#red envelope ficlets

[meowmeowriley]

Ghoap Actor AU but 'Ghost' is the stage name used by a a mysterious man who takes "faceless" rolls. Rolls that require pounds of makeup, tons of prosthetics, huge armor suits and feats of puppeteering. No one knows what he looks like, or his real name, and he likes it that way.

Sorry, it got kinda long lol, ficlet after the cut.

Johnny is a new face but damn is he winning hearts quickly. He loves fantasy and sci-fy rolls, and for him getting cast as the heart throb muscle-bound hero is as easy as smiling. A smile which sweeps any and all off their feet, straightness be damned.

Working next to The Ghost is as much a dream come true as it is fucking terrifying. His list of rolls is as long as Johnny is tall, the man is a legend.

Said legend stalks into the catering tent in full makeup, extras scattering because the man is honestly pretty intimidating. Ridges and bumps, red skin and horns, all work to completely dehumanize his features and frighten away any potential lunch buddies. After grabbing his food he stalks back out wordlessly.

They hadn't shot any scenes together yet, but the schedule called for the two of them to be working together nearly every hour of the next week, and John was determined to make a good impression. He grabbed his own food and swiped some fancy wrapped chocolates, perhaps to share and make friends, and scampered out after Ghost.

The man was seated alone, at a table under a tree. He'd popped his fake fangs out and sat them on his tray, and was digging into his sandwich. Red hands tipped in wicked red claws expertly avoided spearing and shredding his food.

Johnny plopped down across from him.

"Cannae be comfortable, wearin' all 'o that all day." Best to get the whole 'being Scottish' thing out if the way immediately, he often had to hid his accent for rolls and this was no exception. Opening his mouth and speaking naturally always garnered a huge reaction, generally glee, from his co-stars. Though, if Ghost was surprised by it, he made no comment.

"Been doin' it for years, 'm used to it." John found himself the one surprised, he hadn't expected the man's voice to be so lovely. Nor had he expected the man to be a fuckin' brit. Clearly he'd also been masking his accent. Shame, Hollywood always loved an evil Brit.

Delighted by this new discovery, Johnny launched into introducing himself, gushing about the rolls he'd seen Ghost in and how he'd loved his performances. Ghost didn't respond much, but slitted pupils with gold and red irises never left him, and even through the makeup a small smile played at the corner of his bright red lips.

Ghost didn't participate much, throwing out a hum or a nod, an occasional quip, but Johnny quickly realized the man was simply quiet, as every time he stopped he'd receive a few words, a gentle nudge to keep going. All was well until Johnny finished his meal and started in on his chocolates.

He'd held one out to Ghost, who took it, and wordlessly sat it on his tray, mirth dancing in his eyes, amplified to a mildly animalistic predatory level by his contacts.

Johnny had rolled with it, assuming the man was just happy about the sweet, and popped his own in his mouth. Only to spit it back out immediately after crunching down.

"Ach, that is VILE, the fuck is wrong with this chocolate?" Johnny stuffed his fingers into his mouth, attempting to scrape the bits that had secured themselves in and between his teeth.

A deep rumbling belly laugh enveloped him, the sound coated his body, every last inch of him, and locked it into place. Fingers still stuffed into his mouth and crouched over like a golem, Johnny watched wide eyed as Ghost leaned back, shoulders heaving and a clawed hand over his brow as he laughed uncontrollably at John's plight. "It's not chocolate," the man gasped out, "it's bloody hand soap!"

Johnny groaned and spat out his fingers as well as a few bubbles. He'd grabbed them from beside the hand washing station, but hadn't thought anything of it. Why the fuck were they wrapped all fancy like?!

Ghost stood, and clapped a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I look forward to working with you, Johnny." He sighed between fits of laughter. He grinned and popped his fangs back in. "Keep up, Soap."

Johnny turned and watched Ghost stalk back into the catering tent to return his tray, silicone tail swishing side to side, really lending itself to Ghost's jolly demeanor as he left, still chuckling. Johnny felt his face flush, knew he must be as red as Ghost's makeup, in embarrassment, knowing he was gonna be stuck with a ridiculous nickname, but also from realizing he was still bent over and staring at Ghost's ass. Was his ass really that nice, or were those heels, designed to look like hooves, just working absolute wonders?

Thus began Soap's insane crush on a man he knew nothing about, not even how he looked.

[lsunstreakerl]

1.1k words, two separate courting incidents v.s. Max Emilian Lambiase. @verstappenalty, this one is inspired by you and the Ollie comment on the first ficlet.

The phone rings twice before Charles picks it up out on his jog.

"Max, baby, what's up?"

Max wiggles his fingers in greeting, smile wide on his face as he flips the camera around.

"I get the feeling this wasn't from you."

It's an absolutely massive bouquet of roses, wrapped with a bright red ribbon. There's an incriminating teddy bear right in the middle.

"What the fuck? Who- does it have a name?"

Max laughs, bringing the phone down so Charles can see it better.

"The bear is cute, I was thinking of naming it Pinon. Very clever, from the sender."

Charles' eyes narrow on the phone, and Max gives him a moment to spin his wheels, put it together. He gives him an assist.

"It's a nice courting gift- they must have gotten very good advice."

Charles' eyes blow wide.

"You have got to be fucking- he's COURTING YOU. With ROSES. And he sent them to MY FLAT?"

Max giggles, hoisting up the container.

"I'm bringing them inside, by the way. They're sweet, he's clearly taking your advice."

"When I told him that I didn't think he was going to- no, don't take those inside, take them to the dumpster. Max, Max why are you going back inside? Max-"

------

"Max! Package for you."

Max lifts his head from the pillows, squinting down at the doorway as he hears Gianpiero come up the stairs. He's pretty solidly in the middle of his nest, several years in the making.

GP is holding a midsized brown envelope, but he stops right at the edge of Max's nest, gently tossing it into the middle.

"From Monaco."

Monaco?

Max reaches for it with his good hand- his right is tucked tight into his side, nestled between a hot water bottle and a heating pad. The weather has been bad lately, and he's acutely aware of it.

GP pauses by the doorway, scent rich and concerned.

"Can I get you anything else? You can't have another pill for about an hour, but I can reheat the water?"

Max purrs softly, trying to soothe Gianpiero. He gets freaked out whenever Max is hurting- goes all concerned pack alpha and starts hovering.

He shakes his head. Signing isn't really an option with the way his fingers are stiff, and he's not going to text GP when they're in the same room- that's stupid.

"Let me know if that changes. I'll be downstairs working."

GP steps back out, and Max tears at the corner of the envelope with his teeth, holding it with his left hand. It rips easily, and with the proximity of his face to the package-

He gets a nose full of Charles.

It's so strong and abrupt Max immediately sneezes, wrinkling his nose. It's not a bad smell, Max just hadn't been expecting the equivalent of sticking his face directly into Charles' scent gland.

He's careful not to breathe too deep as he reaches in, pulls out a soft sweater. There's a folded paper note, and a small velvet satchel as well.

The sweater is nice- light green, heavyweight. It's the source of the Charles smell, and Max absolutely does not stick his face into it with a deep inhale.

That would be humiliating.

He folds it into his lap, fingers running over the fabric. It's good quality, and he has a feeling he doesn't want to know the price tag.

He moves to open the satchel, but the paper note has Charles' familiar handwriting on the front:

READ ME FIRST

Whoops.

Max unfolds it, eyes running over the lines, the swooping curves and hooks of his letters.

Max,

I understand that you have not been properly or traditionally courted before, so I hope you'll excuse my breach of etiquette in choosing to explain the steps. It is not my intent to offend or demean- I just want to ensure there is a full understanding from both parties involved.

In this package I have sent a well scented article of clothing for both daily wear or nest construction, should you see fit. I would be honored at the use of either. It is a unique piece, constructed as a custom by a close friend of mine, for the explicit purpose as a courting gift from me to you.

This is my formal First Gift.

There is no expectation or obligation for you to send a gift back. The purpose of a traditional courting is for me to prove my worth to you. If any gift displeases or upsets you, I will make full effort to remedy that.

If you accept my courting initiation, I have also included a piece of jewelry. By wearing that piece, it is an unspoken communication to me that you have accepted my courting, and I can proceed. If you do not want to court, you can simply discard the piece, and I will not bring it up again.

I understand that the traditional Courting Piece is usually somewhat loud and gaudy, but I made an overarching decision to go with something quieter, based off of our friendship and what I think you would prefer. I am confident that it is your preferred outcome, but if you would rather something more classic, please tell me, and I will get it fixed immediately.

If I may be forward, and once again breach etiquette- I would very much like to court you, Max. I think you are strong and beautiful, and I deeply enjoy getting to spend time with you. I would not want you to be the stereotypical traditional omega.

You are unlike anyone else I have ever met. I would be honored at the opportunity to court you.

- Charles

Max runs his fingers gingerly across the surface of the letter, blinking. He's never been courted before. He didn't think it was anything like this.

Charles is practically begging in the letter. It's also the longest and most eloquent message Max has ever heard from him. That he'd gone out of his way to explain to Max what he was doing- and what Max could do in return-

Max deeply appreciates the consideration. Charles is gracefully answering his questions without making Max ask them.

He tugs open the velvet pouch, and a simple necklace tumbles out. It's silver, a thin chain with a small rectangular pendant on the end.

One side of the pendant is flat, but the other-

Etched into the silver is a track layout. It's one Max remembers vividly, because he'd raced on it, once upon a time.

Gotten pushed off the track on it by the very same alpha asking to court him.

It's the Val D'Argenton circuit.

Max shakes his head fondly, thumb running over the etching. He takes a moment to think about it. Really think about it.

Charles is sweet. He's a good person, once Max gets over how annoying he can be sometimes. He's loyal, and he cares, and he's deeply tragic.

Max isn't sure that he's the ideal omega for any alpha, but Charles has known him for a long time. He knew Max before the accident, and he's found him again even now.

Charles has chosen him again.

All Max has to do is wear the necklace.

[hergrandplan]

Hey Nina 💜,

Okay I'm super super late, so I don't know if you still wanna do this, but Wilmon x Call me ?

Hi Sophia 💜 thank you for sending this! And I still love how you said that you're late sending this in while I am answering this only now! I had two ideas for this, and I will still post the other one (i think, albeit on ao3) but this one just called to me more :)))) it's a bit short, but originally this was meant to be a drabble anyways!!! Enjoy 💜

TW: Blood

Send me a prompt from this list and get a ficlet if you want!

It wasn't the incessant knocking that got Simon to finally open the door, nor was it the ruckus outside of someone stumbling over something, probably one of his chairs out front falling down.

No, it was the soft, barely audible through the door "Simon" from a voice that he dreamed of every night. A voice for which he would do anything.

A voice that sounded so broken that Simon bolted to the door, ignoring all his usual safety measures of checking the cameras scattered around the building for any suspicious cars or people lurking the alley.

When he opened the door, Wille looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, his mouth open in what — another plea? A cry for help?

And then, again, his name, but this time as a sigh of relief — "Simon".

Wille almost fell into Simon's arms, stumbling over the treshold and clutching his side, which was already a deep, deep —

fuck.

Red.

Fuck the safety measures. Fuck it all to hell.

He pulled Wille in and slammed the door shut shut behind them. Wille's arms came up around him, squeezing the air out of his Simon's lungs as if Simon was the one who needed to be held up — how Wille still had the strength, Simon had no idea.

The safety and darkness of his small 1-bedroom apartment enveloped them. He couldn't see Wille's face, could only hear his heavy breathing, but for the moment at least he was safe.

And then Wille winced, and Simon didn't need to see his face to know he was biting his lip, probably drawing blood if it wasn't cut already.

"What the hell did you do?"

But Wille didn't answer. He just looked at Simon, and even in the dim light from the street lights outside — the only source of light in the room — he could see a smile wavering on his face despite the tears threatening to spill. Wille opened his mouth as if he was going to say something again, but instead of words he just gasped, his eyes widening.

And then Wille collapsed.

[burningcheese-merchant]

BurningCheese Ficlet for y'all

I'm planning to take a break from AO3 for a little while, because I wrote 4 fics in 4 days and my head hurts. (I don't usually write anything this fast, but when I'm truly inspired, I'm a man on a fucking mission lol)

Here's a relatively short fic for you guys to enjoy while I'm gone. It's wholesome (for once). Hope whoever reads it enjoys it, whether they like this ship or not

Post-canon (technically), Burning Spice is no longer a threat to anyone, he's just an asshole who's down bad

"Hm? Golden Cheese eyed the envelope being handed to her critically. "And this is...?"

"For you," Burning Spice said. "It is a romantic holiday today, is it not? Is this not what couples do for one another in celebration?" "I don't recall us ever being a couple, Mr. Burning Spice," Golden Cheese muttered, crossing her arms and giving him a look. "So I'm not sure what possesses you to want to celebrate a day not meant for either of us." "You possess me, my little thief. That is all the motivation I need." He returned her look of annoyance with a look of cool confidence, giving her a flirtatious smile. "Regardless, why do you shun a heartfelt gift? Are gestures of admiration such as these not what you like to receive from others?"

"They are," Golden Cheese said, "But I can't imagine whatever you've brought to me being 'heartfelt'. In fact, I didn't realize that word even existed within your vocabulary before today." He chuckled at her little jab, much to her own furthered annoyance. "You wound me, pretty bird. Why do you judge me for my appearance? Why don't you read this and see for yourself what I am capable of?" "It's hardly your appearance. I've encountered far more brutish beings than you who turned out to be bigger sweethearts than Pure Vanilla." She sighed. "But... fine, very well. If you went to this trouble, I suppose I can entertain it this once." "Yes... please do, my little thief." His smile grew bigger. "Entertain me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise did nothing to challenge him further and took the envelope into her hands. It was surprisingly fancy; adorned with intricate little patterns that she recognized to be commonplace in Wild Spice artistry. When she opened it, the smell of spice reached her nose, causing her to sneeze. Burning Spice chuckled again, and she shot him a disapproving glare. He gave her a look of endearment, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. He did not speak, but he did not need to; she knew exactly what he meant by that face, for he'd given it to her before, along with the words meant to describe it. You're so adorable when you sneeze.

Not wanting to encourage this sentiment any further, she turned her attention back to the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. A pale reddish-orange, scented with nutmeg and tumeric. The words were written with black ink - in quite good handwriting, much to her surprise. A very quick skim told her it was a poem. She brought her eyes back to the very top and started again, reading it diligently, word for word:

"You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan. You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune. Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You cry, 'I sit behind the veil, I cannot show my face'. Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss? What is this war of thee and me? Give o'er the wanton strife. You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life."

Golden Cheese's mouth hung slightly agape by the time she finished, her face hot and cheeks flushed so red that she was certain it could be seen even all the way back home. "Burning Spice," she began. "I..." "You...?" he asked back, clearly enjoying the look on her face far too much. She stood silent for a moment longer before she collected herself. "It's... this is lovely," she said. "I don't know what to say. I... I truly did not think you were ever capable of something like this." "That's alright, pretty bird. Your eyes say enough." Oh, if only that blasted smile of his would fall away already. It was making her feel even stranger. "You and your people aren't the only ones with silver tongues in your mouths."

She hadn't been insulting the Wild Spices earlier, she had been insulting him - but even so, she had no choice but to admit her folly. "Fair enough," she said. "I was wrong to judge you so harshly. If I may gift you with something in return, it's with me saying that this would fit in among the works of my own kingdom's finest poets." "Would it, now? Such high praise, coming from you," Burning Spice purred. "But I'm afraid I'd rather you gift me with something else." "Oh?" She tilted her head at him. "And what would that be?" He answered her by coming closer, closer, until they stood toe to toe and his face was not so far from hers anymore. "I think you know," he said. He cupped her chin. "Or shall you let a veil divide us any longer?"

At this, Golden Cheese said nothing. She only let him tilt her head up gently, and her eyes flutter shut, as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own. Burning Spice kissed her sweetly, tenderly - so unlike what she expected of him, such a feeling and taste she never thought she'd find within spice like his. He licked at her lips, soft but still forceful enough to be noticed, politely asking for entry - and she obliged him, parting her lips and sighing into their kiss as his tongue slipped into her mouth and caressed her own. She felt a hand touch hers, rough fingers ghost against her skin, and she obliged him again, taking his hand into her own and lacing their fingers together. When they parted, he lingered there for a little while longer, their now half-lidded eyes locked and foreheads touching. The fire that always burned so bright in his eyes was now brought down to a smolder, reminding her more of the warmth of a fireplace than a scorching inferno. She could still feel his breath, taste it: hot and spicy, a shock to her senses. But... it wasn't so bad. It wasn't bad at all, actually. ...But he didn't need to know that. She'd fed his ego enough for one day.

"My little golden thief," he purred. "I thank you. Your gift is as lovely as mine." "...You're welcome," she murmured. "But... don't expect any more like it." "I won't," he said, that familiar sharp-toothed smile creeping back across his face, "Just the same as you expected me to give you something crude and mediocre." Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up in surprise, both at his words and the little jab hidden behind them. She opened her mouth to retort - but he cut her off before she could by kissing her again. Lightning fast, but still hot and rough, stealing the breath from her lungs. When he pulled back, that godforsaken grin came back in full force, stretching from ear to ear. "See?" he asked playfully. She chose not to respond this time, instead only huffing at him. Such audacity need not be dignified in such a manner. (And it wasn't because she had no real rebuttal to give him. Really. Honest.)

He gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go and stepping back again, giving her back her personal space. "Well, then," he said. "I shall give you one last gift by allowing you to enjoy the rest of this day on your own terms." "How kind of you, Burning Spice," Golden Cheese said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Once again, you surprise me with your words and actions." "Golden Cheese..." He turned his back and peeked at her from over his shoulder, his eyes burning bright once again. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." With that said, he turned and began walking away. She watched him leave with her arms crossed, staring daggers at the back of his head as he left. Finally, she was free. No more of his nonsense; she can bask in light and peace again.

And yet, his parting words still rang in her ears. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." Just where did he get this brazenness from? Wherever he cultivated it, she wanted the earth salted and burned. After everything that's happened, after her granting him a goddess's mercy by allowing him to continue existing in her life after all was said and done, and he repays her with this never-ending foolishness? Well, she could commend his stubbornness, if nothing else. But this time was a step too far. This was the first Valentine's Day gift she's ever received from him, and it shall be the last. Next time, she will turn him away without remorse. Won't she?

She turned her eyes back to the paper in her hand. To the beautiful envelope that had housed it. To the poem inscribed on the page, that serenaded her without making a single sound. Golden Cheese, against her own better judgment, brought the poem back closer to her face and read it a second time. When she finished, she tucked it back into the envelope - carefully, so it wouldn't tear. And then she sighed. ...No. No, she won't.

---------------------------------------

The poem here is "Humayun to Zobeida" from the poetry collection "The Golden Threshold" (bet you know why I chose a poem from there lol), all written by Indian poet Sarojini Naidu. Please check it out if/when you can, her works are lovely and you can read them for free online (also a lot of the poems give me BurningCheese feels, especially "To the God of Pain")

Y'all let me know if you enjoyed this, I thought of a sequel and I'll write and post it if you want

[thicctails]

Hidden Saplings | Under The Falls AU

A lil ficlet of Stan discovering the twins after the death of their dad, Sherman Pines. Tw: Minor character death, unintentional child abandonment, vomiting

It was early September when Stanley got the letter.

He'd just gotten done helping Rico with some "friendly negotiations" and had pushed open the door of the run down motel he'd been staying at, intent on jumping into the shower and then passing out for however long his body allowed him to, when he noticed an envelope resting on the dingy carpet.

Ignoring the way his bruised knuckles ached, Stanley scooped the envelope up and squinted at it, trying to make out the writing in the dim evening light. His brows raised when he saw his mother's frilly, flowing handwriting printed on the face of the envelope, and he quickly produced a small knife from his pocket, slicing it open as he made his way over to his bed.

He hadn't spoken to his mother in... God, six, seven months? He always feared that it would be his father who picked up the phone, so although his gambles had paid off so far, he wasn't about to tempt fate. He wondered what was so important that she would go to the effort of writing to him.

Sliding the letter out, Stanley set the knife and envelope aside before rubbing the grit out of his eyes and glancing down at the paper.

"My dearest Stanley,

I'm not entirely sure how to write to you about this, but I know that I must somehow find the words.

Your father and I were visited by the police the other day. They told us that Sherman's home had been broken into by a violent criminal while he and his wife were sleeping."

"I don't know how to-

They're gone, Stanley. Someone found out our secret and murdered them. My little angel is gone because someone wanted to take his scales or have some kind of sick trophy. Thankfully, the magic is still working to trick everyone, so everyone believes that Shermie was just a Halloween enthusiast.

Words cannot describe how I'm feeling, and I'm so sorry that you have to find out this way.

I know you didn't get to know Sherman very well, since he came home so little, but I have a favor to ask of you. The funeral is being delayed while the investigation finishes, but the police are allowing us to visit the house to retrieve some personal items and photos. I'd like you to go to Sherman's house and pick out a few photos for the funeral and send them to me. I know it's far for you, but your father and I have to organize the funeral, and your brother hasn't been answering my calls.

I've put Shermie's address below. I'm so sorry, my little free spirit. I know you probably won't be able to come to the funeral. I know you want to, and that you loved your brother. I miss you, I love you, and again, I'm sorry I had to write to you about this.

-Ma"

Stanley dropped the letter, eyes still locked on the spot where it had been. It felt as though time had stopped, and he wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or pass out.

'Throwing up it is.' he thought numbly as nausea bubbled up in his gut. Stanley shot up and staggered into the bathroom, just barely managing to grip the seat of the toilet as his dinner came rushing back up his throat. Stomach acid and cheap liquor burned like fire as he heaved into the toilet, wincing and hacking.

The contents of the letter jostled around like a jar of shaken hornets, and forming a cohesive thought seem to be as difficult as keeping hold of sand. Once his stomach stopped rejecting everything, Stanley wiped ah his mouth and shakily pushed himself up. Turning, he reached for the shower taps and set them both to full strength. Shucking off his grimy clothes, Stanley all but threw himself into the water as his glamour slipped.

A long, powerful red tail bashed painfully against the filthy shower wall, his tailfin curling to accommodate the lack of space. His earfins lay flat against his head as Stanley slumped down, letting the lukewarm water spray onto him. His gills fluttered, relieved that he was finally allowing them to be out. Carding his claws through his greasy hair, Stanley let the shower water soothe his aching body as he tried to come to terms with what he'd just learned.

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Stanley hadn't expected to find himself standing outside his older brother's house in the early hours of the morning under these circumstances.

Well, to be honest, he hadn't ever pictured himself standing outside Sherman's house at all. The two of them had never been close, and Stanley had only ever seen him a few times throughout his life. Shermie had been in the war, and he'd come back different, more distant and reserved, but even before then he'd never been around much. He and Pa just... never seemed to get along. The last time Stanley had seen him was at at his wedding years ago.

'Well, at least it wasn't just me he didn't like.' Stanley thought, before taking a deep breath and turning the door handle.

Shermie's house was almost picturesque. It was a little townhouse, light yellow in color with white shutters and a matching white picket fence. A garden was growing well in the front yard, and Stanley could see a few little decorative animals sprinkled here and there. It was soft and cutesy; the exact kind of place where no one thought anything bad could ever happen.

Ironically, places like that often ended up being the backdrop of the most horrific crimes possible.

The interior of the house was pleasant enough to look at, but there was a strange air of wrongness that put Stanley on edge. There was something inherently chilling standing in a place that had once held life, and now lay empty.

Brushing off the feeling, Stanley made his way inside, kicking off his boots and setting off down the hall. He looked over the various pictures on the wall; all featuring Shermie and his wife, Sally. Stanley hardly knew her, but she'd seemed like a nice gal when he met her at her and Sherms' wedding, and his brother clearly adored her, what with how he'd looked at her that day like she hung all the stars in the sky.

Seeing their smiling faces laid out before him just made the knife of misery and grief twist deeper. They were a young, happy couple. His brother was a good man, and he'd gotten outta Glass Shard with someone who loved him.

Neither of them had deserved this.

Turning away, he noticed a flight of stairs. Figuring that was a good place to start searching for more photos, Stanley made his way upstairs, peering down the hallway that met him at the top. There were two rooms; a bathroom, decorated with all manor of sea creature paraphernalia, and a bedroom.

Stanley pushed open the bedroom door, stepping onto the room's plush, carpeted floor. The room was as charming as the rest of the house, painted a light cream colour and decorated with lavender purple curtains, a king sized bed with a comforter that matched the curtains, a wooden dresser, and a closet in the corner.

'Guess I'll check the dresser first.' Stanley thought to himself, walking over to it. It looked worn, likely purchased second hand, and sported three drawers. Pulling open the top one, he found a bunch of women's clothes and a few socks. Not wanting to mess with Sally's things, he shut the drawer and moved onto the next one.

This drawer looked like it belonged to Sherman. Stanley gently moved some of his brother's clothes around, but there was nothing else to find. Sighing, Stanley shut the drawer and crouched down to open the final one.

This drawer was far more bare than the other two. There were no clothes inside, only a few small, soft blankets and, perplexingly, baby toys.

Stanley stared at the contents of the dresser drawer, confused. He plucked one of the toys from the drawer, a blue teddy bear, and sniffed at it. He could pick up the mildly familiar scent of Sherman, the chemical-laden scent of vanilla perfume, and...

Stanley sniffed the toy again, not sure if he was really smelling what he thought he was, or if it was just his imagination.

The scent of milk hit his nose, sweet and rich.

Stanley froze, alarms bells suddenly screaming in his head. He stood up as fast as he could, ignoring the swooping rush of dizziness that washed over him, and began to scent the air, praying that his brother was just holding onto the toys for a friend or something.

Now that he was looking for it, however, the milk scent was everywhere. It permeated the air in the same way that Shermie and Sally's scents still did, fading but noticable. There had been a pup here.

Shermie didn't have a pup.

...did he?

Stanley ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly. Sure, Shermie and Pa didn't get along at all, but surely, surely he would have let him know if he had a fucking kid, for Ma's sake at least. Right?

Right?

'You wouldn't.' a quiet, vicious little voice hissed, 'You wouldn't say a damn thing, because that would mean facing Pa again. Who's to say Shermie just didn't want to deal with him yet?'

But if that was true, if Stanley wasn't just finally going crazy from loneliness...

...then where was the pup?

Panic began to build in Stanley's chest. Sherman would have hidden his pup, just in case they had an unexpected visitor, but that meant that no one knew that they were even here. How long had they been alone? How long had they gone without food?

Stanley sniffed at the air once again, trying to track down where the scent was strongest. He prowled around the room and stopped by the closet door. He yanked it open and ripped all the clothes off their hangers, ducking his head inside. It was dark, but that wasn't a problem to Stanley, and after a few moments he spotted something out of place. There was a small dip in the wall, like there was a door or panel.

Stanley reached for it, and his fingers found a handle. He pulled, and the wall opened, revealing a hidden doorway. He waisted no time, stepping into the short hallway and poking his head into the room that waited at the end.

The room was a small nursery. It was painted a pleasant blue color, and the room was illuminated by the gentle glow of a night light. There was a modified baby pool on the ground, the bottom padded with soft foam. The water, likely once pristine, looked muddied with filth.

And in that pool were two tiny, mewling pups.

A pair of twins, shivering and shaking, barely able to open their eyes, curling around each other for comfort. They had curly brown hair, just a few shades lighter than Stanley's own, and were coated in the pale white spots that all young pups had. One had pink scales and purple-pink fins, while the other had blue scales and orangey-red fins.

Stanley's body moved before his mind did. He crossed the room in record time and scooped the pups up into his arms, shaking as he did so. They were so, so light and so tiny, barely weighing anything as he picked them up. The pups twitched at the sudden sensation, chirping and crying loudly when they realized that someone had finally come back to them. They looked pale and washed out, their scales faded and their little bodies far too thin. Stanley wasn't an expert on pups, but his instincts were screaming at him that this was bad.

'Shit.' Stanley blanched as he realized that he wasn't just "not an expert" on pups, he had no idea how to care for them, 'Shit shit shit SHIT.'

Okay, he couldn't afford to breakdown right now, not while he was holding two pups that were probably starving and definitely needed to be cleaned up.

"Fuck. Okay, food first, then a bath, then... God, I don't know." Stanley murmered to himself, quickly leaving the nursery and heading back out into the bedroom. The bright lighting and open layout of the room made Stanley's hackles raise, and he had to fight the urge to find somewhere dark and defensible to hide himself and the two squirming bodies in his arms away.

The pups needed to eat. He could suffer through his instincts going haywire for a bit. He had long since learned to take his fear and shove it wayyyy down deep within himself.

Oh so carefully, Stanley made his way back down stairs and made a beeline for the kitchen. Shifting the twins so that he was holding both pups in one arm, he set about rummaging through the cupboards in search of formula. That was something pups ate, right? He didn't think that they could chew fish or anything like that yet.

God he hoped Sally didn't breastfeed.

'Fucking score.' Stanley mentally cheered as he spotted a can of the coveted formula tucked in behind various cans. He snatched it up and peered at the instructions for a moment before setting to work.

He awkwardly washed his hands, tore up the kitchen looking for bottles, and put all of his focus into not fucking up making the actual bottles. Once they were ready, he warmed them up a bit under the tap, tested the milk temperature, and eased himself onto Sherman's couch as he gave the twins the formula.

The pups all but snatched the bottles from him, their screeching quieting down into hungry growls as they suckled. Now that he wasn't worried that they would drop dead in his arms from starvation, Stanley took a minute to gather himself and actually look at the pups.

They were definitely twins. If you ignored the color of their scales, they looked the same. Close as they were now, Stanley could tell that the blue scaled twin was a little boy, while the pink scaled one was a little girl. Both of them had pudgy pup fat, but there was far less than there should have been.

"Sweet Moses, you poor things." Stanley croaked, nuzzling the pups, "I'm so sorry. I'm probably the worst person you coulda ended up with. God, I hope I haven't screwed things up somehow."

As he pulled back, he noticed something on the boy's forehead. Stanley brushed his brown locs aside and sucked in a breath.

A perfect recreation of the Big Dipper was on the kid's forehead, a striking birthmark that set him apart from his twin.

An anomaly.

"Heh, I guess it isn't just twins that runs in the family." he laughed wetly, "Man, Sixer would love you, kid."

Holy shit, Ford. He needed to call Ford. His twin needed to be caught up on what had happened.

Stanley felt his stomach flip at the thought, and he blew out a long gust of air. He had tried calling his brother a few times over the years, but he'd always been too chicken shit to actually do it.

Now, though, he couldn't afford to hang up again. He was going to have to man up and actually talk to his brother.

"Fuck." he cursed, slamming his head back against the couch. "I really don't wanna do that."

A quiet sound made him raise his head again, and he saw that the pups had finished their bottles and were now gnawing on the rubber nipples. Stanley sighed and got to his feet, gently pulling the bottles away. He didn't want to talk to Ford, but he had to. His twin deserved to know what had happened, and these pups deserved a guardian that wasn't a total fuck up.

But first, he was going to give these kids a bath. Bath first, dealing with deep personal problems later.

[cambion-companion]

First of all, hi! Hope you're having a good day/afternoon/night!

Ok, so, since ficlets requests are open, this is something that has been on my mind for a few days now and it's like Tav/Reader doing horn care to Raphael's horns like polishing them or just appreciating this man's horns because i...i love them (don't know if this makes sense but yeah)

FAM! I have been WANTING to write something like this for so long now, thank you for giving me an excuse hehehe you know how much I love his horns!

Horn Balm a balm for horniness

Raphael x gn!reader

Having a cambion between your thighs was certainly an item never on your bucket list. However, you couldn't complain.

The water, soft and warm as liquid silk, surrounded the both of you. The heat from Raphael's cherry skin soaking nicely into the muscles of your legs as he sat below you, his back turned so you were unable to see his bemused expression.

"Just sit still." You pressed your calves either side of his shoulders and scooted close, thrilling at his proximity. "I had to chase down the merchant for this, especially after describing who it was for."

"Did you now?" Raphael relaxed marginally, leaning back again until you had to maneuver your upper body so as to not get brained by one of his horns. "I do not recall requesting such a delightful service. Horn balm is a far cry from a crown after all., little mouse."

"It's a start." You muttered and squeezed your legs a little vindictively, earning yourself a low chuckle from the cambion. "You could just say thanks." You dipped your fingers into the tin and spread the oily substance between them experimentally.

Raphael's hand rose, dripping water along your leg as he traced a finger lazily up your skin causing you to shiver. "I could, but that would be quite unlike me. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Hmm." You were too busy beginning to tentative work of spreading the balm along the rough edges of his horns. "Stop moving."

Raphael had taken a quick inhale through his nose, the frown evident in his voice now. "What potent smell is that?"

"You're one to speak of potent smells, mister musk."

"I am beyond your reproach, my dear." Raphael moved his head again, causing you to curse as a sharp edge of his horn nicked your thumb.

Hearing your little gasp of pain, Raphael took your wrist and pulled the injured hand over his shoulder to inspect. "A rose would have done greater damage." He kissed the drop of blood off your skin and released you, keeping his head held still this time. "Continue."

"I thought the smell wasn't agreeable." You moved your feet languidly in the warm bathwater, enjoying the teasing banter, returning to your work of massaging the oil into Raphael's horns.

"It isn't. However, your presence here is. For the moment."

That softened you. Your fingers traced every curve and ridge until the slick balm soaked in. His horns proved far more porous than you'd initially thought they'd be.

You had often admired the shape of the cambion's horns, thinking in many ways they resembled a crown. A slight dusting of red pigment covered them, like fine powder left too long upon the otherwise dark surface. Quite like the man himself, his horns were beautiful and alluring yet dangerous to handle as had already been demonstrated.

"Enjoying yourself?" Raphael cut into your silent thought, drawing your attention back to the present.

"It's tolerable." You lied, quite unwilling to tell him the truth of your enjoyment. Though the prickle up your spine intuited he already knew.

Raphael chuckled then reached up to remove your hands from his horns, imperiously signaling for you to be done. "I deem that to be quite enough for the present."

You disentangled yourself and slid into the bathing pool next to him, sighing as the water enveloped you. Raphael conjured a mirror and admired your handiwork for a moment. He raised a brow. "I owe you my thanks." He stretched his arms and wings along the side of the bath, sinking a little lower. "You're so eager to please me. I normally do not allow such gestures of...service." His head tilted a little as those familiar hellfire eyes scanned you. "However, you inspire indulgence in unprecedented ways."

[reids-gf]

"please do this for me" with lestappen, mayhaps? <3

sorry i took so long anon, let's blame exam season pls. have this spicy lestappen ficlet <3 i apologize if my french is bad.

Max hesitates to answer Charles’ request, tapping the thighs that straddle him. He drops his head back against the pillows with a groan.

“Just this once,” Charles insists, one of his hands holds Max’s jaw to tilt his head up again, thumb brushing his lower lip. His gaze is so intense that Max wants to look away again. 

“No, Charles, I’m not putting that on,” His nails drag against Charles’ tender skin, but unfortunately, it doesn’t distract him from a certain objective he’s been chasing all night. 

“Why not?” His thumb slides past Max lips before he can answer, his other hand sliding over his bare chest, purposefully neglecting his nipples on the way down, until it rests on his belly. “I am always doing nice things for you, very nice things.” 

Max hates to admit that he does give Max everything he wants. So he doesn’t, and gently bites down. Charles hisses and pulls his finger out of his mouth, pats his cheek twice with a frown. Max just smirks up at him.

“You are not being very nice, Max.” He sits back, landing on Max’s thighs with a sigh. Max really enjoys teasing Charles, it only brings him good things. 

He shrugs, Charles pouts. 

Charles grinds his hips forward, once. His hands hold Max’s waist now, thumbs rubbing circles as he looks down at Max with a plea in his eyes. He almost gives in.

He leans forward to mouth at Max’s jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses as he makes his way up to his earlobe. His warm breath against the sensitive skin there makes a shiver run down his spine, his hands squeeze Charles’ thighs when he speaks.

“Please, Maxy, do this for me,” His voice sweet like honey dripping down on his body, enveloping him in warmth and smoothness. Before he realizes, he’s nodding his agreement.

The sound that comes out of Charles is very close to a squeal, he sits back and scrambles off the bed in a blink of an eye, it almost gives Max whiplash. He takes a deep breath, trying to process what he just agreed to.

Less than a minute ticks by before Charles is back in bed, his hands hold the dreaded bright red shirt that makes him squirm just at the sight. He purses his lips and scrunches his nose but still helps Charles onto his lap. 

As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough, Charles insists on helping him dress up, maneuvering his arms to slip the piece of clothing on. It clings to his chest, his pecs defining against the material. Charles thinks it fits perfectly, and tells him so.

“Oh, chéri.” He takes in the sight of him, eyes and hands raking up and down his chest, it makes Max squirm under him. “Tu es si bon pour moi.” (Oh, darling. You’re so good for me.”)

“Charles,” His cheeks probably match the Ferrari red of the shirt, Rosso Corsa, Charles would correct; at the whimper that slips past his lips. 

Charles launches forward to catch his lips with the hunger of a starving man, his tongue prying Max’s mouth open the moment he kisses back. The kiss swallows all the embarrassing noises that surge from his throat. 

Slender fingers slip under the tight shirt, sliding up to Max’s chest until his fingers flicker one of his nipples. Max hums in Charles mouth, biting his lip when Charles sits back. 

“You look so hot, parfait.” (Perfect.) 

Max whines again, hands come up to hide his flushed face but Charles is quicker, grabbing his wrists and pressing a kiss to his hand. He’s pretty sure he’ll pass out before Charles even gets inside him. 

[aphroditeinthestars]

(Don't mind this little ficlet. It sucks, but I wanted to get my little thought out.)

"Noel, sweetheart, I love you, but you have to do something with these flowers." Noel's mother's voice boomed from the kitchen.

He groaned, "I know, I know!"

Mischa, a mere house guest, trailed behind Noel like a tail. On the counter was a vase of roses from the boy Noel had been chating up for the past few weeks. The flowers from the Spencer's employees had seen their better days- beginning to droop, surrounded in a pool of fallen petals.

Mischa's eyes followed tentatively as Noel pulled a small kitchen knife from a drawer, and gracefully began to behead the flowers. Mischa's eyes widened. Why would he do such a thing? What had the flowers ever done to him?

Noel gently placed the flowers on the counter, tossing the stems in the trash. Mischa watched as he ran off, coming back with a notebook. He opened to an empty page, beginning to carefully palce each rose on the page.

"What are you doing?" He finally dared to ask, his face painted with confusion at the boy's actions.

Noel giggled, tucking a non-existent tuft of hair behind his ear, "Oh, you'll see." He told him, blaming the book shut, and pacing into the living room. He placed the notebook under a stack of old books- a couple of yearbooks, a Bible, a prestine looking cook book. Mischa still didn't understand.

"Come with me." Noel ordered, and Mischa followed him to his room. Noel pulled a old shoe box from under his bed, pulling out a couple of papers and tossing them gently onto his deep red bed spread. "In a couple of weeks, they'll look like this."

Mischa observed the papers that appeared to have beautifully detailed flowers on them. Only upon taking a closer did Mischa realize that they were flowers.

"I've been pressing flowers with my mom since I was little." Noel told him.

It was the most incredible thing Mischa had ever seen

On his way home, Mischa stopped by a flower shop. He picked out a couple sunflowers and some little white ones. He didn't know what they were called, and he didn't care- he just thought they were pretty.

He arrived to his adopter's house, placing the flowers between the pages of an old Ukrainian novel he'd thrifted. Talia had insisted he read it. He then placed a few weights he had lying around.

Talia peeled open a large minimal envelope. When Mischa had asked for her address, she was confused and quiet nervous. She handt expected to pull out an aged book page with vibrant sunflowers framed by the specks of baby's breath like little stars. She grinned, noting to herself to buy a picture frame when she'd go out with her friends that weekend.

[wifetomanyfictionalmen]

“Wait me?”

Ray Stantz X reader ficlet

Warnings; none just toof rotting floof

————————

You had an extensive education. Psychology, science (physics, biology and chemistry) aswell as some more ‘niche’ studies including neuroscience and parapsychology. You had quite a deep understanding of the paranormal and occult, seeing it as nothing but a hobby, but when the Ghostbusters come around you realize you could actually make use of your PhDs and knowledge.

You stood infront of the tall and rundown building looking back at the paper. Yup this was the place, old Fire station. You peeked in before stepping in and going over to the reception desk. A dark red haired female looked up at you and she gave you a confused look before you explained why you were there

“I’m here about a job..I believe I can be of assistance to the Ghostbusters, I have proof of my PhDs and exam results..”

She hummed and turned around yelling for someone a man, no taller than you, pelted out of his office and vaulted over the border between the back room and reception. You recognized him as Peter Venkman. You’d never met him personally but you’d heard from students he’d had.

“Well hello, how can I help?” Peter gave you that signature smile and you rose a brow, how did women actually fall for him..shaking your head gently you held out the envelope containing all your certificates

“I’d like a job” your voice was surprisingly firm despite how shaky you felt. Peter looked it over and hummed impressed before smiling holding a hand out toward you. “Welcome to the Ghostbusters, follow me and Dr Stantz can get you all situated” you nodded and followed him as they reached some sort of garage. A pretty beaten up car was sat with the bonnet up and it looked as if someone was working on it, a small radio blasted out rock music, Peter turned the radio off.

“Ray! We have a new recruit walk them through the proton packs and stuff will you” he walked off before the poor man could answer. You gave him an awkward smile and wave. Ray wiped his hands and held it out, which you shook with a smile.

“Ray Stantz, I’ll try to explain the whole proton pack thing but we haven’t even had a test run of them yet” he rubbed the back of his neck. You chuckled and smiled gently waving it off “It’s fine Dr Stantz honestly, I’m just happy Dr Venkman took me on..”

He smiled gently “please call me Ray” he led you to the storage room where the suits and packs were kept. He explained it briefly, it peaked your interested quite a bit and you took in every word he said. You’d always been the same, attentive, friendly and hardworking.

It didn’t take long for you and your fellow ghostbusters to actually gain popularity, after the hotel everything seemed to be smooth sailing. Most of your time was spent in the lab with Egon and Ray, or in the garage with Ray. Venkman usually left you two alone in the garage teasing he didn’t want to interrupt two lovers bonding. You found it funny that he’d say that, considering you’d had a massive crush on Rag since day one, and little did you know that Ray felt the same.

Time seemed to fly by, you, Ray and Egons researched revealed more about Dana’s apartment and you and Ray spent even more time than you had previously. You had to confess but you were so scared. And she panicked when she was called and found out Ray and the others had been jailed. She rushed to the police station and told them you were also a Ghostbuster and if they were jailed you should be to.

Admittedly Ray found that downright attractive that you’d put yourself up there proudly claiming you were a Ghostbuster. Shortly after you were called in to the Mayors office. You stayed silent while the madman that had turned the grid off ranged (Egon had filled you in) and you hummed “Hold on. If what you’re saying is correct then it’s your fault, you turned off the grid releasing all the spirits and ghouls onto New York. And not to mention you blatantly ignored Dr Venkman”

The other four looked at you surprised and you turned to the Mayor “Now id listened to my colleagues before the whole of New York is destroyed and plunged into darkness” you stepped back and stood beside Ray his eyes never leaving you. God his heart was pounding even faster for you. Once the Mayor finally agreed offered a lending hand all five of them set off in the Ecto 1.

Fighting Gozer wasn’t easy, nor was it fun. Venkman taunting said cursed spirit. After Ray accidentally summoned a huge Stay Puft you stood beside him and fought bravely. With Stay Puft defeated and the gate closed you stood up with a groan covered in Mallow fluff. You were hugged by an equally covered Rays and you both laughed. After the two entrapped by the Keymaster and Gatekeeper you and the others headed down. You were holding Rays hand and he looked at you as people cheered.

What happened next you didn’t expect to happen at all, Ray tilted your hand up and kissed you gently. Your eyes widened before you melted into the kiss as everyone cheered, you swore you heard Venkman yell at Egon about owing him.

[sunshine-knight]

[[Just a little ficlet about the letter:]]

Bailey sat on the bed, cross-legged. The flowers, dried-out and dead, were sitting in a ceramic mixing bowl. She'd snapped the stems to make them fit, and privately she'd admit that felt kind of nice.

The letter sat on the tangled sheets in front of her. It was unmistakable who it was from and who it was meant for -- Chickadee was written across the front of the envelope, in Carina's familiar looping scrawl. She'd found it shoved under the door of her apartment the morning after Carina's break-in at the museum. The morning after Carina's confession. The morning after Bailey's panicked rejection.

Bailey flopped to the side, dragging the letter towards her. It smelled like black cherry and leather, the way Carina did. Bailey closed her eyes, letting the scent draw her back through the last few weeks. Clinging to the back of Carina's bike, holding her tight, her face pressed into Carina's neck and shoulder. Carina's arm around Bailey's shoulders, drawing her close, her other hand cupping Bailey's jaw to bring her in for a kiss. Carina's lips ghosting over her ear and down her neck --

Stop that. Bailey shoved the letter away, an ache blooming in her chest all over again. She lied to you, Bailey. The whole damn thing was a con. She wanted the stupid treadmill, and you were her way in. That's all. She didn't mean a word of it -- how could she? You hadn't even known her a month.

Bailey rolled over, facing the wall. She couldn't keep her mind from turning back to their last conversations.

Carina's voice had been near-frantic on the phone, all but begging her to meet somewhere. She'd said she wanted to apologize, explained about the phone -- one Bailey now realized had been dropped in the aquarium tanks, not the bathroom sink -- and Bailey had all but jumped out the window and run to find her.

They'd crashed into one another outside the restaurant, both babbling nonsensical apologies, talking over one another. Bailey had given up on words and just grabbed the lapels of Carina's jacket, yanking her down for a kiss.

Carina had melted into it, all but going limp in Bailey's arms, before finally surfacing for air.

And then it all went wrong.

"I need to tell you, Chickadee -- I love you. God, I love you."

And Bailey had said the stupidest three words she'd ever spoken: "...No you don't." Because it was unthinkable, wasn't it? That something like Love -- the real kind, capital-L, the kind that burns cities and starts wars and razes kingdoms and brings people back from the dead -- that something like that could happen in less than a month?

Wasn't it unthinkable that it could happen to her?

Bailey dragged her pillow over her head, unable to keep the scene from continuing to play out behind her eyes. The way she could see Carina's heart shatter, written all over her face. The quiet, almost-broken "...what?" Carina had breathed, disbelieving.

She's a damn good actress, I'll give her that. Bailey let the argument play on fast-forward, a blue of shouting and wild gestures, both of them stomping away in tears. Even knowing what I do now... I can almost believe she meant it.

She'd sped to the Flash Museum as fast as she could, as soon as she'd gotten the ping on her phone. She'd known then. She'd known, but she'd wanted so badly to be wrong.

But sure enough, she'd seen Carina, standing over the treadmill. The one Bailey wasn't allowed to touch, after the recent mischief with Starry. A white cropped jacket over a red bodysuit, a quiver of arrows at her hip and a red bow across her back. Knee-high boots, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, a heart-ring choker around her neck -- she'd almost looked like a completely different woman. The red-and-white domino mask she wore had done nothing though, absolutely nothing, to hide her face. The sharp jaw and aquiline nose Bailey had so recently traced her fingertips over, the long-lashed eyes so deep and dark and easy to get lost in, the snakebite piercing Bailey could still feel -- Bailey couldn't keep denying it.

"...'Rina." The name had left her mouth unbidden, full of hurt and heartbreak.

Carina's expression was shock, before settling into realization and quiet acceptance. "...Hey, Chickadee."

The fight was short. Neither of them really had their hearts in it. Bailey had taken the bag and left it on the reception desk. Carina had escaped out the window, away into the night.

Bailey still wasn't sure why she hadn't chased her.

She sat up again, lifting the envelope to the overhead light. Didn't seem like there was anything inside but a folded-up piece of paper.

Bailey sighed, opening the envelope. There was only one way to find out what was in it.

Chickadee,

I meant every word of it. It started as a con, yeah. My client wanted some stuff from that treadmill -- hell if I know why or what for. I just got a description of the parts and a profile he had in you. He said you were my best way in , and he was paying enough I didn't question why he had a target in mind already.

But the more I got to know you, the more I saw all the things he didn't have in there -- the way your eyes light up and your voice rises and catches when you get excited about something, the way you hum while you cook and do dishes, the way your hand fits in mine, the little squeak you make every time I kick the bike forward a bit too hard, that adorable little crinkle you get between your eyebrows and the way your nose scrunches up when you get annoyed -- I fell in love. I really did.

I took those extra jobs because I didn't want to do this one. Not anymore. Because I wanted to get things squared and go straight -- well, for certain definitions. The monster-fish alone would have been enough of a payout for both of us to retire on, go live in a little cottage on the east coast. Get a dog or two. But when you said what you did... I don't know. I was angry. It seemed hopeless. Why not do it, if you didn't love me?

Stupidest thing I ever did.

I don't expect you to believe me. I don't know what to say or do to make you believe me. Hell, you probably won't even read this. I don't know why I bothered to write it.

Guess I just... Thought you should know.

Always Still stupidly yours,

Carina

"...Liar." Bailey shoved the letter back into the envelope. A snap of her lighter had the corner flaming. She tilted it, watching the flames crawl across the paper, before dropping it into the dead flowers. She moved the bowl to the empty windowsill, letting the smoke waft out into the city.

"I hate the ocean and I'm not a dog person." Bailey glared out at the sky, talking to the air like Carina could hear her. "If you'd taken the time to to get to know me, you'd have known that."

[lavendarniko]

Vash the Stampede x Short! Reader

A/N: Sorry y’all for the extra long hiatus. I hit a creative block, a lot had happened in my life, and I seem to shut down in the winter- like my brain is hibernating. So to get myself back in I decided to add more to this little ficlet I sent to @anyasathenaeum (an amazing author c: ) Also requests are open (please I’m running out of ideas)

You shiver in the cold of the desert night, your coat having been shot to shreds in one of Vash’s rare moments of having a plan. You hug yourself as you walk beside Vash. Look at him in his warm coat and pleasant smile. You huff a little, kicking at the sand as you shiver once again. Once more you glare at Vash, look at him so warm and comfy in his coat. He could have totally used his coat, but no it just had to be yours. You find yourself crossing your arms to protect yourself from the chilly night.

“Do… you want my coat?”, Vash smirks, the amusement so clear in his voice.

Hmph! You turn your nose up at the man being impossibly bratty. You start to take a step ahead of him, only for you to be enveloped in red and warmth. You find yourself instinctively putting it on. It engulfs you completely, the red jacket sleeves ending well past your fingertips and pools around your feet. You look up at Vash for the first time that day since he got your jacket shot to rags.

“(Y/N)”, he laughs, “I- I think it’s too big for you”

“You think so?”, you deadpan back, having to roll up the sleeve. “You fucking mammoth”

“Are you gonna need any help?”

“No.” You huff as you start walking, only for you to immediately trip over the front of the coat. Vash grabs the back, accidentally choking you in the process.

Vash flashes an amused smile, “I think for the safety of my jacket, I should pick you up”

“Wait a minute!” You start, only for Vash to pick you up anyways, sitting you on his shoulders.

“There you go! All safe and warm”, he grins.

You give an annoyed groan, burying your face in his hair. “It’s not my fault you’re a giant! Who put you in the stretch machine, Laffy Taffy man?”

He just laughs back, patting your leg as he continues to carry you. You can’t really be mad or argue with him. He’s right, you are warm now, and you are safe with him at the moment. You bury your face in his coat, it smells floral and spicy like roses and cloves. You close your eyes, relaxing into the sway of his steps, the warmth of his jacket, sounds of the night. You start to doze off and before falling asleep, you just hear him chuckle.

[lorefulevil]

an absolute joke of a ficlet for @treebarkweek day 4: infernal/divine

"Oh," said Ren. He looked sideways at False, edging behind her sword-arm. "That's not Gargalac."

False frowned. "Are you sure?"

The fire crackled. Inside the flaming circle, the smoke had writhed into a vaguely humanoid shape with arms and legs and glowing cinder-eyes, but none of the extra accoutrements—like fangs and claws—that demons liked to sport. "Why," roared the shape, "have you awakened me from my slumber?"

"Yeah," said Ren. "This one doesn't look dangerous."

"True," said False. She sheathed her sword.

"How dare you," boomed the smoke-figure. Belatedly, it sprouted horns and an attempt at wings. They looked kind of like craft paper cutouts. "I am the great imp Gargamel, and I am very deadly."

"Yeah, sorry, wrong number," said False. "He wanted Gargalac, his classmate from demon school."

"Oh, him." The figure rolled its bright red eyes. It grew a triangle-tipped tail, and lashed that in disgust. "That pathetic excuse for a demon. Failed all his soul-stealing exams, didn't he? Owes me money too."

"I hear he's doing mouthwash commercials now," Ren supplied.

The figure wheezed a laugh that sent plumes of dark mist billowing across the room. "What did you want him for? Anything he can do, I can do better."

"He needed a date for demon prom," said False, before Ren could respond. "Right, Ren?"

"I," Ren began. "I mean, yeah, but—"

The glowing eyes lit up brighter than ever. "I'd be flattered," proclaimed the imp. "Say no more!"

It reached out one smoky tendril, seized Ren's hand, and yanked him into the burning circle. Enveloped in heat and flame, Ren saw clearly the shape of a man with floppy blond hair and the most diabolical grin he'd ever seen. A lot better-looking than Gargalac, for sure. He couldn't help but smile back, even though—"Uh, Falsie? I don't have bus money for prom."

"I'll hire a chariot," False said, already backing out of the room. "Have fun!"

[lupeloto]

"say it again" ficlet

i got an anon message about how ian is a "say it again" after mickey says i love you type of person and i agree! unfortunately, for some reason whenever i respond to a message a draft it, it goes away so shoutout to that person and if youre reading this, let me know! anyways here's ian try and failing miserably at making pizza and mickey giving him shit for it

..........................................................................................

A tattered red dish towel, littered with cigarette burns and mystery stains, rests on Ian’s shoulder as he focuses intently on intricately laying the pepperonis across the dough. The kitchen is in shambles, shredded mozzarella and yeast painting the counter tops. A warmth accompanies the scene, reminding him of the early mornings and later nights spent with his siblings and one too many pools of pancake batter littering the counter. He follows suit with splattered pizza sauce splattered across his shirt and face, blending with the pattern of freckles decorating his pale skin.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” Mickey enters with a box of Old Styles and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Ian meets Mickey’s gaze like a deer in headlights. “What’re you doin?” Mickey takes in the state of the kitchen.

“Well,” Ian whips the towel off his shoulder, “I figured we could try somethin’ new. We always have fucking pizza rolls so I thought i’d try to actually make the real thing.” 

“Aint that what take-outs for?” Mickey picks up items on the counter to inspect, “The fuck is yeast?” He examines the yellow packet with uncertainty. 

Ian leans against the counter with a sigh, “It’s not really working out.”

Mickey catches sight of the defeat in those soft green eyes and immediately starts damage control. “Nah, man. It looks good, I’m starvin’” he smells the air and attempts not to gag. How the hell did he screw up pizza so bad? 

“Fuck off," he stifles a laugh.

Mickey cuts him off, “Ay,” he grabs the tattered towel, “Ya missed a spot.” He manages to find the one spot not covered in red sauce and mozzarella cheese, rubbing lightly across Ian’s now flushed-pink cheeks to scrub off the remainder of tonight’s dinner. Ian’s face scrunches slightly at the contact. 

“Cmon, let’s get this shit cooked I’m fuckin starvin,” Mickey turns towards the counter.

Ian lingers for a moment, staring at Mickey with full knowledge that his concoction smells like shit and almost certainly tastes like it too. He leans close to Mickey’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mickey grins, "Now come on." He takes Ian’s face in one hand, the other on his waist, as their lips lock and everything else disappears for just a moment.

Ian’s arm is resting on the counter, his triceps sharp and prominent and staring directly at Mickey, tempting him. He looks down, yanking Mickey closer by the waist, his hands enveloping it entirely, “Say it again.” He wears a smug grin.

“Don't push it, Gallagher.”

"Cmon, just need to make sure I heard you right," he tilts his head amorously.

"Oh, s'that right?" Mickey leans in, a small chuckles escaping his lips, "I fucking love you." Ian beams as Mickey dips his hand in a puddle of the sauce that resides on the counter, smearing it across Ian's face with a grin.

As the shock subsides, Ian hesitates for a moment before grabbing Mickey’s face and smashing their lips together. Mickey surrenders to the kiss, the sauce now coating his mouth and dripping down his chin. 

They both pull back, licking their lips with a sour expression.

“You make this?” 

“Yeah,” Ian says with the same bitter expression, hesitating momentarily, “Pizza rolls?”

“Fuck yeah.”

The two spend the remainder of the night sprawled across the couch, Ian’s legs resting in Mickey’s lap as they drift to sleep, two platters of pizza rolls and a full six-pack into the night. Mickey suggests that they give pizza sauce a go, giving a rest to the chocolate sauce and whipped cream that typically coats their bodies... and occasionally their sheets. He questions a few times how Ian could possibly mess up pizza so badly. Ian responds with a middle finger and a "fuck off" every time. The two eventually drift to sleep, Mickey now laying beside Ian, practically drooling on his bare chest, hands intertwined as the glare from the TV illuminates their faces in the nightfall.

[late-to-the-party-81]

When Peter parker's famous boyfriend tony stark returns from a two weeks mission or business trip, he decides to treat him. smut please. Buttom power! peter riding tony

What a boy wants

AN: Well here’s a smutty little ficlet for you. I’ve decided this is set in my 'A place on earth' universe, because why not? As always, aged up Peter Parker.

Not beta’d, so sorry for any rogue commas.

Master list | Series Master list

Summary: If you’d asked Tony yesterday which one of them was ‘in charge’ he would have said it was him, but at this moment he was starting to reconsider that assumption. Peter was fully at the wheel this time and Tony was definitely only along for the ride, something he was getting more comfortable with second by second.

Relationship: Peter Parker x Tony Stark.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: Explicit Sexual Content, implied use of sex toys, anal sex, cock riding, power bottom!Peter, Nipple clamps, Cream Pie, Clothing disparity.

“Tony!”

Tony had barely stepped out of his suit before the slim, but muscular body of his boyfriend barrelled into him.

“I missed you,” Peter mumbled into his chest.

Tony wrapped his arms around Peter’s frame and rested his cheek on the top of Peter’s dark curls. “Missed you too, baby boy.”

Peter tilted his head and Tony raised his own so he could look down at his angel. “Not as much as I missed you,” came the emphatic reply. Peter’s eyes were deep pools of raw emotion and Tony was so hypnotised by them it took him a moment to realise two things. One, Peter was steering him backwards, a fact that he was only really aware of when the back of his legs hit the couch and he tumbled down onto it. Two, Peter was wearing his short silk robe and only that.

Tony landed on the couch with a soft oomph and immediately Peter was climbing up onto him, straddling his thighs and using his nimble fingers to work at Tony’s fly with a determination bordering on obsessive.

“Hey, baby. Slow down. What’s the rush?” He tried to sit up, but halted when Peter looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Anthony Edward Stark. You’ve been gone for two whole weeks. Since we got together the longest I’ve gone without you filling me up is forty-eight hours.” Peter glanced down as he freed Tony’s cock and licked his lower lip. “I ache for you Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyes rolled back as Peter let out the honorific and he started to pump Tony’s cock which didn’t seem to have an issue with getting with the programme, despite the fact that a part of his brain thought Peter was a little shit for pulling out the big guns to get his way.

However, Tony would admit that the way that Peter was so unashamedly going after what he wanted was doing something to him. If you’d asked him yesterday which one of them was ‘in charge’ he would have said it was him, but at this moment he was starting to reconsider that assumption. Peter was fully at the wheel this time and Tony was definitely only along for the ride, something he was getting more comfortable with second by second.

Having brought Tony to full hardness at record speed, Peter let him go and threw off his robe. He was, as Tony had thought, naked underneath, except for a pair of gold and red clamps joined by a chain, which made his small nipples puff up as they squeezed them. Tony couldn’t help but skim his palms up Peter’s sides and then rub his thumbs over the two stiff peaks, watching his lover shudder with sensation, before he stared down at Peter’s straining and dripping cock.

“Petey,” he sighed, full of lust, love and amazement for his boy. Peter leant forward and pressed his lips to Tony’s and Tony lost himself in the sweetness of the kiss, not even registering that Peter had taken hold of his cock again until he felt it being enveloped by a warm wet heat. He jerked in surprise and opened his eyes as Peter groaned and fully seated himself, his eyes still closed.

“Holy shit, Peter. Are you okay?” Tony felt panic and then confusion rise within him. They hadn’t done any prep and there wasn’t any lube in this room, but Peter didn’t feel dry and overly tight - quite the opposite - and Peter wasn’t crying out in pain either. In fact he looked entirely blissed out.

Peter smiled and gently rocked atop Tony’s cock.. “So okay, Mr Stark. Friday told me when you set off for home, so I opened myself up and got myself ready. I’ve been slowly fucking myself with that dildo you bought me for the last thirty minutes. Made my little boy-pussy all wet and slippery, so I could take you in straight away. Almost came so many times, but I’ve been saving it. I needed to feel you inside me.”

Peter lifted himself up and started to fuck himself, and all Tony could do was look up in awe, desperately trying to burn each erotic movement onto his retinas. Peter was resplendent -so self-assured - as he just took his pleasure from Tony’s body. He let out little sighs and moans as he moved up and down and stirred his hips.

“Feels so good, Mr Stark. Love the way you fill me up.”

“Fuck, baby. Where did this dirty mouth come from?” Tony asked, still not fully believing that his sweet boy was being so commanding.

“Been dreaming about you ‘n’ decided I wanted to be selfish when you got back. Just want you to lie there and let me have this. You can take it can’t you, Mr Stark? Just let me ride you and ride you until I want to come?”

All Tony could let out was a garbled moan before he bit his lip, tightening his hands on Peter’s hips as he willed his orgasm to build slower. He wanted to make Peter happy. He always tried to let his boy finish first, but this time it felt even more important that he succeed. He thought that closing his eyes again might help, so he wouldn’t be able to see the erotic  juxtaposition of a naked Peter wantonly riding his own clothed body, but it just made everything worse. All his other sensations were suddenly amplified. Peter’s breathy sighs and the salacious, wet, slapping sound of him taking Tony over and over filled his ears. The exquisite push, pull and squeeze on his cock was the only thing he could feel. It was getting too much.

“Peter,” he whined. “Please. I’m so close.” 

“I’m almost there too, Mr Stark,” Peter replied between pants. “Pull on the chain.”

Tony fluttered his eyes open again, trying to focus on the delicate gold links swaying between Peter’s small but defined pecs. He reached out, snagging the chain between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, and gave it a cautious tug. Peter let out a deep moan and his body clenched down, making Tony choke back a cough.

“Again,” Peter commanded. “Harder. And when I come I want you to fuck up into me as hard as you can.”

Tony nodded dumbly and then pulled on the chain again, slowly drawing it back towards him and watching how Peter’s nipples lengthened, until his concentration was broken by Peter’s loud shout and the feeling of Peter’s channel starting to spasm as his orgasm took hold. With Peter’s cum splashing all over his shirt, Tony let go of the chain so he could grip Peter’s hips firmly, plant his feet, and start to thrust up. 

Tony started to come almost immediately. He felt the way his balls drew up and the way his cock swelled inside the tight clutch of Peter’s body. His own cry of pleasure mingled with Peter’s as he rode out a wave that felt never-ending, pouring himself inside of his lover. 

Peter collapsed over him, and Tony shifted his hands so he could stroke Peter’s hair with one hand and his back with the other.

“Damn, Petey,” he gasped out. “That was… Wow!”

Peter lifted his head and opened one eye, looking up at Tony. “You liked?”

Tony dropped a kiss onto Peter’s smooth, unwrinkled forehead. “I loved,” he confirmed.

“Does that mean I can be bossy more often,” Peter asked with a smile.

“Baby boy, you can be as bossy as you like, as often as you like, if that's what comes from it. But for now, I’m gonna lay down the law and say that we need to go and have a shower. I also need to burn this shirt - I don’t think it’s salvageable.”

Peter giggled, his voice bell-like. “It’s a good job you can afford to buy more, because I have a feeling a few others might get ruined.”

“Bring it on, baby. Bring it on.”

Tag list: @doasyoudesireandlive, @endlesstwanted, @marvelstarker-mha98, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989

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[typicalopposite]

BECZ!! happy friday luv!

so ficlet friday prompt for ya: Salted popcorn for bucktommy

and well 2 can play the i want 2 game so how about

Hot chocolate with cream & marshmallows for firstprince

luv ya 💚💚💚💚💚

i'll take either really i couldn't decide so put them both lolz

*in Rafiki’s voice* It is done!

Melz! It got away from me! But for you!! I present:

Alex brushes the new fallen snow off the steps of the brownstone and sits down. The snow cuts through his gloves reaching the skin and freezing his hands. The wind chill has his nose frozen and red; it will be running soon. Snowflakes land in his lap, in his curls poking out from his toboggan, on his lashes. He brushes them all away.

He should probably go on inside; Henry wouldn’t mind. But there is something so homey, and domestic, and free in the way Henry stops to chat with their neighbor. Alex can’t help but to stay and stare. Every few minutes Henry looks from the neighbor to Alex and smiles, and Alex can’t believe this is really the life he gets to live.

The neighbor is going on and on about something, and Henry is listening with that intense look he gets when he is super focused; and David is doing laps around Henry’s legs. If he’s not careful, he’s going to topple over 101 Dalmation’s style on their poor neighbor. “Love,” he eventually says. “Would you mind–”

“I got him,” Alex laughs. He pushes off the steps and walks towards where Henry and David are standing with their neighbor on the sidewalk.

The neighbor is busy writing something on the ripped off flap of an envelope when Alex reaches them. “There you go!” She says with a bright smile. “You are going to love it! It’ll warm you both right up!” Then she is telling them goodbye and returning to her own brownstone.

Inside Alex unhooks David – who flees to his warm bed to curl up in it – and goes to turn the fireplace on. Henry parted from him in the hall and went instead to the kitchen; Alex hears cabinets opening and closing, and things being put down on the counter. He wonders what recipe the neighbor has given his boyfriend this time.

Once his nose is thawed, and he has regained feeling in his fingers, he makes his way to the kitchen. Leaning against the wall he watches Henry stir something in a saucepan. Two of their large mugs are waiting on the counter; Henry divides what he was stirring into each. He tops them with marshmallows and some cream, adding a sprinkle of cocoa powder to the top (because he’s fancy). “There you are,” he says, handing Alex the cup of hot cocoa.

“Well it smells amazing,” Alex laughs, holding the mug up under his nose and breathing in the rich smell of chocolate. Henry’s eyes are wide and impatient; waiting for Alex to take the first sip. He obliges, swallowing a big sip of the cocoa down, turning his eyes up like he’s trying to decipher the taste. “Mmm… yeah,” he finally says. “Tastes amazing, too.”

Henry sighs. “You are such a menace…” he mumbles and tries it for himself. He smiles at the mug, seemingly satisfied, then leans in to kiss off the remnants of cream from Alex’s lips.

– – –

Tommy definitely hears Evan sigh at Henry and Alex’s kiss… he doesn't say anything, though. Instead he just tightens his arm around Evan’s shoulder, pulling him in more against his body. Tommy loves a good romcom so when Evan asks him to watch the Red White and Royal Blue sequel he’s been talking about all year, he obliges. They started their date night by watching the first one, taking a break after so Evan could go on a little tirade about the movie. (It’s become one of his favorites, he says he’s hyperfixating.) Then they fell back into their spots (practically connected from head to feet — on Evan’s bed to start the second.

Evan suddenly shoots up, grabbing the remote and taking the movie back a few scenes; he pauses the TV, leaning in towards the screen. “What are you doing?” Tommy laughs.

“Trying to make out the ingredients for the recipe she gives him,” Evan says, squinting at the screen (Evan swears to himself it’s only blurry because the recipe is not in focus; Tommy takes the opportunity to tease him that he’s getting old, too). “I bet I have everything… I could make us some!”

“You want hot chocolate?” Evan shrugs, nods. “With salty popcorn?” Tommy shakes their almost empty popcorn bowl; he gets another shrug, another nod. “In the middle of summer?!”

“It’s kind of cold in here,” Evan argues, but just in case he also gives Tommy his pitiful pleading puppy dog eyes. He is not ashamed to admit using them to get his way, every now and then. Tommy sighs deep, and rolls his own eyes.

“Fine,” he groans, then smiles— his ‘you’re lucky you’re adorable’ without saying it. Evan’s face lights up and he jumps up from the bed — grabbing the popcorn bowl with the promise of refilling it for the remainder of the movie— to go dig through his cabinets in search of the ingredients from the recipe.

“Aha,” Tommy hears from downstairs. A “There you are,” and “Found it,” follows, and he can imagine the mess being made in Evan’s hunt.

“Need help?” Tommy calls down to him.

“Nope! Found everything! Be back up in a minute!” Tommy can hear the smile in Evan’s voice and, yeah, that’s worth drinking a hot winter drink on one maybe one of the hottest days of the year so far.

In no time Evan comes bouncing back up the stairs— carefully because he is balancing the bowl of fresh popcorn between the two mugs and his chest. Tommy takes the bowl, before there’s a mess upstairs as well, and one of the mugs. It’s topped with marshmallows and cream just like in the movie, and Tommy takes a sip.

Evan is bouncing on his heels next to him, looking down at him with those same puppy dog eyes, waiting on Tommy’s verdict. “It’s delicious,” he says. “Sweet—” he picks up a few pieces of popcorn and tosses them into his mouth. “And salty… just like you.”

“Hey! When am I ever salty,” Evan pouts.

“I mean you did main your best friend… out of jealousy.”

“Hey— whatever,” Evan rolls his eyes and restarts the movie. He tastes the cocoa for himself and hums, satisfied, sinking down onto the bed, snuggling back up to Tommy’s side. “Told you I could make it!”

“I never doubted you,” Tommy laughs, picking up a handful of popcorn and throwing it at Evan, before leaning in to kiss the remnants of cream off his lips.

There ya go! 💕💕 Hope you like it 😁

[artmolonara]

Rendezvous - A short LTWW ficlet

Sweating, heart pumping, they ran, their compatriots close behind, the suspect in question ahead.

The Detective felt like they should be used to this by now, but Waldo really liked to make them work for it.

And it always seemed like he was just a step ahead, always just a glimpse of him, rounding the next corner. He wasn't even running, yet somehow he was always further and further away.

Deep into a winding alley, from backstreets and deserted roads, they pursued.

Finally, through a door, Waldo stepped, given them a backward glance.

The Detective turned to his backup, instructing them to go around the building to cut Waldo off while they followed him directly.

Dutifully, they obeyed the order.

With resolve, the Detective entered the derelict door.

An abandoned office building, old equipment and papers scattered, all that stark white of corporate cleanliness covered in dust. The red of the sweater stood out like a beacon.

Waldo walked, they followed, till at last, a dead end was reached.

Out of habit, they raised their weapon, the familiar order for surrender given.

Waldo's back was to them, slowly turning to show a smirk upon his face.

"Caught me, Detective..."

They had done this all before.

Briskly, the Detective approached, barrel still pointed, producing the handcuffs from their pocket, tossing them over with the order to put them on.

Waldo caught them, a sly smirk, "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" He spun the metal rings around on his finger, to which the Detective maintained the stern expression, unwavering.

Intent to play along, Waldo clicked the cuffs on each wrist, given them a little tug. "Happy now?"

The Detective reached forward to grab the chain link, pressing the tip of the gun to Waldo's heart as they pulled him in, eyes glaring into Waldo's as they commanded, lowly, for him to come with them quietly.

Waldo's face, a breath away, softened into a mock plead, "Oh, please, Detective, I don't want to go to jail."

He leaned in closer, pressing his chest into the iron, fingertips caressing the knuckles that held the chain, whispering out a lidded sigh, "Isn't there anything I can do?..."

A smolder more, then the mask slipped.

The pair dropped all pretense and collided in a heated embrace. The Detective was fast, but Waldo was faster, as he looped the chain around the back of the Detective's neck, pulling them deeper into the kiss.

Perfectly slotted together, the bodies fit like puzzle pieces, tired of having been apart for so long.

Course, there was a reason.

In the spare moments of air, the Detective voiced their worry, that they couldn't keep meeting like this, the risk of it.

Kissing a line to the shell of their ear, Waldo hushed, "That's part of the fun," a tongue traced out a shiver, "I know you like it."

There was a ticking clock, they knew.

The Detective reminded him, asking when they could see him again.

A familiar coded red letter was produced.

The envelope was slotted into the Detective's clenched fingers.

"The coordinates are on there," soft lips brushed their's in a whisper, "Don't keep me waiting..."

Suddenly, Waldo's eyes went distance.

The Detective paused, they could hear it too.

With a sudden snap, Waldo broke the metal chain of the hand cuffs with a simple pull.

Stunned by the strength, the Detective wasn't prepared for Waldo's lunge knocking them to the ground. A heavy shoe pressed to their chest, the end of the cane at their throat.

Confusion was only there a moment, as the aforementioned backup came upon the fabricated scene, orders barking in their direction.

The cane tip traced sensually up the underside of their chin, eyes meeting a final time, "Be seeing you, Detective."

With a push of the heel, the Detective went sliding at the officers, distracting enough for him to vanish in a crackle of electric blue.

One went to the spot Waldo had disappeared, the other helped them to their feet.

That was too close. Their heart pounded in their chest, full of adrenaline.

Mixed with the anxiety was exhilaration.

Waldo was right, of course.

They pocketed the envelope, a message only they would be able to translate.

And given what they suspected it said, that would be for the best.

~ FIN TBC? ~

So ok, writing through my stress, rent is due and I don't have enough, so I'm putting this out as insensitive. If you guys help me make my rent, I'll make a sequel to this fic that is super spicy, as well as the "Scratch My Back" fic as well. I'm already half way to my goal, I just need a little bit more please!

You also commission me to do writing, fanart, and sculpture on my Ko-Fi. I got a ko-fi Shop. If you like my writing and want to help me keep doing it, please donate, any bit will help.

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