homelander’s hands roaming down her sides. He cups her ass while he kisses her neck, walking her backwards towards the bed. 

Layla sits when she feels the backs of her legs bump the bed, her hands falling to the soft bedding below her. It’s plush, as luxurious as she would expect from him, but not as grandiose as she anticipated. It’s smaller than even her bed. Homelander yanks his tie loose. She’s not sure what he’s more eager for: sleeping with her, or ridding himself of his “civilian” clothing.

“Stop,” she says, halting him in his tracks. He looks confused, almost wounded, his brows pinched together. She doesn’t let him hang long before she continues, “Do it slowly. I want to watch.”

His expression flips immediately, lips curling into a relieved smile. He does precisely as he’s told, slowing down enough that she feels a quiver of excitement roll up her spine. He slips his cufflinks out first, dropping them into his pants pocket. He holds her gaze while he unbuttons his blazer, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath, his own anticipation written clearly in his every move.

Next, he unbuckles his belt. Layla feels herself shiver at the sound his leather belt makes sliding through the loops of his pants before he drops it to the ground. He kicks his shoes off, shuffling the pile of leather to the side with his foot. Layla reclines on the bed, propped up on her elbows to properly enjoy the show. His gaze dips from hers to the way the slit of the dress rides up her thigh, the velvety fabric settling between her legs. “Keep going,” she encourages him. His throat bobs as he swallows, readily obeying. His pants come off next, along with a pair of rich crimson briefs. His cock is already hard when it falls free. She knew it would be, she could feel it against her thigh when he walked her to the bed. It’s thicker and longer than she’s used to. She has to resist the immediate impulse to sit up, to touch, to taste and explore what has been kept from her, and instead tells him, “All of it.”

Homelander hesitates, his fingers poised on the buttons of his dress shirt for a second before he begins popping them loose. He shrugs his jacket and shirt off in one go, finally laying himself fully bare to her. His fingers curl and uncurl from his palms. Through his arousal, Layla can feel the thrum of nervous energy in the silence between them. For all of his self-glorification, the insecurity at the root of it is showing. 

Layla sits up and slides herself to sit at the edge of the bed. She lifts her hands to his waist, smoothing them down to his hips. Her thumbs catch on the sharp jut of his hip bones. He’s slender; the bulk of his suit is truly a distortion of his proportions. She pauses at the sight of a birthmark just below his right hip. With a smile, she leans in, hearing him take in a sharp breath as she presses her lips to his warm, soft skin.

“I’ve imagined this,” she admits, kissing a slow trail towards his stomach, ignoring his straining cock for now.

“You have?” He breathes, voice thick with need. She hums, inhaling the warm, woodsy smell of him. The cologne he wears reminds her of thick green grass warmed by the summer sun. “Is it… everything you imagined?” He asks, a little tentative. His hands hover, unsure of where he should put them. “Everything and more,” she assures him earnestly. He sucks in a sharp breath when she kisses the head of his cock, loosely grabbing the base to hold it steady. She licks her lips with it still pressed to them, letting her taste the salt-sex flavor of him. She parts her lips and takes just the tip of him between them, sucking so gently that there’s barely a pull. Homelander shudders above her, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

It occurs to her that he is not touching her because she has not yet given him permission to. Such a good boy, she thinks, pleased.

With her free hand, she cups his balls, letting the weight of them barely sit in her palm. She knows it’s all too light, too little — a terrible tease — but she also wants to know just how super those senses of his really are.

“Layla,” he rasps, trailing off into a low moan. She sinks a little deeper, presses her tongue to the vein along the underside of his cock. She can feel the beat of his heart in it, how it throbs in her mouth. His breaths are already uneven. Reducing a superhuman like Homelander with little more than a few swipes of her tongue is an intoxicating kind of power. Knowing she wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he decided to overpower her is almost as thrilling as knowing that he won’t, that he’s too deep beneath her influence. He craves her love too deeply to fuck it up now. A woman could become addicted to this.

She glances up at him. His eyes are screwed shut, teeth bared, fists tight at his sides. It’s only then that she notices that the ceiling above them is mirrored. The realization hits her with such heat that her eyes nearly roll back, a soft moan reverberating around his cock. “Oh, fuck,” he says, giving a reflexive little thrust. Layla allows it, taking him deeper between her lips. She massages his balls at the same time, picking up a steady rhythm between that, her mouth, and stroking the base of his cock.

“I’m–fffuck, fuck, I’m going–Layla,” he groans, desperately warning her. She can feel it in him, the tension in his cock, the throb of it against her tongue. She hums around him, to which he makes another agonized noise. “Layla, please.”

She looks up, and sees that he’s staring down at her, expression twisted up in such exquisite agony. She pulls off of him with a wet slurp, slowing the stroke of her hand. “What’s wrong, darling?” “I’m going to come,” he finally admits, but that’s when Layla realizes that isn’t what he means. He isn’t just warning her. What he means is that he’s desperately trying not to. What he needs from her is permission.

“Okay,” she says, voice soft and low. “Look up, and watch yourself come in my mouth.” With that, she takes him back into her mouth, watching as he tips his head back with a rough exhale, meeting his own gaze in the mirror above them. She can hear him falling apart in the staccato of his breaths, feel it in the shaky little jerks of his hips. 

She glances up and sees that he’s doing just as he told her — watching himself, enraptured by the picture they paint. She drags her tongue through his slit before taking him deep, pumping the base of his cock faster, intensifying the sensations so suddenly that he comes with a ragged gasp, his back arching. 

The rush of it across her tongue is white hot, spilling down her throat before she even begins swallowing. She accepts it greedily, still stroking him, still sucking, swallowing with every bob of her head. She pulls off with a satisfactory pop, licking her lips. When she looks up this time, Homelander is staring down at her, breathing heavily. He sinks down to his knees before her, hands falling to her hips. He kisses her thigh through the dress, her knee, hunger and reverence felt in equal measure.

Layla responds by placing her heel on his bare thigh. This time, he knows exactly what to do. He takes a gentle hold of her ankle and lifts it, sliding her high heel from her foot. He does the other in the same way, setting both shoes aside. She reaches under her dress and shimmies out of her pantyhose, taking them down to her thighs before Homelander takes over. He pulls the garment off, discarding it to the ground, and then slides his hands back up her bare legs. She allows him to spread them, her dress hiked up over her hips, exposing her inner thigh to the press of his lips.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, the words a hot breath against her skin. Layla combs her fingers through his hair, her own body aching, the pulse of it radiating from her core. She can feel how wet she is against her panties. The thought of finally having him makes her whole body throb.

Layla hooks her fingers under the hem of her dress and pulls it up over her head, leaving her in just her lingerie, a lacy black ensemble she matched to the dress. Homelander looks up at her, his eyes blown black. He focuses on her breasts immediately, lifting himself towards them, but Layla catches the top of his head, threading her fingers into his hair and halting him. “Earn it,” she tells him breathlessly, licking her lips. Homelander hikes her legs over his shoulders without hesitation, nuzzling in against her through her panties, making a hungry noise. Layla begins to lean back, but he throws her for a loop when he slips his hands under her ass and effortlessly lifts her up, balancing her on his shoulders. She grabs his hair with both hands, locking her ankles behind his back with a small sound of surprise. Even now, his strength catches her off guard. He holds her there as he reclines onto the bed, helping her to straddle his face. Layla braces her hands on the headboard, giving a breathless moan at the feel of his tongue pressing against the thin, wet fabric of her panties. He laps at her through it, nuzzling in between drags of his tongue, hands settled on her thighs to hold her steady.

Fuck, he’s good. His tongue feels unreal — firm and quick, tireless in the way he uses it against her. She immediately loses all sense of reserve, gripping the headboard tightly while she shamelessly grinds down against his mouth. His only response is a pleased, muffled noise that rumbles against her. She becomes hyper aware of the barrier of her underwear between them, and reaches down, lifting up just enough to tug the fabric to the side before sinking back down. Homelander moans outright, drives his tongue into her cunt so eagerly that it makes her shiver. He ravishes her without reserve, his nose rubbing her clit while he tongue fucks her. There isn’t a moment of reprieve from the pleasure, and it occurs to her that he might not even need to breathe.

Layla’s head tips back, and she catches herself in the mirror. Seeing the two of them reflected back immediately makes her wish they were in her studio, where her cameras would record this. Where she could watch this back while she fucks herself with her fingers, with toys, or even while he fucks her. She’s consumed by the thought of riding his dick while watching him absolutely devour her, his fingers sinking into the meat of her thighs with his own desperation. She can see that his cock is already hard again, bouncing against his belly in time with the way she rocks against his mouth. Even his refractory period is superhuman.

His mouth is unyielding beneath her. The harder she presses, the more he encourages her. She doesn’t have the strength in her body to bother him, much less hurt him. It has her panting, sweat prickling on her skin, pressure building higher and higher, like the rumble of a teakettle before the whistle. “God, John,” she gasps, the pitch of her voice steadily climbing. She could almost scream when he stops suddenly, lifting her just slightly. “Homelander,” he says beneath her, voice low and thick. “Call me Homelander.” Layla doesn’t care what he wants to be called right now. She’ll call him Santa Claus if it means he keeps doing that with his tongue. “Homelander,” she practically growls, moaning at the immediate way he presses his tongue back into her. “There, perfect, ah,” she sighs, arching her back, one hand on the headboard while the other lands atop his, on her hip.

Instantly he takes her hand in his, interlacing their fingers together. He squeezes her thigh with the other hand and groans loud against her, rocking with her, voracious in the way he moves his tongue, drinking her down like it’s ambrosia spilling from between her thighs.

Dragging his tongue up to her clit, he moves his hand from her thigh to between her legs, and slips a finger into her dripping wet pussy. “Fuck,” she gasps, eagerly grinding down against his hand, rolling between his finger and his tongue. “Oh fuck, oh god, fuck, more,” she pants, screwing her eyes shut. She’s close, closer than she can stand. “More.”

Obediently, Homelander adds another finger, scissoring them, crooking them until her thighs start shaking. He adds a third when she demands it, tongue swirling on her clit. It’s exactly what she needed — the fullness of his fingers thrusting inside her making her see fireworks.

“Yes, yes, oh my god, Homelander, Homelander, Homelander!” She cries, her whole body seizing up like a vice in the wake of her orgasm. It shakes her to her core, has her curled in towards the headboard while she rides out wave after wave of euphoric pleasure. She squeezes his hand through it while he laps leisurely at her, humming softly, already sounding smug. 

He sucks at her clit in time with the way it throbs, attuned to her body in a way no one else has ever been. It’s as if he can hear every little pulse, knows exactly where to place his tongue, his lips. Layla shudders through it, her moans fading off into sharp, oversensitized little gasps until finally she tells him, “Stop, stop, ah… Hah, hahah… God,” she breathes, lifting herself on shaking knees away from the devilish slide of his tongue and off of his fingers.

Homelander slips out from beneath her, rising up behind her. His hands fall to her waist, his lips kissing a trail up her spine. She remains still, hands braced on the headboard, catching her breath. “I’ve thought about that,” he murmurs between kisses, making his way up to her neck, to the sensitive shell of her ear. “Every night… Since the first day I saw you,” he says, his voice low in her ear. She hears him lick his lips, lewd and intentional. “Still better than I imagined.” Layla sinks back against him, gripping his wrists. Her mind swirls still in waves of euphoria, and as she comes down from the high of it, a single thought prevails: “Tell me you have condoms.”

While she knows he’s clean — it’s part of the screening process for her clients — she still insists on protection. She’s in the habit of taking more precautions than not when it comes to the risk of a child. Homelander pauses a moment. She wonders briefly if he’s going to protest. “Nightstand, top drawer,” he answers at last, smoothing his hands along the curves of her body. There’s a contemplative lilt to the tone of his voice that she chooses to ignore for now. She leans forward, reaching for the nightstand. As she does, she notices for the first time the small, framed portrait of… Abraham Lincoln. Mildly disturbed by Honest Abe’s vacant stare, she gently tips it face down before she resumes her mission, pulling the drawer open.

Inside, she finds an unopened Vought branded (naturally) box of condoms. Translucent’s Barely There Invisible Protection. Right next to it, there’s a nearly empty bottle of water-based lube with a distinct dolphin motif to the packaging, but only the lower half of the Deep’s face on it, the label largely torn away. 

There’s truly no aspect of life that Vought has not found a way to commercialize with their Supes. They’re mascots, treated with the same agency and personhood as Tony the Tiger or Mickey Mouse. Homelander seems to be no exception. 

He is a brand, one that has consumed John’s entire life.

Shaking her head, Layla sits back up, and lets her thoughts fall away for now to focus instead on the way Homelander’s hands sweep up from her hips to her ribs, fingertips grazing just below her breasts. His touches grow more tentative the closer to them he is, but no less desiring. She can feel the tension of his longing in every muscle of his body. She tears the box open, and pulls out a condom before haphazardly dropping the package onto the nightstand, rattling the face-down portrait. Sorry, Abe.

She lightly taps the back of Homelander’s hand with the condom until he takes it, allowing her to slip out of his grasp. She puts a hand on his shoulder, realizing when she gets to her feet that her knees are jelly, still wobbly from the intensity she rode his mouth with. She smiles, feeling giddy. Before Homelander, she can’t remember the last time sex felt like something unexplored and adventurous.

Meanwhile, Homelander is grinning at her, clearly patting himself on the back for the state of her — flushed and giggly, limbs loose with pleasure. He tears open the wrapper, tossing it carelessly to the side. To her confusion, he unrolls it in his fingers, pausing when he brings it to his cock. “Wait, fuck,” he mumbles.

“You have used a condom before, right?” She asks, biting back a little giggle as she reaches to pull another one from the box. “Yes, I have; it’s just — it’s been awhile,” he says through his teeth, looking equal parts frustrated and embarrassed as he takes the new one from her. “Stopped seeing the point when I thought I was sterile. Do I really need this? Aren’t you on the pill or something?” “Or something,” Layla says, taking the condom from him once he unwraps it. She wonders fleetingly what made him think he was sterile, as well as realize he wasn’t, but opts to tuck that away for another time. 

She presses the condom to the head of his cock, and then begins working it slowly down with deft twists of her wrist that make him shudder. She strokes, slow but firm. He cups the side of her neck, thumb stroking just behind her jaw, exhaling roughly. “See, still feels good,” she says, voice low, her smile audible in it. “Here, turn,” she instructs, arranging him so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.

Layla slips out of her soaked panties, stealing a quick kiss from him while she’s bent over. He tries to follow her when she pulls back, but she stops him with a hand to his chest. Each one of these interactions, the way he relents to her gentlest touch, despite the gravity of his strength, is a tiny thrill in and of itself. He has such profound control of himself, a skill born of practice and necessity. She’s not sure the novelty of it will ever fade.

Reaching behind her back, Layla unclasps her bra. Homelander’s gaze drops, fixated. She takes off the garment, her breasts falling free of the lacy material. She discards it to the floor, and places both of her hands upon his shoulders, straddling him on her knees. She hears him swallow, and can feel the tension in his hands as he grabs her hips. He’s practically vibrating with desire.

Slowly, Layla sinks down until she feels the tip of him press against her. She takes a breath, sweeping her fingers through his hair. His eyes flicker up to meet hers, wide and shining, impossibly blue. His lips part. With her hand at the back of his head, a gentle pull is all the encouragement he needs. He nuzzles between her breasts and kisses that middle spot before turning his head to mouth at the swell of the right one, making a noise somewhere between relief and yet more mounting, insatiable lust. At the same time, she begins sinking down, wringing a moan from him as she envelops him in her warmth. Her nails bite ineffectually into the impenetrable skin on his shoulder, while her other hand tightens in his hair, cradling him to her chest. He closes his mouth over her nipple, sucking, muffling the noises he makes as she bottoms out. His cock is thicker than his fingers had been, and reaches deeper. It’s been a long time since she’s had sex like this, she realizes. Since anyone was inside her, fucking her. It isn’t something she always offers, particularly in recent years.

It feels fucking good.

Homelander slides his hand up her body, from her hip to the breast he doesn’t have his mouth on. He massages it, catching her nipple with his thumb. His tongue does the same on the other, eager and covetous in the way he claims her. She remembers how his gaze had lingered on her chest during their very first conversation. She has no doubt he imagined this, too. 

Slowly at first, she bounces against him. He whines, pants hotly around her breast, dragging his tongue between needy pulls of his lips. He thrusts up harder than she expects him to, startling a throaty moan from her. “That’s good,” she breathes, wanting to feel his inhuman strength. “More, darling. Can you give me more?” He groans, eyes screwed shut. She’d think him in pain if she didn’t know any better, if she didn’t know that he’s restraining himself, overwhelmed with pleasure and need. “Yes,” he rasps, her skin wet where he’s pulled away from it. He nods fervently, anchors himself. “Fuck, yes.” Returning both hands to her hips, he holds her steady while he begins to thrust. Lifting her with ease, gravity is nothing compared to the way he pulls her down into each thrust.

She feels weightless in his hands. It’s been years since she’s had a sexual partner outside of her profession, years since she thought this much about what she wants. “More,” she moans again, arching her back. Homelander curls into her, wraps his arms around her waist, and fucks her deep, maintaining the kind of momentum most could only dream of. “ More. ”

Homelander makes a strained noise, almost a growl, and stands up suddenly, hands gripping Layla’s thighs. She gasps, locking her legs around his waist, her stomach flipping while he bounces her on his cock. He fucks deeper into her like this, each thrust a shock to the core of her. He lavishes attention on her breasts, burying his face between them, biting and sucking. She can feel him marking her, just as he had done before, the pull of his lips as sharp as his teeth, bruising her skin.

The slap of skin against skin is impossibly loud, nearly drowning out the thundering of her own heart in her ears. Layla has lost any leverage she had before; her only option to hold on for dear life as he fucks her, giving her everything she asked for and more.

“H-Home–John,” she stutters, unable to think, unable to focus on anything other than the relentless force of his thrusts. Her teeth clack together when she tries to speak, leaving her with no recourse but to endure him.

The experience is transcendent.

Layla can already feel that same pressure building sharply back up, each snap of his hips igniting a progressively greater flame within her. Like a bell being struck by a hammer, her whole body resonates with every blow. The threat of shattering thrills her to the very marrow of her bones.

Pleasure and pain blur into a singular sensation. She doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s crying out, erupting in a wave of heat and ecstasy unlike any she’s ever experienced before. She doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

With one, two, three more thrusts, Homelander stills, burying himself deep in her as his own climax takes him, stealing the breath from his lungs. He curls in tight against her, arms shaking with the way he holds her. For as tightly held as she feels, it’s taking everything in him not to crush her while he’s barraged by wave after wave of overwhelming release.

Homelander’s jaw falls slack, and he tips backwards. They do not fall, however. Even in her haze, Layla recognizes the familiar, bizarre sensation of falling upwards. The two of them are hovering several feet off the ground, Homelander reclined almost fully horizontally with Layla limp against him. Her eyes feel heavy and tear-laden, her whole body thrumming in the aftermath. Distantly, she knows that this feeling will soon become a terrible soreness. For now, she is utterly lost to the bliss of it all, cradled in an impossibly strong embrace.

Eventually, Layla feels the faint breeze of descent while Homelander lands slowly on the bed. She adjusts as they settle, giving him the chance to dispose of the condom before she lays her head on his chest. They’re both breathing irregularly in the aftermath of it all, coming down gradually from the high.

Layla is the first to break the silence. She laughs breathlessly, quiet at first but growing fuller with each breath in. Homelander lifts his head, visibly confused. His expression shifts, however, when he realizes there are tears rolling down her cheeks. She’s not really laughing or crying so much as it’s a mixture of both.

“Fuck,” Homelander rasps, voice rough with sex. “What–did I hurt you?” “No,” Layla hurries to assure, even if the truth is really yes, but I demanded it of you. She sucks in a breath, fighting down the sharp little half-sobs bubbling up. “No, I’m okay. It’s alright, darling. Lie down,” she says, pressing on his chest.

Though he obeys, reclining onto his back, he looks rightfully skeptical. He lifts a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears that streak down her face. “I hurt you.”

She presses her hand to his, pinning it to her cheek. “I’m a little sore,” she relents, turning to press a kiss into his palm. “But that’s not what this is. This is… release. You were amazing,” she says, the praise visibly easing the tension in him. “You did everything I asked you to. This is just,” she pauses, closing her eyes. “This is the fallout of that kind of intensity. It’s physical, and it’s emotional, but I promise I’m okay.” “You promise?” He prompts. His voice sounds smaller. When she opens her eyes to look at him, he has that familiar vulnerability in his gaze that makes him look so much younger.

“I promise,” she affirms, smiling tiredly. Her whole body is buzzing, but so too is it heavy with the weight of well-earned exhaustion. She breathes slowly, deeply, fighting to regulate the contrasting extremes she feels. 

He relaxes some more at that. Layla slides from atop him and nestles in against his side. He slips his arm under her, pulling her in, while she slings her arm over his middle. He brings his other hand across his chest to touch her face, brushing away the remaining wetness of her tears.

Once her breathing settles, and the space between them has calmed into a comfortable quiet, Homelander blows a gentle raspberry. “...Kind of a freak, aren't’cha?”

Layla chuckles, her cheek pressed to his chest. “You’re only just realizing?”

“Well, just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“What did you glean from my cover?” She looks up at him, one brow quirked.

“I took you for a fine, upstanding Christian American woman.” He says it as if it were the obvious conclusion.

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “My cover needs revisions, then.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I distinctly remember a litany of devout prayer while you were sitting on my face.”

“Get out,” she groans, moving her hand to his side to push on him.

He doesn’t budge, but he does laugh. “You’re in my penthouse, missy. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Your penthouse? I thought we were in the Smithsonian,” she says, curling her arm back around him. Her eyes are too heavy to keep open, though her lips stay curved in a warm smile.

He gives a playful little scoff and says, “God forbid a man have hobbies.”

That gets a good laugh out of her. Homelander smiles, absently curling a lock of her hair between his fingers. She gives a long, bone deep sigh, sinking deeper and deeper against him, eyes falling shut. Her body is still tingling all over. She feels heavy, like she’s been filled with lead. She fights to open her eyes, and finds Homelander staring down at her still.

How is she supposed to get back on her feet after that? The thought of sitting up sounds like a Herculean feat, let alone walking in a pair of heels.

“Stay with me,” he says quietly, as if hearing the debate happening in her mind.

Layla hesitates. She can think of a million reasons not to, but she says only, “I didn’t bring anything.”

“I’ll get you anything you need,” he dismisses, lacking even an ounce of her reservation. He gives her a gentle squeeze. “Stay with me.”

She bites her tongue. That certainly hadn’t been her plan, but then again, she hadn’t really planned for any of this. Even up until yesterday, she had been convinced she would ultimately call the whole thing off. Yet here she was, tucked in his arms, in his home, still reeling from how gloriously he’d fucked her.

“Okay,” she says, whispering it as though she can hide it from her own voice of reason.

Homelander’s smile broadens. He helps her shuffle under the blanket with him, quickly drawing her back into his arms. Perhaps even he’s worried she’ll change her mind. He presses a kiss to her forehead, still idly twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers.

She falls asleep like that, warmer and more satiated than she’s felt in years. Chapter Six.

[silvers-starrway]

Oh yeah it's all coming together. Expect some more info on my Mnemonic AU sometime soon.

[gay-flyboys]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

Knocks on door

Anyone in here? It's uhhh been a minute lol. I'm finally starting to write again after not really doing much post-publishing my soulmate fic. I'm making slow, but relatively steady process on my next long fic, the Celestial AU I've mentioned a bit, as well as working on some other projects for funsies.

It’s a few minutes and his breath being lost later that Henry finds David. Except he doesn’t find just David. There’s a man on the ground, petting David and laughing as he scratches behind the dog’s ears. He’s on his back while David has him pinned down at the chest. David’s licking his face. He’s licking the guy’s face, and the guy is laughing, and— Henry’s frozen, and his heart racing, because his dog is not friendly with people he doesn’t know. He’s not mean, but he certainly isn’t the type to pin someone down and lick their face and let them scratch his ears like they’re lifelong buddies.

Catch all tags, because I'm so behind that I have no idea who has tagged me in what, or when at this point. Take this as a thank you and also me poking y'all to share if you haven't yet: @read-and-write-@msmarvelouswincheste @inexplicablymine@happiness-of-the-pursuit @littlemisskittentoes @songliili @firenati0n @leojfitz @agame-writes @gayrootvegetable @galitzine-nick @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @rockyroadkylers and anyone else who wishes to partake <3

[bobfloydsbabe]

this rhett fic is so domestic and fluffy, it has me giggling and kicking my feet. it's what the cowboy deserves.