#my ficlet🐶

[kuumara]

Without you it's hard to breathe (literally)

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Mike didn't want it to be like this. How did this even happen. Fuck Nancy for saying this would be a good idea. And fuck everyone who agreed to it.

Now Will is drowning. Mike is pulling him out the water but what if it's already too late? What if he took too long to pull out his knife and cut the vine holding Will by the throat? What if he jumped in the water too late?

They weren't even intending to go to Lovers' Lake, the vine dragged Will into it. They weren't even close to it. And now Will could die.

Mike lays him on his back, unresponsive. Robin is standing there, mouth wide open.

"Keep watch!" Mike yells, out of breath. He feels insane. His brain and heart are thumping and it's making his head hurt.

Robin holds up the gun Nancy gave her and prepares the Molotov cocktail, in case anything surprises them. Again.

Mike isn't sure what to do. He wasn't there when they had a 'Healthcare day' at high school. That was a year ago, now. Damn it, if he would've listened, he could've been helping Will right now.

"Listen to his breathing," Robin said, still in shock.

Mike brought his ear to Will's lips, and heard breathing- shallow, barely there, detectable only by him feeling Will exhale.

"He's- barely," said Mike. Robin closed and shut her eyes roughly a few times, trying to recall her first-aid courses.

"Does he have anything in his mouth," she said in the end. Mike shook his head.

"I- I don't know! Do CPR!"

"But he is breathing!"

"Not for long," Robin said in distress. Mike wanted to kill her right then and there.

He huffed air into Will's mouth a few times, his logic telling him he has to be his lungs.

After he connected his lips to Will's, after ignoring the bombs in his stomach, after successfully making Will breathe faintly with him, after feeling his breathing become more and more stable, he heard a muffled shot.

Mike almost shat his pants; one second all he knows is Will, his lips, making him breathe successfully, saving him, it's really heart breaking to see the moment get broken by a stupid demogorgon. A dead one.

"Is he better?" She yells at Mike.

Mike looks to Will, his eyelids fluttering but never fully opening. He groans.

"We have to go, quickly. There might be more shit coming, even though I've got a silencer."

Mike nods, wide eyes still fixed on Will. He puts Will's head on his knees, lifting it up. He hovers his hand over his mouth, feeling deep breaths, Will's falling and rising chest showing that he's better as well.

"C'mon," he whispers to him as Robin helps him lift Will up, Mike's arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

"Quickly, let's go to Hop's cabin." Robin says and leads the way, gun pointed for monsters ahead and occasionally behind them.

As they walk, Will needs less and less Mike's help. He hasn't spoken a word since he woke up, probably shocked. Mike wants to ask him what's wrong and make him feel better, but there might be monsters hiding in the trees, waiting for them to make just a little bit too-loud of a noise.

So he sticks to holding him close, squeezing Will's hand draped over his shoulder. Even though they both know Will doesn't need help walking anymore.

Mike should be paying attention to any suspicious noises, but all his brain is filled with is the replaying of the moment Mike's lips encased Will's.

He knows it's not that big of a deal. He was drowning for fuck's sake. But his brain couldn't care less about what he thinks. So he's stuck replaying his 'CPR' and burning up, feeling as red as a tomato.

Will thankfully doesn't notice it, and they make it to the cabin safely.

Mike sits Will on the couch, knowing very well he can do that himself now. He does it anyway, sitting beside Will instantly. Probably getting a bit too close.

Will doesn't care, but doesn't make eye contact either.

"Hello? Hello? Over." Robin interrupts them. Again. Or rather, interrupts Mike again.

She's trying to contact help, or to ask someone on what to do after a drowning. Or is it just okay now? Just like that?

Will looks at Robin. Not Mike. And Mike doesn't really- like that, so he puts a hand on Will's back and drags it to his shoulder. Getting his attention. Finally.

Will looks at him with tired eyes, and Mike doesn't like his attention anymore. He turns red as a demon, but Will just softly smiles.

"Thanks... Thank you," he whispers.

"Of course." Mike blurts dumbly. Will huffs a laugh.

"Are you- feeling alright?"

Will nods. "Thanks to you, yeah," and smiles again. Mike damn near explodes.

And, just like that, he's staring at Will's lips, ridiculously up close. He feels his breathing, just like by Lovers' Lake. His mind goes blank when Will puts a hand on his knee, and goes in for it.

"They're coming, I told them the monsters probably heard the shot and will-"

Robin came from the bathroom. Now she stopped, looking at the guys in front of her, both red as strawberries, ruffled hair and Mike's jacket God knows where.

They've both very nearly bolted to separate sides of the room, but only making it to sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Keeping as much distance as possible, their eyes darting nervously. Red as strawberries.

She tries to cover up the mischievous smile creeping up on her face, failing, and Mike scowling at her before quickly moving his eyes away.

And after two years of watching them dance around each other- all she can think is good for them.

--

@howtobecomeadragon 's idea from tags and @dunkeyfromshrek brought it to me attention aye (and motivated this thang)

i actually dk how to perform cpr so if ur a first aid NERD that wanna complain lmk and ill fix it

[cricketnationrise]

time: 1.31am (the time my dog woke me up today by jumping in my bed😅), location: Kensington palace , character: David and Alex please 🙏🏾 🐶, song lyric for vibes, discard if you don't like: "feels so good to be alive" 🌅 (from Beyonce's Be Alive Oscar performance 🎾💚🌻)

my ao3 is this same name but with underscores (the_marathon_continues )

no pressure if you can't get to this I'm sure you're inundated with requests!

*mushu voice* I LIVE hello i am in a two week lull of normal work hours so i have both time and brain space after a freaking month to write more and your prompt was the next at bat! i hadn't seen the oscars performance so that was cool to look up and see. i hope you love this little moment with my favorite boy. and alex.

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

1:31am, kensington

Henry’s stuck at some royal event, one that Alex wasn’t invited to attend, and Alex is fucking bored. He can’t sit still enough to watch something, there’s no chores to do since he’s stuck in Kensington waiting for Henry to come back, and he doesn’t have any schoolwork for once. And yes, it’s after one in the morning, but he certainly isn’t sleeping. It’s only when David pads into the monstrosity that is Henry’s gilded bedroom, that Alex’s brain lights up with glee.

A quick rummage through Henry’s closet (oh, the irony) and a text conference with Bea, Nora, and June, and Alex has a plan. David’s a good sport through all of the outfits Alex puts him in, placidly allowing the infringement upon his dignity and obligingly staying still for the camera. 

He starts with a black bow tie collar Henry had lying around and fashions two shirt cuffs out of an old white shirt of Henry’s to go around David’s front legs. A strategically placed pistol emoji on the most debonair picture of David and the tribute to Arthur as James Bond is sent off to the group chat. That one’s just for the family's eyes.

Alex finds giant sparkly sunglasses shaped like flowers (left behind by Pez, surely) and slaps a super bright filter on top. He posts it to Instagram with the caption Elton Paws. He spends way too long making a black vest, white shirt, and black belt for David, wanting to get as close to the iconic look as possible. David’s unimpressed face looks out from the photo with the caption I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A cardigan from one of Bea’s old dolls and David’s own booties for cold days sitting next to him complete the Mr. Rogers costume. Please won’t you be my neighbor? With a fit of giggles, he removes the booties from the shot, adds the tiny crown Henry pretends he didn’t buy for his dog and takes another photo. He adds a photo of Henry in a similar cardigan as the second photo. The third photo on the post is just the meme from The Office where Pam says ‘they’re the same picture.’” Alex spends another ten minutes color washing a normal picture of David with bright purple, solely so he can make a Courage the Cowardly Dog joke.

He doesn’t bother checking any of the comments, fuck if people think he’s being ridiculous. Alex built this life; he’s found his person (and his dog). He managed to create something beautiful for himself all on his own, despite being thrust into the public eye. He and Henry came out the other side of the leak with their relationship and futures intact and shining brighter than ever. They’ve spent long enough putting on their best faces in public—it’s about time people remembered that he’s twenty-fucking-three. If he can’t dress his dog up in ridiculous costumes and post them on the internet like everyone else on the fucking planet, then what is the world coming to?

And alex is so fucking proud of his life, both separate and intertwined with Henry’s. They can weather any storm and forget anyone who says their relationship isn’t what love looks like. Someday, they won’t have to split their lives over two continents. Someday, it’ll be a given, an if/then statement: If Henry, then Alex. They’ve been fighting for something resembling normalcy since way before the emails leaked. They’ve dealt with depression and being outed, with a long-awaited ADHD diagnosis and the pressures of their families and countries. They’ve hustled and worked and bent over backwards for the public for years. If the general population has a problem with them occasionally being ridiculous about their pet? Fuck ‘em.

It feels amazing to be goofy, to act like the young adult he is, to not run every single tidbit by a publicist or handler, to do something dumb with his dog because he misses his boyfriend. So Alex will keep on dressing David up in whatever strikes his fancy and posting the results. If nothing else, Henry will love the results.

an instagram post: 

[pic of david in a ridiculous costume, alex beaming with tongue out and peace signs while he holds david up for a selfie]  when dad is away, we will play.

[effervescentdragon]

Piarles “we shouldn’t be doing this”

Por favor 🥺🐶

@mssr-monagato i love you.💕 this is only written because i got inspired by @hourcat @wolfiemcwolferson and @singsweetmelodies writing series of wonderful ficlets and i need the softness. (shooting myself for that gaffe rn btw) ❤️

The days are cold, but the nights are even worse.

Pushing through the lines on the Eastern front is hell. Charles knew people who thought Hell was hot were absolutely wrong. Hell was frozen land and frozen toes and frozen noses. It was cold metal of rifles and clumsy fingers that pulled the triggers. It was red streaks on dirty snow that used to be white once upon a time.

Charles used to love snow. In his memory, it was always pure white and it was always synonymous with joy. The muddy, red-and-brown streaked snow his boots fall into underneath his feet brings him only sorrow. It feels like a metaphor for this war, or maybe for life.

"You're so romantic, calamar," Pierre tells him when Charles shares his thoughts with him that night. They are both on watch. They rarely separate these days, and the watch is no exception. Their unit is sleeping in an abandoned house they found on their way East, always East, always further into the desolate freezing enemy teritory. "How do you still think of poetry when we are-" he waves his hands around, shaking his head "- here?"

Charles chuckles softly. There is no fire, they don't dare light one in case they are discovered, and the night bites at Charles' cheeks. The sky above them is covered in clouds, and the moonlight isn't enough to see anything clearly. It would be beautiful, if Charles weren't so cold all the time.

"Don't you think it's beautiful?" he asks Pierre. "There is beauty in despair."

Pierre shakes his head. "No," he says, much more sharply than Charles expected him to. "There is nothing beautiful in fucking despair. There is nothing beautiful in death, Charlo."

"You're Catholic, Pierre," Charles says, hurt for some reason. "Isn't that the whole point? That death is something to welcome?"

Pierre's brow furrows. He puffs out a breath of air and it's visible, that's how cold it is.

"I thought so," Pierre says after a moment. "I really thought so. And then we came here, and..." he trails off. Charles keeps looking at him, waits him out. "There is nothing beautiful here."

Charles smiles. "You're beautiful."

Pierre flinches, looking arou d with wide eyes. "Charles," he starts, a bit frantic, "we can't-"

Charles moves closer to him. "Why not?" He's whispering now, close enough to Pierre that he can hear Pierre's every breath. "Nobody is here. Everyone is sleeping. Our shift changes in two hours. There is nobody around for miles." He presses his cold nose to Pierre's cheek, breathes the next words to the corner of Pierre's mouth. "Why not?"

He feels more than sees Pierre swallow. "We shouldn't be doing this," Pierre says. His breath is warm when it hits Charles' skin. He's too cold to get aroused properly, but ut doesn't matter. It's not about that. It's just about Pierre.

"But I'm desperate," he whispers. "Desperate to kiss you. Desperate to feel you. I haven't tasted you for days, I haven't had you for months, Pierre, I can't-"

Pierre kisses him. Their rifles clank against each other, and they separate for a moment. Nobody stirs; nobody comes to check on them. They move the rifles out of the way, and in a moment Pierre is pulling him close, his mouth warm on Charles', his cold nose pressing into Charles' cheek. The leather of his gloves presses into Charles' neck and Charles shivers, desire and cold mixing and making his head spin.

"It won't be this war that kills me," Pierre whispers between kisses. "It will be you."

Charles grabs onto the lapels of Pierre's coat. "Nothing will kill you. Only petites morts, my love," Charles says, and Pierre chuckles.

"When all of this is done, we will go home, and we won't leave the bed for weeks, and you will die many times, and you will come back to me many times, Charles." Pierre's eyes shine with intensity. "I will bring you back every time, and then give you one more, and another, and another."

Charles nuzzles into Pierre's cheek. "You promise?" he asks softly, because he needs to hear it. Because he needs it to be true.

"I swear," Pierre replies. "I swear, my love."

Charles, despite everything, believes him.

[bakerstreethound]

I gotcha, my fellow hound, I gotta.

Ficlet Idea: You're have a love/hate relationship with scary movies. Stephen has the tendency to cuddle up to you like a big dog that thinks he's a lap dog.

Just as heavy. Just as naked. 🐶

send me a nsfw headcanon & i’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it | 18+ only please | Minors DNI | thanks for the request @thealleydog I had a lot of fun playing around with it. Hope you enjoy!

Horror movies are generally not your cup of tea, but when you came back to the Sanctum to your quarters with Stephen sprawled out on the bed, piles of blankets and snacks next to him, lights low and the aroma of your favorite scented candle enveloping you, well you had to admire the thought.

Nevermind the fact he was completely naked too, opening his arms without a care in the world. Now, you really could enjoy the view hiding yourself in the protection of his arms as you shriek at the screen, a deformed body of a zombie getting its brains blown to oblivion.

"I can't believe you enjoy this Stephen, I'm going to have nightmares for weeks," you buried your face in his neck as he rolls on top of you.

His naked form pressed into you more and you can't complain, especially when you run your fingers through his hair, nipping at his ear playfully while whispering all the lewd commentary you want jn his ear.

With ever word that fell from your lips, his grip on you tightened, the low growls falling from him signaling you're in for one hell of a night.

[kachuuyaa]

— Ozymandias

11102021 , sagau , ficlet , gn!reader

genre ; sagau….??? angst???? action???

includes ; VIOLENCE, murder, blood, literally a fucking bloodhouse or something u also are sick in the head in this

synopsis ; Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.

author’s notes ; me while writing this: 🐶 👺 (also i referred reader as ‘he/him’ bc thats usually the go to pronouns when talking about divine beings)

Cursed in this wretched land that no one welcomed you in, you walk within the soil that was befitting for the damned, the preposterous, and the outcasts. How wretched, they say, how cruel of you to commit such a sin! They scream at your face, how dare you commit such blasphemy, whispers of your name, uttering such vile words to your form, about a creator. Creator of what? This wretched world, a world so loathsome that they dare disrespect a divine being as you in their stead? How impious! How unholy! You laugh, and you cackled about how naive you were, how you let such atrocious hands and filthy mouths utter your name in such disrespect, treating you as a lowlife for committing a sin you were cursed to be oblivious to. Aware of such hatred, unpalatable, and execrable loath for you, they regarded you as the devil himself, all the while having never been blessed by the god they ridicule you for impersonating as, they were ludicrous, more so in actions, you realized.

The three present archons you grew to cherish throughout your life in Teyvat behind a screen were now the base of your rancor. Managing a nation was no easy feat, and they proved that so. The Creator never blessed any nation, never showed himself behind anyone, and never once regarded his creations so proudly, how else would he have disappeared for many a millennium if the god was appalled at his own malignant people? The gods have no manners, as well, proven by their painstakingly obvious resentment for an innocent being like you.

Well, then, so be it. If they think of you as an impostor, your golden blood that proved itself to be godlike on its own shall motivate you to perform in their stage of violence. If they resent you for being such, shall your blade be coated by their blood oh-so scarlet, subservient compared to yours, written in the scriptures and praised by many, a vial of your ichor would make millions bow in recognition and veneration. “Your Highness,” a familiar utter of your now-accepted title came from your left, and you glared them down in recognition.

After being chased by such dirty, filthy, worthless beings from each nation led you to where your nightmares became dreams, the Abyss, Khaenri’ah, as they call it. The fallen nation that was once a paradise, destroyed many years ago, by the Gods you used to love, yet now resent, for the prejudice you have suffered under their hands of godly worth and divine anomaly. Now, then, for what they have done to you, shall you deliver your punishment tenfold?

Certainly. How sweet shall vengeance be if drowning in the sea of saccharine, red, ichor? You turned your back on your subject, raising your pointer finger, “Speak.” And they did, a tiny, terrified squeak left their mouth, before saying, “The search for you hath not faltered once, even posterior to your disappearance.” You let out an amused scoff, causing your already terrified subordinate to feel a sense of horror coursing through their veins. “Well, we cannot do a thing in retaliation, can we?” Your voice mocked their potential thoughts, “Send a Ruin Grader in my stead. We shall fuel their despair and their anger towards me.” It will be fun, wouldn’t it? For a man who so loved the world turned against him, and for retribution, morals do not prevent such atrocious outcomes. Your reporter scurried away, all the while keeping your image in their mind. They just met the creator, who wouldn’t? And regarded them as a civil citizen, rather than an enemy to be eliminated upon first glance, no less. It was rare of you to do so.

So a Ruin Grader was presented to you after a short while, its metal fresh, and its twinkling eye far from safe, though, as it faced you, beeped in recognition as it kneeled and offer a hand for you to sit on. Inspecting its hand for any dirt, you let out a huff, sharp eyes locked onto the killer machine. You sat down, your subjects worried as the Ruin Grader held you with such gentleness, surprising even the greatest of Alchemists who devoted their life into taming a Ruin Grader, proving themselves worthless in your eyes. “Oh?” You quirked a brow, fixing your legs on its hand, waving your fingers, a gesture to say that you have dismissed your subjects. “Now, now, big boy, send me to northern Wolvendom, would you?” It complied, there, you were, in all your divinity, such bloodlust in the eyes of the Ruin Grader, while yours, full of amusement at their protests.

You stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off of your clothes, soaked in dried, red blood from who knows where. Eyes bored and impassive to the many rioters on your feet, screaming blasphemy to unknowingly, the god they praise so much.

How dare you impersonate the Divine Creator?!

One shouts, making you turn your bloodthirsty eyes on them, and they stilled. You could hear the faint whisper of pleas to your right, the voice so familiar-- ah, is that Jean, you hear? Letting a smirk paint your bruised and battered face, eyes as sweet and condescending, you held a dagger. Now, those people who dare speak your name in vain would now fall silent to your blade, as you raised your left arm, grin far from faltering, and slit it, much to the horror, or the surprise, to other people.

“You foolish mortals.” Your voice reverberated across the forest, tensing the Mondstadt citizens as they watch your glistening, lavish, golden blood drip across your chest to the ground, plants sprouting as your divine ichor lashed onto the soil of the fallen. You threw the dagger forward and watched as terrified, yet imprudent citizens chase after your touch and your blood-coated dagger. Surely, your blood is worth all the Mora in the world, no? “How injudicious,” Wickedly, you raised your hand to snap your fingers, and the sound of violence landed a sickly sweet smile land upon your lips in satisfaction. Now, pine-colored grass was littered with blood, almost recoloring the entire forest as you decapitated the heads of many. You said you would punish them tenfold, wouldn’t you? And even after your blood coated the grass, and the soil, you shall never allow such saccharine to be in the hands of such worthless beings, never in the decayed hands of the living who dared destroy your seraphic form. Golden blood littered the floor and some littered the Ruin Grader who stilled at the bloodshed, and the absentee Archon whose eyes now quivering at the very sight of your precious blood by a heavy, impactful cut whose fault is your own. “You are not our creator,” Jean yelled, “Despite having such heavenly blood, and the face of perfection, you are not Their Majesty!” Raising her blade, you let out a smile, eyes keen at their revelation.

They stilled. Agitated at your change of heart, they immediately regretted their actions. You were the creator. You were real, you were no impostor, which explained your cluelessness at their revelation. And with the divine power you hold, you shall let them feel an agony much worse than they did you. “You have no right to speak to me like that, fucking bitch.” You sneered, grin morphing into a frown. You could hear their hearts pounding, and that made you think, whose heart shall you steal for your own entertainment? Surely, their heart would make a good display on your desk, wouldn’t it? “Barbatos, so ignorant. Why did you show such feelings of resentment towards me? Your Creator, hm?” You smiled sardonically, walking off of the Ruin Grader’s hand with no hassle, and Barbatos felt a force push him down, and he had no choice but to kneel.

Words of sweet apologies mixed with bitter emotions flow out of his form and his words, the carefree archon now succumbed to despair. He can’t pray to any gods, for the god he was incredibly devoted to, turn into the manifestation of his nightmares. Incoherent apologies spill out of his quivering lips, apologies that you didn’t care all too much to hear. So, you kneeled down at his level, taking his petrified face onto your right hand, gently cupping his cheeks. “Poor baby,” You cooed, and for a second the fear that he felt-- that you caused diminished as he felt safe in your touch. Sensing his warmth, you scowled almost immediately and slapped his face.

Good. He deserved it. Barbatos did not believe your obliviousness, and only did he as he observed your beautiful, heavenly blood trickle down your skin condescendingly. You were the God of gods, Ruler of Everything, and the source of all empyrean things. You were seraphic, washed off of any sin, for the only sin you shall commit was to end your regime as the Almighty Creator. Shaky eyes and quivering lips let out a disheveled breath, hearing you cackle imperiously while eyeing the rest of the knights.

Oh, and also Diluc. He was also there. Eh, anyway.

“Your Grace!” Jean screamed, oh, how fast they switch their morals to receive a blessing from a god, and one they wronged too much no less. “Do not call me that.” You clicked your tongue, waving your hand in dismissal as Diluc agitates at your harsh voice. “I sincerely--”

“Shut the fuck up.” You were despotic, not as pulchritudinous as you were before, blessing every living thing in your wake with a swift flick of your wrist. “‘Your Grace’ is dead.” You smiled sinisterly, “Who am I, you ask?”

A dark chuckle slips past your saccharine lips, coated with your own blood.

“Well, refer to me as Ozymandias, King of Kings,” You stretched out your arms as golden blood drips on the floor, all the while greeting the frightened faces of those remaining.

Look on My destruction, ye mighty, and despair.

“Bringer of destruction and lifeless bloodshed.”

2021 © kachuuyaa. do not steal or claim my work as your own.

[omi-boshi]

MASTER LIST

headcanons and blurbs

omi expressing love through physical touch

kiyoomi and dogs

omi is oblivious to his own attractiveness and unintentionally posts thirst traps

kenma and kiyoomi are gaming buddies

breeding kink bf omi & birth control gf f!reader

very specific boyfriend!omi headcanons

college friends kiyoomi and yachi + yachi playing wingman for kiyoomi

you test out your new lipstick on kiyoomi

omi saves up for a dog

big scary olympic athlete omi vs a cockroach

kiyoomi's superstition about the moles on his face

oneshots and ficlets

user redeemed Hydrate 🐶 3,500 (streamer!omi, fluff, x f!reader)

of tattoos and betting pools (omi with tattoos and piercings)

low-risk, high-reward (mandatory valentine's day oneshot, fluff, x f!reader)

period cramps and a little bit of pining (best friend!omi takes care of you while you're on your period)

cuddles and silly little arguments

video evidence that you won't in fact bring a stray dog home

© 2024 omi-boshi. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate my works.

[sitp-recs]

Happy birthday @shealwaysreads!

I usually pull my hair out when I’m writing bday recs but for the first time in a long time writing this was so easy, as easy as my conversations with Bella. Imo very few people have the ability to make anyone - and I mean anyone - feel welcome and cherished, and Bella is definitely part of that exclusive group. She’s one of the kindest, most talented and most interesting people I’ve met in the fandom so far. Talking to her, being in her presence, experiencing her fics is such a treat - it feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket or sinking into a hot bath (😏🛁) that inspires openness and brings you utmost comfort. If I had to describe her friendship in three words, they’d be warm, comforting, safe. What else could you ask for?

My darling, it’s been such a pleasure to get to know you for these past two years. Thank you for being this caring, wise, cheerful and fun person to be around, and for always indulging me whenever I send you random things that make me think of you 😂 I’m proud that I get to call someone this kind, smart and generous - both with her time and with people’s feelings - my friend. The amount of times you’ve cheered me up just by being there to chat about magical cottages, greenery aesthetics, lush food, our wee babies 🐶 and Christmas decor, but also to discuss fic, kink, and fandom experiences in a safe, honest and judgement-free environment. I’ve learned so much from you, and I’m inspired by the way you chose how to fandom, both as a reader and as a creator.

There’s a multitude of beautiful feelings inside you Bella, and they all come to surface through the many different Drarry dynamics you build so carefully and with such creativity, passion and intent. Dark & mysterious, scorching hot & deliciously decadent, raw & bittersweet, tender & cathartic, evocative & exploratory, domestic & soothing - your rich and delicate prose brings to life a wide range of atmospheres and themes that always leave me craving for more. Every single fic of yours has touched me in a special way, and I trust you to explore any trope with fresh eyes and gentle honesty. Even those that aren’t my jam (hello BDSM) become my new favorite thing in your gorgeous writing. The power you hold!!!!

It took me a minute to decide what to highlight today - I’ve already recced many of your fics but there’s always room to scream more about how the nut baby fic cures my depression every time I read it, or how I’ve never read anything like the melancholy evocative Enjoy the Silence, or how If an Injury’s brilliant world building and perfect ending legit made me gasp, or how Cupboard Love makes me want to cook for my friends, or how your “peach banner fic” (😂) makes me salivate for Unspeakable Draco and the way he worships Harry’s, erm, peach. In the end I realized there’s no better way to show how much I adore your writing than reccing in detail your stunning 2021 Kinktober collection - I had the pleasure to feast on each ficlet in the most unapologetic, self-indulgent way, and that’s precisely what I love so much about your smut. The way you balance raw, decadent luxury with freedom - of body and mind - and a big side of aching tenderness and adoration never fails to amaze me. It’s a bit unfair to select only ten smutty treats but in case I got any smut twins out there, here are my own personal favorites that I advise you to check ASAP. Bella, I hope you have the fantastic day you deserve, and I can’t wait to see what the new year will bring! Thank you for being my friend 💜

Revelation: a master class in tension building and anticipation, sensual af with a hint of power dynamics pls and thank 👢

Harry hadn’t meant to look, at first. It’s just that he was tired, bone-tired, and Malfoy was a curiosity now. Proven not-dangerous and maybe-decent by his wartime spying on behalf of the Order, but still sharp and unknown.

Clean: the best rough sex you’ll read today, I’m obsessed with the biting dialogue and with how hot and angry they are for each other 🛁

“You wouldn’t know fair if it punched you in the face, Malfoy.”

Malfoy clenched around Harry’s cock, rocked his hips, and licked his lips—still a little pink with Harry’s blood. “What about if it fucked me in the arse?”

Observation: mirror sex but make it about words of affirmation and gentle self-acceptance, my heart cannot take the tenderness!!!! 🪞

“I love when you wear that t-shirt,” Draco murmured, close and warm. “Love that it was mine and now it’s yours, like everything I have.”

Chase: I will never not worship size kink + exhibitionism; this is the proof that enthusiastic consent is sexy af, with hungry werewolf Harry and a hungrier Draco making sure he gets nothing less than what he deserves 🦷

I did my research, because I like to learn the shape of danger before I dip my toes into it.

Sleep Easy: this Draco POV proves that consensual somnophilia can be deliciously erotic, introspective and full of secret devotion, you’re very welcome. And btw check the phenomenal art my darling friend @peachbabypie did for this fic here 🛏

He has one knee pulled up like he’d planned it, but he didn’t and I know it. He’s just like this. Artlessly open to being loved. Willing.

Inside: 10/10 dirty talk goals - Draco’s composed & crude voice got both me and Harry salivating here, my god 🌸

“Stop trying to clench,” Draco chastised, pressed deeper, wringing a gasp out of Harry. “I like you like this; open.”

Morsel: bondage + clamps + food as a love metaphor? Sign me the fuck up, yet another exhibit of hot & tender for your pleasure 🍑

It’s still dangerously potent, this thing they do together, it fills every fiber of Harry’s body with wanting-and-being-wanted, with proud responsibility, with curiosity, with heat.

More: edging has never been this sweet! I double dare you to resist this sexy and soothing Harry worshiping the fuck out of a desperate Draco 🔗

Harry dropped to his knees behind Draco, he kissed the back of his thigh and bit at the meat of his arse cheek. “So beautiful, Draco, I can’t resist.”

Move: hahahahaha I don’t have words to describe how hot & bothered I was for this particular brand of dark. That’s it, that’s the review. 🍷

“Come on, fuck yourself on it. I won’t make it move until you do.”

Laced: a feast to the senses, sexy, tender and liberating. I come back to this fic whenever I’m in the mood for top notch, self-indulgent lacy clothing kink 🎁

“There you are, Harry, look at you.” Draco’s hands moved behind him, and Harry could hear the slide of the satiny laces across Draco’s leather-clad fingers. “All neat and tied now, no chance of it coming loose.”

[gingerel]

📚 Fanfics ☕ Ko-Fi 📝Writing Info 🦉 Twitter  💛 Pillowfort 💞

-🐝-

fanfics posted to AO3 will be tagged #eliotfic and all my ficlets will be tagged #myficlets if you want to search them out. i’ll tag text/ramblings with #eliotspeaks. anything not personal or fandom related i will tag #other stuff.

-🌻-

I’ll post/reblog things from all my fandoms but will tag accordingly so people can mute etc to their hearts content. I will always endeavour to tag my ships and feel free to whine at me if I forget. 

| final fantasy 15 #ffxv | final fantasy 7 (remake mostly) #ffvii | SK8 the Infinity #sk8 | Yuri on Ice #yoi | Sasaki and Miyano #sasamiya | Mass Effect Franchise #masseffect |

-🐶-

Amazing icon and banner are by @clockwaysarts

[feathersandfoxtails]

Day One

It's time for Beezie's Christmas Countdown!

.

So my original plan was to do as many lincarnations for this challenge as I could. But then I kept looking at the prompts and.... a little story popped into my head. And I asked my bestie @oonajaeadira if I was crazy to write one story in little ficlets. And she said NO DO IT because she is my enabler.

So, for the challenge I'm writing a linear Alvie/Reader story! We'll see how this goes! I've written the first two days and they are both exactly 200 words, so I may stick to that, but I also don't want to box myself in too much because I am also still working on getting a chapter of Pass Back Through the Heart out every week.

I'll think of a title later and compile this all together at the end of the month.

Rating is Teen for swearing and implications of sex, but it will be smut-free (for now; I'll warn if that changes).

.

So, all that to say.... enjoy!

.

🎄 Day One:

Red

Shopping

"There's only one bed."

☕️🐶

Why you decided to take that big, dumb dog with you shopping that morning, you’ll never know. But you’re certainly glad that you did. You had been cooped up with your sister’s dog while she was out of town and figured he could use a walk. Since you wanted to go to the open air markets, you didn’t think it would be a problem for him to come with.

But as you’re waiting for your coffee order, he pulls the leash out of your hand. You turn and watch him tackle a man in a red hoodie. “Reginald!” you scream after him and rush over. When you pull the giant dog off the man, you see the bagel in the dog’s mouth. “Bad dog!” You try to take the bagel away, but Reginald refuses to relinquish it. Hearing a groan, you look back at the man and find him clutching his wrist.

“Shit! Are you okay? Oh fuck, your wrist is swelling! I’ll get a cab to take you to the hospital.”

“No, no, it’s fine! I—” He winces in pain.

“I’ll pay for everything; don’t worry about it.” You flag down a cab and help him into it.

[kuumara]

Wash my hair and tell me I'm pretty

Will is done with this- he's done with Mike. He hasn't been answering anyone's calls ever since his family got home from their vacation. It's been two days. It's time to be impolite a little bit and come visit unannounced, screw what Mike's parents will think.

So Will gets on his bike, and cycles all the way to Mike's house. Something is very wrong with him, and Will is going to help him if he wants it or not.

At the Wheelers' residence, Nancy opens the door.

"Oh, hey Will," she greets and smiles. "You here because of Mike, aren't you?"

Will nods.

"Well, come on in then. He's in the basement."

Will takes off his shoes and almost runs into the basement-

"Wait! Wait, Will," Nancy yells behind him, and Will turns around, impatient. Nancy goes into the kitchen and come back with a plate of spaghetti and a fork.

"Get him to eat this, will you?" She asks and gives him the plate. Will's heart sinks, he hasn't been eating apparently. He nods, thanks Nancy and, now more carefully, goes into the basement.

He hasn't been in there for a while, he remembers. And a lot of things have changed- it's dirtier, messier. He sees Mike laying in front of the turned off TV, between pillows and blankets on the floor, already looking at him.

"Hey," Will greets. Mike just grunts and stands up, nervously putting the pillows on the couch.

Will is about to put the plate on the table, but he sees there's not much room- a bunch of mountain dew cans and candy wraps littering it. He makes a concerned face.

"I'm fine," Mike notices it. "You don't have to worry, my mom's just dramatic..." he continues to try to tidy the floor, now throwing board games to a corner.

"Well, you haven't answered any of our calls."

"I didn't feel like it,"

"You could've told us, we would understand..."

Mike sighs, shakily. "I'm sorry." And takes the plate from Will's hands, purposefully dragging his hands over Will's, making his heart jump. Mike isn't meeting his eyes, instead looking at the ground and turning to sit on the couch. But the plate of food remains sitting on his lap, his hand clenching the fork.

Will comes to sit next to him, and notices Mike's long hair is terribly knotted together.

"It's alright." He whispers, and Mike finally meets his eyes. He offers a reassuring smile, but Will can tell he's not doing too well.

He stands up and starts to open drawers. "Do you have a comb in here?"

Mike looks at him, confused. Then he remembers his annoying hair, and blushes.

"Sorry I'm a mess- I didn't know you'll be coming,"

"So you would've acted as if you were alright if I didn't come?" Will suddenly stops and looks at him with concern. Mike tenses, clutching the fork tighter.

Will sighs, walking closer to Mike. "Y'know you can tell me stuff."

"I- I know," Mike gulps. Will smiles fondly at him, observing how pretty Mike is, even in this state. He wants to brush his hair out his face, and maybe kiss him softly, to let him know he means it- except he can't. He sighs, and turns around to look for a comb in the bathroom.

"It's in here," Mike followed him and is now opening the cupboard above the sink. Will takes it before Mike does, and smiles at his confused face.

"I'll do it, there's no way you can untangle all of that yourself."

Mike blushes a bit, and Will brushes it off. He's gotten used to knowing all Mike does is platonic, and eventually, if he keeps up the good work, it probably won't hurt anymore.

Will steps behind him, but quickly figures Mike's too tall for him. So he sits on the sink in front of him, instead, trying not to focus on Mike's dark eyes too much.

He sucks in a breath, careful not to be too loud about it, and turns a frozen Mike around to get access to the most tangled hair on his head. He puts three fingers on the side of Mike's head, to steady it, and tries to comb the hair in the least painful way.

After some time of working through Mike's many knots and a lot of groaning and hissing, Will notices they've gotten- close. Mike is standing between Will's legs, leaning on the sink with his arms and being this close to lean into him fully, and Will's hand is holding the beginning of Mike's jawline as well as the side his head.

That makes Will's heart speed up rapidly, of course, and he stops laughing at some joke Mike is telling- or rather explaining.

Mike looks over his shoulder to Will, their faces getting very close. Will notices Mike's gaze falls to his lips almost immediately, and tries to stop himself from blushing all over.

Mike is now looking at him with those eyes and that look and Will, the idiot he is, pushes his head to get him to face away.

And continues combing as if nothing has happened, but in reality his heart is beating out his chest and his vision is getting blurry. He might as well be having a stroke, but that would be embarrassing as hell, especially after what had just happened.

He doesn't move away from their close proximity, however.

Next on Will's list of getting-Mike-together is getting him clean. While combing his hair they both realized there's a concerning amount of melted candy-like stuff, at which Mike laughed nervously.

So, after Mike eating the now-cold spaghetti, they head up to the upstairs bathroom where Mike cleans his teeth- with flossing!

Will convinces Mike to go take a shower as well, and after a ton of pleading and puppy-eyeing Mike agrees to go wash his hair.

Will waits outside, until he hear Mike call for him: "Will! Will, can you get me some clothes,"

Will obeys and looks for some clean pajamas in his closet. Mike's room is a big change from his basement, all clean and tidy, almost as if it's a guest room rather than his room.

Will makes sure he won't see Mike naked - even though he wouldn't mind - and after Mike assures him there's enough bubbles and foam in the bath, he comes in and sets his clothes beside the sink.

"Isn't it nice? Having a bath after, what, a week?" Will teases.

Mike rolls his eyes playfully, but he can't object since it's true.

"No, you have some more there," Will warns when Mike is about to rinse the shampoo off.

"Where..."

"Here." Will touches the spot where the bits of caramel are. "Actually, just let me," he says then, feeling bold.

Mike doesn't object, so he wets his hands and settles on his knees, Mike leaning on the side of the tub for Will to wash it better.

Will ignores his heartbeat and how warm he feels, and massages Mike's scalp, trying to get the stuff out.

Will admits, he offered the help out of selfishness, too. Maybe he wanted to touch Mike a little bit more, care for him a little bit longer. Let him know he cares about him.

Maybe even have the thought of Will loving him, romantically, occur him. Which wouldn't be a lie. But Will wouldn't say this out loud- what if Mike reacted badly?

Will knew he was pretty touchy, for he's always been like this. But if Will told him he means this stuff romantically, that he enjoys making Mike happy because he loves him- he doesn't want to ruin their relationship.

Even though Mike had told Will he thinks he's gay too, Will knows very well being gay doesn't automatically make you like every guy. Mike only sees him as a friend, he's made this clear enough with his numerous ramblings to Will about Will, concluding every one of them with "You're my best friend."

His thoughts are interrupted by Mike, leaning his head onto the tub and Will's touch, eyes fluttering closed. Will almost explodes.

"I- I think it's gone," he says quietly, remembering that someone might find it weird they're in the bathroom for so long. Together.

Mike hums, sighs contently and Will leaves the bathroom and goes into Mike's room, closing the doors behind him and screaming into one of Mike's pillows.

Not too long after, Mike comes into the room. Will is reading a comic book, acting all cool and normal. Mike falls onto the bed, almost onto Will, in his dorky Superman pajamas. Will teases him about it, but Mike doesn't budge, just looks at Will with big eyes and a big smile.

Will gives up, shaking his head in fake disapproval. Mike giggles and hugs him- burying his face between Will's shoulder and the bed. Alright, Will is really going to explode this time.

Mike nudges his shoulder with his nose, tightening his grip on Will's shirt and tangling his legs around Will's. Humming, he closes his eyes.

"You wanna sleep over?" He asks, muffled by Will's shirt.

Will swallows and composes himself. "I don't- I'll have to call mom," his voice is shaking. Will curses himself.

But Mike just hums, again, and untangles himself from Will, eyes still closed.

"Hurry up, then,"

And boy does Will hurry up. Launching himself from the bed, he runs down the stairs and asks Nancy and Ted if it's alright he stays over. Ted just grunts, and Nancy nods eagerly.

"I understand he's better, then?" She asks.

"Yes- Yeah, much better," Will replies with a smile creeping onto his face, face definitely red.

He turns around and wants to go back to Mike, but then remembers he has to call his mom- he does that quickly, typing in the wrong number twice before getting Jonathan on the phone.

"Byer-"

"Jonathan! It's me, can I sleep over at Mike's?" he tries to talk slower, with a lower pitch but fails. Because of Mike.

"Yeah- sure, do you need-"

"No, it's alright! Goodnight,"

"-is it Jonathan? Can I talk to him?" Nancy comes into the hallway, and Will drops the phone into her hand before trying to go up the stairs calmly, ending up skipping two stairs per step.

In Mike's room, Mike is reading the comic book Will was earlier, and when he sees him he smiles brightly.

Will returns the smile nervously, knowing he will probably have a heart attack tonight. His heart is not ready for Mike cuddling him more.

Somehow, his heart survived until morning- and longer.

---

grrr fluff GARK GARK

ummm mental illness mike depression arc. will takes care of him 🥰

[kuumara]

We're friends!

Will and Mike have been close ever since Erica can remember.

The first time Lucas invited them to their house to play in the backyard- Erica was watching them, and even back them Will and Mike were always very touchy. When they played with swords, Mike would die and roll to the ground a lot and Will, the healer, would have to resurrect him every time.

For which Will needed to touch Mike and perform some spell. Erica can imagine Mike enjoyed having Will's attention even back then, which was the cause for him throwing himself to the ground very often.

However now, as the party let her in Mike's basement to have a movie night with them, she sees that now they're even more touchy than back then.

Will laying between Mike's legs, forehead pressed to his neck and Mike's arms all around him. It's like they were dead, not participating in conversations and the only movement being Mike's hand absent-mindedly going from Will's nape to the middle of his back.

It all made Erica want to barf. No- she's not homophobic, she wants to barf even when Max and Lucas are all lovey-dovey. When anyone is acting couple-y, she wants to barf. Erica doesn't see colors of the rainbow.

But- are Will and Mike even a couple? She'd asked Lucas one time, a year ago, but all he did was choke on his spit, from laughing. So she assumed they weren't. But she will have to ask him again.

The next time she saw Will and Mike together, was at a Hellfire Club meeting. During the session they were normal (maybe made their characters have ridiculous amounts of romantic tension), but after it was when Erica wanted to vomit again.

Everyone had already left, and Erica remembered that she'd forgotten her coat. But she couldn't just step into the room- she heard Will giggling. And she doesn't want to be seen as a creep, because she's anything but a creep.

She could hear Mike trying to desperately flirt with Will, and was succeeding, apparently. Erica had a disgusted frown on her face the whole time.

"I- I seem to have lost my phone number- can I have yours?"

"Mike you already have it-"

"No! Are you an orphanage because I want to give you kids-"

"MIKE!"

It's like he had them written on his hand or something, so they weren't even his- but Will seemed to love them all the same, because he was giggling like a maniac.

And the third time was when the boys had a sleepover at their house. Dustin asked her to get him his cook book from his backpack in Lucas' room (he was helping with the cooking), so she went to her brothers' room and-

They were sleeping in (on) Will's sleeping bag, Mike sprawled across Will and him- cuddling Mike. They didn't do anything when they saw her, except greet her, get up lazily and ask if breakfast is ready. They're definitely dating.

"Are you dating now?" She asked when they passed her. Now they both froze.

"No- I mean- I don't mean it in a bad way," she clarified.

"No," Will blurted, and Mike looked at him as if he'd just killed his dog.

They stayed looking at each other like this, before Will took a deep breath and went to the kitchen, Mike following him sadly. And oh boy did Erica mess up this time. Look like she doesn't have any other choice than to... fix this.

--

i need byler cuddling so i made this. hope u like it i love my aroace qween😱

[kuumara]

Behind closed doors

Mike's acting weird today, Will thinks. I mean, he's always weird, but today is a different kind of weird day. He is acting a lot more... cooler. Acting because he's not being cool, but he's trying.

However, no one else seems to think this way. Everyone falls for it, even Max. Maybe she's just being sarcastic, though, Will can't tell.

Will watches Mike from the other side of the lunch table as he's playfully arguing with Max, who thinks Mike's insults are funny and goes along with them. Will has to have woken up in a different reality.

Mike catches Will's gaze, and first Will sees a range of emotion crossing his face, but as if that never happened, he goes back to his "chill" demeanor. He smiles at him.

"Well, are you going to take a picture or just stare?" Mike says with a smooth voice. Will splutters, flustered, but everyone laughs it off. In normal circumstances, if Mike had done this he would probably have to excuse himself to the bathroom or somewhere where he can scream in peace. But this isn't normal, Mike doesn't act like this when he's normal. Or he is normally like this, but that would mean Will really did wake up in another universe.

Mike looks at him with a look that, even in unnormal circumstances, makes Will melt, and then goes back to talking about something with the others.

Will looks around the table, to see if anyone thinks this isn't normal as well, but all he gets is Lucas meeting his eyes, returning Will's questioning look.

"Do you think he's okay?" Will asks Lucas when they walk together to geography class. "Mike, I mean," he adds when Lucas doesn't respond for a moment.

"I know, right? Part of me thinks he's just- grown up, or something, y'know. It's weird, he's acting like he's always been like this. It's off-putting, disturbing, surreal-"

"Why do you think he's like that? You think he's alright?" Will interrupts him.

"I- I dunno, man. Ask him," he quickly says, after they have to shut up since the teacher has already started talking.

Will and Mike are walking home together. Mike has been the one to afford walking him home, but he's acting all awkward now. Like he's regretting it, Will thinks, and the thoughts start pouring in.

"Will," Mike shakes his shoulder, gently. Will's been lost in his head for a while, they've already walked across a whole street.

"Will," Mike repeats, looking at him with big eyes filled with concern. Will looks up at him, after successfully swallowing down his tears.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He doesn't want to look at Mike's eyes, the guilt would be too much and he really doesn't feel like crying in a middle of a random street.

Mike's quiet for some moments, like he's thinking.

"Do you wanna study at your place? I really don't get biology," he says, eventually. Will looks up at him, with a smirk on his face. Finally Mike's not acting weird anymore, everything's alright. He nods, happily, and Mike smiles back at him.

After just half an hour of studying, Mike is already a complaining, groaning mess. "Holy shit, what the hell is this," he whines while sliding off Will's bed to the floor.

"Biology," Will laughs and pulls Mike's legs to get him back on the bed. Mike obliges and falls on his back next to Will, looking up at him.

"Do you think I'm unlikeable?" he suddenly asks. Will looks at him, confused.

"What? You think I'd be teaching you biology if you were unlikeable to me?" Will says, scoffing. Mike studies his face; and then smiles at him, clearly relieved. He can tell Will is sincere.

"...Why do you ask that?" Will asks after a few more moments of silence. Mike is still just looking at him, but now he nervously averts his gaze.

"Yeah, well... just because," he says, trying to play it cool, but Will can see straight through him. He looks at him with a disbelieving look, until Mike caves in and sighs.

"Well, if you really wanna know- Dad and I fought, I guess... And he said some stuff," he sighs again.

Will's face softens, and closes his notebook. Mike sits up.

"It's nothing really- well, we never fight. He usually doesn't care that much, so he must've really been bothered by me this time, y'know... and if he was bothered by me, I could just imagine how the rest of you felt..." he trails off, and offers a quick strained smile when meeting Will's wet eyes, which makes his eyes tear up, too.

Will notices that and pulls Mike into a hug, not even needing to say anything, because just having Will near him makes Mike feel better. He no longer cares if he's annoying or not, as long as Will and his friends are there.

He's crying now, thinking about that- sobbing and everything. He hides his face in the side of Will's neck, his hair, which has gotten a lot longer since they've last hugged like this, tickling his nose. It smells good, like home. Thinking about how Will makes him feel more at home than his actual home, he grips at his shirt, pulling himself even closer to him.

Will's hands came from hugging Mike's waist to his neck, cupping his face and tangling fingers into his hair, tracing circles on his skin with his thumbs. Mike presses his forehead to Will's, almost on instinct, feeling completely fluid under his touch. He closes his eyes and slowly feels his body relaxing with every breath he feels Will take, almost as if he's under a spell. He doesn't think about his dad anymore, or about how that one girl looked at him weird in English class. No, his senses all belong to Will right now. And he loves it this way.

--

idk who first came up with the idea of byler paralleling The jncy hold but im sold please take my money💰💰

[kuumara]

Hands

Will can feel being stalked by Vecna. He knows when he's there. Even when he isn't completely controlling Will, he's there. In the back of his mind.

Will knows this because he's constantly freezing. He recognizes that cold- he's experienced it when he was first possessed. Back then, however, that cold eased the pain of knowing he's there. If Will did what he wanted, he wouldn't hurt him. If Will stayed cold, he wouldn't hurt anyone- at least that's what he was telling him.

Right now, however, he hates the cold. If he tries to warm himself, he starts hurting. Vecna has a hold on him that prevents him from not hurting. So, he stays shivering.

Mike really hates seeing Will like that. And knowing he can't help- if he offers Will his coat, Will's throat starts aching. If he puts a blanket over him, he gets ridiculous body aches. And so on and so forth.

Mike and Will are listening to the radio signals, lying on the carpet in the Wheelers' living room. It's the closest thing they've got to music now- the radios don't work, the walk-man's are destroyed. So they listen to static in silence and let it flood their brain, eradicating every thought.

Will starts shivering. It's nothing new, but it hurts Mike all the same every time it happens. He puts his hand on Will's- it's freezing. Will just looks at him. He doesn't start aching or coughing or anything like that.

So, Mike scoots closer to where Will is laying. Even closer than they were before. Will is still just looking at him.

"Does it hurt?" He asks. And squeezes Will's hand in his, referring to it.

"...No. It's nice." Will quietly responds. Mike can see redness on his ears. Maybe just from how cold he is. He doesn't want Will to be so cold his ears start freezing. He rolls over to laying on his stomach and supporting himself with elbows, looking at Will. He puts his hands over Will's ears and cheeks. He's never really noticed how big his hands have gotten during the apocalypse.

Will stays unmoving. Again no aching. Just more redness coming to his face.

Oh. He's blushing. Mike is, in a weird way, proud of himself. He feels warm. He feels like this should be the part where he retracts his hands from Will's face and end the moment, except he doesn't want to do that. He would rather stay like this forever. He's wanted to stay like this forever since God knows how long. With Will forever.

Mike smiles. He feels giddy all of a sudden, being so close to Will and seeing that he's okay with it. That maybe he's thinking what Mike's thinking.

Wait- when have they even gotten so close? Mike's nose is already brushing Will's. But Will's smiling back, genuinely. So it's alright, isn't it?

"I don't like seeing you hurt. Are you feeling warmer? Or am I just hurting you but you're not showing it because you're too nice?" Mike asks after a while of them just watching each other. Closely.

"Yeah- no ,you're not hurting me. Don't worry." Will clears his throat quietly. "...You're the opposite of hurting me." He adds, even more quietly.

But Mike hears it. He hears everything. Since they're so close. And Mike likes what he's hearing. He gets even closer to Will, slowly pressing his forehead against his and his nose next to his. But he wants to get even closer. He wants to touch Will's soul, he wants to feel Will's feelings, he wants to experience his thoughts.

"...Is this alright, Will?" he asks. He wants Will to opposite of hurt because of him, so he has to make sure.

Will nods, with a dazed look in his eyes. His hands are on Mike's now. They're a lot warmer than they were before. And Will has a lot more color to him than he had before. Mike's breath catches.

Will angles his head a bit so his lips are touching Mike's. Mike feels like he's going to melt.

Will hums. "You're... the opposite of hurting me right now." And smiles, still dazedly. Mike can't help anything anymore and kisses Will.

[kuumara]

A turn of events

"Thank God you're here,"

"No problem."

"I don't- I don't know how to make him normal anymore, or what to do to make him eat- he doesn't even eat! He's just down there all the time, I'm telling you it's because-"

"It's alright, miss. I advise you to wait here, we never know what can happen while dealing with people like him,"

"Oh, alright- Do you need anything? Water?"

"No, no thank you, miss. We better get this over with quick."

"Alright. It's down the hallway, third door on the left and down the stairs,"

"Thank you, miss."

"No, thank you- and be careful, please,"

He smiles calmly. "I'm a professional,"

The miss smiles back, nervously, and he's already halfway down the stairs. His suitcase is heavy, a Holy Cross tied to it, clanging.

As he gets to the bottom of the stairs, to the basement, he holds the cross in order to stop it from making noise.

The basement is a stark contrast from the rest of the traditional, well-kept manor. It's filthy, grey, and the ceiling is full of metal pipes.

There's only one closed door at the end of the hallway he's standing in. The other rooms' doors appear to have been taken off.

He carefully and quietly makes his way to the door, highly alert in case the patient comes from one of the dark rooms with no doors. He halts right before the door and pulls out a spray bottle, filled with Holy Water.

He slowly starts opening the door, heart pounding loudly. He's done this numerous times, yet he's never gotten used to this feeling.

This feeling? He thinks about this feeling, and realizes: this feeling is now much more intense than any time before. He has felt very violent, negative energy from some other patients, yes, but this is different. The energy here is melancholy, sad, desperate, more than anything he's ever felt before. And it fills him with sadness as well.

He finally opens the door, and in the small room there's only one candle lit and a lot of books. A lot.

As his eyes get used to the darkness, he sees, in the corner, surrounded by walls of books, the patient.

He hasn't attacked him, or even lifted his head from his hands for that matter. He's just sitting there, long hair blocking his face in a filthy room with his rich, bourgeois clothing.

He steps closer to the patient, he can see that he's shaking. He crouches to meet his eyes, but the patient is scared more than anything.

"Hello," he whispers softly, not wanting to scare him more.

"Hi." The patient, much to his surprise, answers. His voice is hoarse and weak.

"I'm here to help you."

"Everyone says that." The patient replies, voice and the energy getting angrier.

"Who is everyone?" He asks, sitting down and facing him. He needs to let him know he isn't trying to hurt him.

"The doctors. The priests. The scientists." The patient shivers. "They wanted to electrocute me, drill holes in my head- I barely made it out alive,"

His breath catches, and the patients lifts his head, revealing his face. His eyes are curious now, but still wet and red.

"What's your name?" he asks the patient.

"You first."

"Will Byers."

"Michael Wheeler," the patient says, and Will thinks it suits him. Michael was an angel, and this one isn't far from that, he thinks. But- he's getting distracted, by Michael's dark eyes and strong nose, making his lips curl into a calm smile.

"Mister Wheeler, I'm not here to do anything those people did."

Michael's expression eased a little, humming.

"What are you going to do, then," he asked, never breaking eye contact.

"Well... your mother called me to perform an exorcism... But I doubt that will be necessary..." he said, careful not to scare Michael.

"You're troubled, and not because of a literal demon," Will tried to make him feel safe, and it was succeeding, since he was no longer trembling. Michael's eyes lit up.

"So. Tell me about this."

"About what..."

"How did you end up here?"

Michael shifted, carefully to not knock over the towers of books.

"They want to kill me, that's how," he whispered. "They don't want me to feel better- they just want me to..." he trailed off, and Will looked at him with understanding.

"To be like them," Will hummed. Michael looked at him again, surprised, and huffed a laugh.

"Yeah." He smiled.

They sat like that in silence for a while, all until the little bit of candle that was still there went out. They both felt like they finally found someone to trust. And it was true.

"You still have to eat." Will said, as the candle flickered out.

"I'm not eating their food." Michael groaned, and Will felt him getting mad again.

"What about someone else's food?" he suggested.

"Well- I- I can't just leave, if that's what you're implying..."

"I can tell them you're- dangerous, or not sane, whatever you want." Michael looked at him, disbelieving.

"I'm a professional. They will believe me." He smiled reassuringly.

"But... how do I know you're not going to hurt me after you take me away? Or actually put me in a facility?"

"I won't. I swear," Will eagerly explained. He will do anything to rid people of their demons, literal and metaphorical- especially Michael. They're alike, and he would regret not helping him for the rest of his life.

"Michael," Will said quietly, after a moment of silence and Michael thinking.

"Listen... They could kill you here," he lifted his gaze to Will's now, eyes wide.

"I know," he matched Will's tone. "I know, I-" and then his breath hitched. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably, trying to catch his breath to finish his sentence. But he couldn't, all he could get out his throat was sobbing.

Will scooted closer, and leaned on his hand on the floor next to Michael's legs. With the other, he held his arm, dragging his hand up and down soothingly.

That only made Michael cry more, mostly because Will understood him.

He's been soothed by his mother before, after the electro-shock therapy, but she didn't understand that he was crying then because he didn't want to change, not because he wanted to. She cried with him because she desperately wanted him to be a heterosexual, whereas he cried because he was being held tightly by a person that only loved a version of him she had made up in her head.

Michael threw himself at Will, leaning forward and sinking his face into the fabric of his coat. And Will held him just as quickly as he came close, hugging him firmly.

Eventually, Michael stopped. Will didn't know how much time had passed; feeling Michael's whole being so close to him made him feel dazed.

"I'll go with you," Michael said, not pulling away.

"Okay." Will whispered into his ear.

However, neither of them wanted to pull away, so they stayed like that all until they heard mister Wheeler walking down the stairs, presumably wanting to check if something had happened.

Will explained to him that he'd talked to Michael about the demon, but unfortunately couldn't get it out and said he wanted to study Michael and his demon at his own residence.

Mister Wheeler of course agreed, he would try everything without hesitation in order to cure his son of homosexuality; his own words. And so, Michael had escaped his manor prison and begun a new story.

At least Argyle and Jonathan, the manor's gardeners say so.

And Max, whom Will and Michael met when they had first changed location in order for Michael's family to not find them

And El, the owner of a house they stayed at once when running from mister Wheeler's hired hunters.

And Dustin and Lucas, the owners of a pub they sought safety at.

And Jonathan and Joyce, who...

---

blahbla blha 20th or 19th or 18th century byler blahblah bla exorcist will but really he's just a therapist looking for people in need blahblablha mike being rejected by his rich family for his homo tendencies blablahbla them running away together lbablaalbabla i love it sm

annnyway in this fic i intended mike to actually be possessed and then he falls inlove wit will and fluff and menace mike but it turned out angsty but anywwway 😋

[kuumara]

My boy

"MIKE! Wake up!"

It was Nancy. She's just woken him up from a nice dream. It's damn Saturday, he thinks, and turns his back to his sister.

"Mike! You really going to leave him waiting?"

Oh, Mike thinks, and immediately jumps out of bed towards the closet.

Oh, oh no, he's thinking as he's putting on the clothes he has already prepared yesterday. Yes, he picked out his best shirt and pants and jacket, for this is a special occasion. He is, starting today, the tutor of Will Byers. The best boy in the world. He's spent the last years of middle school and all high school pining for him, and now it's his chance to say more than just "Hey," or "Can I borrow your pencil?" to him. It's his chance to impress him, and he's already ruining it.

He leaves the house as soon as he finds his notes that he specifically made for Will, leaving his yelling mom behind him.

He jumps on his bike, and gets to Will's house in less than 10 minutes, almost getting hit by cars twice. Mike had made sure he remembered the way to Will's house since he kept asking him "Just checking, is this your address?" at school the day before. He actually knew for sure that was his address, but he just wanted to talk to Will. And the boy didn't even mind, didn't find it annoying, he just laughed endearingly, making Mike want to kiss him more than ever before.

Mike knocks on the door, after collecting himself and catching his breath from all they cycling. Will's mom opens the door, and Mike doesn't know if he's relieved because he would probably pass out if he saw Will already, or disappointed because he hasn't seen Will yet.

Will's mom, Joyce, sweetly greets him and directs him to Will's room. While heading to the doors, Mike is mentally preparing himself for however the day might go (like he hasn't been preparing for this all day and night).

Just as he's about to knock on the door, it opens and it's- Will, except Mike's never seen him like this. His hair is just long enough to be tied in a small ponytail, and he's got a headband to keep his hair out his face, which has - just like his fingers and an old, oversized shirt he's wearing - splashes of paint on it.

They stare at each other for a moment, until Joyce asks them if they're thirsty. That snaps them out of it, and Mike shakes his head (because no way he can get a word out his mouth right now) and follows Will into his room.

His room is colorful, bright and very Will-like. A canvas with a still-wet painting on it, a record player and a radio, a bunch of comics and plushies.

"I've- I've had them since I was little, I can't bring myself to get rid of them," Will nervously explains, as he sees Mike's gaze fixate on the pile of plushies beside his bed.

"Oh, I don't mind," Mike looks at him, and smiles the best smile he can smile. Will visibly relaxes, and smiles back at him, making Mike desperately try to stop the blood rushing to his face.

"Well," Mike says to divert his own attention from Will, and drops his backpack on Will's bed. "What do you wanna do first?"

Will shakes his head a bit, snapping out of it.

"Whatever you want, really," he says coolly, a small smile still on his lips, while walking over to sit on the bed next to Mike's backpack.

Mike almost shoves his face in his backpack, pretending to look for his books but really just covering up his blush.

"Well, I'm here to tutor you, so tell me what do you want me to tutor you," he says, finally pulling out his english notes.

"What do you know the most about, then?" Will asks, teasingly. All Mike can do is let out a quiet squeak, which he smoothly turns into a hum.

"Basically everything." He answers.

"Everything?"

"Yes everything,"

"P.E.?"

Mike makes a sad face at Will, making him laugh. Nice, Wheeler, he congratulates himself.

As Mike is explaining physics to Will, pacing around the room demonstrating with plushies and Will watching him intently, Joyce comes to knock on the door.

"Mike, your sister is here!" She yells from the other side. Mike knows this insinuates that she thinks they're- studying and he flushes.

Will looks at his watch and sighs. "Aw. Already?"

"I mean, it's already dark outside," Mike tries to make him feel better, but Will just gives him a sad look with a fake pout.

"I can come tomorrow too, if you want," Mike says impulsively. He mentally facepalms. Too desperate. But it's just what happens if you're with Will, anyone would do anything for him, drop all their plans just to make him smile for one more day.

"That- Yeah!" Will beams at him. "Yeah, sure. If you want. I don't wanna, like, guilt-trip you-"

"No!" Mike interrupts, almost offended. "I want to," he says, wit ha serious expression on his face. Something changes in Will's expression, and then he smiles softly at him.

"Thank you," he says, and Nancy is already beeping her car's horn, interrupting them.

"Is nine okay?" Mike asks, already half out the door. He wants to see him again as soon as possible. Will nods and blesses him with yet another smile.

Mike rushes to Nancy's car, thanking Joyce for welcoming him quickly, full of adrenaline.

"I have my bike, it's alright," he says to Nancy.

"It's gonna rain," she responds, but Mike is already straddling his bike and cycling away.

As he's cycling like a maniac, his mind keeps renewing every little smile Will gave him, every huff of laugh and every little touch whenever he pointed to something he didn't understand. Every shuffle that made them sit closer, every time Will laid down and rolled on his back, looking up at Mike explaining math. Every sigh, groan and moan, every laugh, giggle and scoff-

And before he knows it, he's already back at his garage. He wants to scream, run a marathon, participate in P.E.- but he also wants tomorrow at nine to come quickly, so he goes to bed.

But before he can scream into his pillow, the phone on his bedside is ringing and he answers it.

Mike?

It's a familiar, sweet voice. Mike catches his breath.

"Hey," he says as smoothly as he can when being out of breath.

Hey! Sorry to bother, but-

"You don't bother!" he says, still semi smooth. There's a quiet laugh at the other side.

Do you mind explaining geography again?

And that's how he pulls an all-nighter, with the best boy in the world.

[kuumara]

Draw me a portrait of you

Will loved drawing, he could draw all the time. But lately he couldn't- last year of high school has a lot going on. He was busy.

But he's caught a cold now somehow. And he isn't complaining, he loves being sick. He doesn't have to do anything, except drink tea and stay in bed. He can draw again, now.

He's zoned out drawing, when he hears a knock on his already open bedroom door. It's Mike, smiling widely at him. Will smiles back.

"I brought you homework," he says and comes to sit on Will's bed. Will groans.

"I did it for you." Mike chuckles.

"What- really?" Will says, takes the papers and they really are all solved. Mike nods, smiles again.

"You didn't have to-"

"Oh! Save it. I was bored, that's all,"

"Who does homework when they're bored?"

"Me! Now what's this?"

Mike reaches out to Will's notebook, laying open but upside-down beside him.

"No, wait-!" Will grabs the book, but since he's sick he's not really strong, and Mike successfully takes it.

There we go, Will thinks. He's gonna think I'm a creep.

But Mike's expression goes from teasing, to shocked, to- angry, Will expects, but then Mike just looks up at Will with those big, adoring eyes and a soft smile.

Will doesn't know what to make of this- so he does nothing, nervously staring at Mike. He's coming closer, now. Leaning onto his arm, glancing at Will's lips- glancing at Will's lips?!

Will can feel his breath now, faintly. They're very close, and perhaps Will is subconsciously leaning towards Mike as well.

Mike's lips part, eyelids becoming heavy, the hand holding the notebook inching towards Will,

"I have to go pee." Will whispers.

Okay, laugh all you want, but he panicked- and blurted a dumb thing. Was he reading this wrong??? Even if Mike wanted to kiss him, what if he's a bad kisser! His mouth probably tastes like cough medicine! He doesn't want to get Mike sick!!

Mike blinks; once, twice, thrice. Coming out of his haze, eyes still glued to Will's lips.

"Huh?"

"I have to go pee." Will repeats, still whispering.

"Oh! Oh," Mike exclaims, un-caging Will with his arms. Finally looking away from his lips.

Will jumps out of bed and almost runs to the bathroom. Almost, he barely keeps himself under control.

In the bathroom he walked some circles, almost slipping on a towel several times. Then, he washed his face thoroughly, intentionally not looking himself in the mirror.

If he looked, he would see the mess Mike turned him into. And he didn't even kiss him. What would happen if Mike did kiss him?? Will cringes at the thought.

There's knocking again, on the bathroom door this time.

"Will, you alright? Are you feeling sick?" It's Mike. Of course it's Mike- he would care about him even if Will had just murdered his whole family. He would say 'I'll pack the bags, we're leaving the country. I heard Malta is nice'

"Yeah," Will replied.

"Can I- Can I come in?" He asked with a soft voice. Fuck Mike, he's gonna melt him. Cause of death, Mike Wheeler.

Like the idiot Will is, he opens the door to a concerned-looking Mike, but as soon as he sees Will he smiles wobbily.

"You- Uh-"

Mike couldn't say what he wanted to say, because Will grabbed his hand and dragged him back to his room, to the bed. He closed the door, not wanting to alarm his dear mother.

"It- the drawing- I'm sorry about it- I just, like, zone out when I draw- y'know- and, like, eighty percent of the time I don't even pay attention to it, I just do whatever- It's okay if you think it's, uh, weird, y'know,"

Will groaned and hid his face into his face. He's just digging himself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah- I like it," Mike quietly said, and Will looked up at him. He was still holding his sketchbook, Mike's own handsome face staring at him.

Will was daydreaming about him- again- and drew Mike. The soft expression is burned in Will's brain forever, especially since he's been blessed with it more and more since Joyce said it's possible they move to Lenora three years ago. Apparently that scared Mike, but thankfully the Byers' didn't move.

Will looked back at Mike, the same pretty expression looking back at him. He was faintly blushing.

"Oh. Alright, then," Will took a deep breath, collecting himself and sitting next to Mike. Keeping some distance, despite his whole being screaming for him. "You can keep it then. If you like it."

Mike giggled. Giggled. "No, you keep it. So you can... look at it every day," and he blushed again.

Will was blushing as well. A lot more than Mike. He nodded.

"But- if you ever make a self-portrait, and you don't wanna keep it, I'd gladly take it," he finished. "So we can match."

Will sucked in a breath, and Mike launched himself at him, both of them falling off Will's bed and to the floor.

Will groaned as Mike fell on top of him, but Mike just smiled into his chest, tightly hugging him. Will didn't complain anymore.

The boy on top of him slowly lifted his head to look Will straight in the eye, smiling nervously. He glanced at Will's lips, once again. Not taking his eyes off them, freezing Will in place.

Will gulped after a few seconds of this, eyes darting across Mike's face, trying to see if he wants what Will wants.

"Can I-"

"Kiss me." Mike whispered.

And Will sure did, all the concerns of getting Mike sick gone, his head instead being filled by the beautiful feeling of every Mike's kiss.