#thank u beloved for the prompt

[gardenofnoah]

I present you a peridot and underneath is shinso's name on a slip of paper

u clever little witch. how did u know this was the perfect pairing. i adore u

peridot— “i didn’t know someone else’s joy could make me feel so happy.” (shinsou)

.

"what are you looking at?"

your voice snaps him out of his reverie—he blinks and there you are, watching him with mild bemusement.

"you," he reaches forward to poke your cheek, making you huff, "keep talking."

you grin at him and he feels it bodily—warmth spreads in his chest like you've plunged him into boiling water, but it doesn't hurt. he feels a smile of his own stretch across his face as your voice calls to him through the water in his ears. he wants to lean into it—he decides not to refrain, not to cut off this simple pleasure at the tap—and you don't bat an eye when he tucks you under his arm and presses a kiss to your temple.

"but yeah, it was good. like, really, really good. i've never had a meal like that," you let out a wistful sigh, like you're remembering a profoundly sweet memory from childhood—not the lunch you had with a coworker.

"oh!" you jump up from his hold, patting the couch cushions wildly until you find your phone, "we saw ducks! i took a picture because i wanted to show you the babies!"

you shove the phone in his face and sure enough—a mother duck and her gaggle of ducklings paddle around a murky pond on your screen. he watches for a few seconds before his eyes drift up to meet yours. he finds he can't look away, then, because you are beaming, nearly vibrating with some strange delight that he's not privy to.

but god, does he want to be.

his hand wraps around yours and guides the phone back down to the cushion. you cock your head at him, raising an eyebrow.

"you don't like the babies?"

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "i do—thank you for showing me, baby."

he pulls you back into his lap, enamored by the giggle you let out.

"you're awfully touchy today," you tease him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. he hums, tilting his head to kiss the curve of your jaw softly.

"that so?" he mumbles noncommittally against your skin, nuzzling into you like a lazy cat, "just missed you."

"you missed me, Hi?" he can hear the affection in your words and he settles deeper into the crook of your neck—nearly desperate to press closer to the rumble of your voice, "you missed my endless stories?"

hiding his face, he feels bold enough to say the thought that's been bouncing around in his head since you bounded through the door, eager to tell him every detail of your day like you always do.

"i did," he says quietly, arms tightening around your middle, "it makes me happy when you have good days."

you hum, a content little sound, and turn to rest your cheek against his head. your fingers find the purple strands at the base of his neck with practiced ease, and he's not sure he's ever felt like this in his life.

difficult to name at first and seldom felt so freely before you, he recognizes the feeling in his chest as one of joy, unbridled and emboldened in him by your own infectious laugh and animated recount of every tiny detail you gift to him. he knows it now as something of safety—there's no goal to reach and no competition to win in order to feel this. the satisfaction is as innate as breathing. you give it to him so willingly that you've led him to believe he might actually deserve to feel it, if not only for the fact that he is alive and human and sharing the moment with you.

your chest expands against his own with your next breath and he wishes he could climb inside your ribs and live there—surrounded by you and your warmth. but he'd miss the press of your fingertips to the curve of his neck and your wild, fluttering pulse against his lips, and he can't think of a thing he'd give that up for.

his arms tighten around you until you squeak and he presses his smile to your shoulder, nearly delirious with how good it all is.

"i almost forgot to tell you about the dog in the stroller!"

he can't wait to hear about it.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: can i pretty please request a drabble where gen has a sibling and that said sibling and hoshina are dating? even better if gen's sibling is an officer/troop leader in the first division and partakes in the rivalry between the third and first division but outside of everyone's view— gen's sibling and hoshina are terribly lovey dovey!

warnings: reader wears short shorts in a scene

wc: 1200

This was not something that started today. Rather, it had been this way for as long as anyone could remember.

From the moment you had joined the 1st Division, you had always been bickering with Hoshina— just like your brother. It was plain as day you were none other than the younger sibling of Narumi Gen. Although you lacked the power and passion for fame that Gen had, you weren't any less competitive than him.

However, unlike your brother, you were better at neutralizing smaller size Kaiju than him— naturally making you more competitive with Hoshina. While you were incredible at what you did, you seemed to fall just a step behind of Hoshina most of the time. You were insanely good, but Hoshina was just a little better. You had beaten him just once in the neutralization test of smaller sized kaiju, and you just couldn't seem to do it again.

This was well known among most of the first and third division, and they did enjoy your playful banter that arose even in the toughest of times. It wasn't always easy to keep the mood bright when things got difficult, but the two of you would never fail to do so. They hoped this would never change and your rivalry would never fade.

However, there were things that had changed that no one really knew of. The two of you had started dating a year ago, and you were madly in love. It was your little secret. Well, your little secret that Gen accidentally found out about.

Neither of you had told Gen about this and quite frankly, the two of you were planning to keep hiding this from him if it were possible. It wasn't new that he despised Hoshina quite a bit, and he was extremely weary of the people you meet, especially men. Naturally, to find out that Hoshina was your boyfriend wouldn't exactly be celebratory news for him. Not to mention that Gen was loud when he had complaints. You knew he absolutely would not shut up about it. So it really wasn't the plan when he had found out.

You were in your room lazing around in a baggy shirt, specifically Hoshina’s shirt, which covered your short-shorts while Hoshina was in your kitchen cooking something quick. Until you got a shared place, this happened rather often. It was either him in your room or yourself in his room. However, a lot of your stuff had found a place in his unit and vice versa, so it was very easy for you to visit each other whenever. A little too easy, perhaps.

“Hoshina, you don't have to make anything fancy,” you said. “Anything’s fine. You had a long day too.”

“I'm literally making us ochazuke. It couldn't be easier—” he was starting to say when the door swung open.

“Guess who's here!” Gen had yelled while walking into your place.

Immediately you looked back at Hoshina in the kitchen and gave up. “Oh gosh,” you said.

“What did I say about ringing the doorbell?!” you yelled back at him.

“And what did I say about locking the door?!” he exclaimed back.

“I thought I did—” you started to yell, but then you remembered you had forgotten to lock the door after Hoshina came in, hands full of groceries to stuff your empty fridge. You were a little too thrilled to see him. “My bad.”

You knew Hoshina was going to scold you later— he's been telling you to be more careful about locking up properly.

Gen saw the extra pair of shoes by your doorway and immediately met eyes with Hoshina in your kitchen.

“Why the hell are you here?!” he yelled.

“Oh, can you please be quiet,” you said. “He's visiting.”

“Why, hello! That would be me!” Hoshina said, greeting Gen properly now that it's come down to this.

“Why is he visiting you, in your room, alone, with you dressed like that?” Gen continued to ask. He wasn't understanding nor did it seem like he wanted to.

You let out a sigh, you didn't mean to, but there was no getting around this one. “What's wrong with having my boyfriend in my room,” you said.

“Your boyfriend? Hoshina?” Gen said, horrified. He didn't think matters could get worse, yet here he was. “Why him?”

“Oh, why not him?” you asked. “He's the best I could ever wish for.”

Hoshina didn’t expect that— especially not to your brother, just like that. His eyes widened as his heart tightened. Oh, how he absolutely adored you. You said it so naturally, as if merely stating a fact. To you, that really was all it was though.

Gen had a lot more to say and complain about while staying far too long, long enough to steal some ochazuke for dinner (which he also managed to complain about) before you were finally able to kick him out. Yet, through all of that, Hoshina couldn't be happier to be with you, bickering away as you ate a 5 minute meal at a small make-shift dining table.

As soon as Gen finally left, you spread your arms out in front of you, asking for a hug, which Hoshina promptly returned.

“He's finally gone…” you said, relieved it was finally just the two of you.

“Not sure he liked me much,” Hoshina said with a smile and you rolled your eyes.

“Like we didn't already know,” you said. “I really didn't plan for him to barge in like that.”

“I have to admit, I do enjoy watching you two bicker though. My brother and I are not nearly as close,” Hoshina said and you rolled your eyes again when he said ‘close’. You wouldn't ever explain your relationship as ‘close’. “However, you ought to make a habit of locking your door. What if that wasn't your brother and I wasn't here.”

“Yes,” you said, quietly but clearly— but avoiding eye contact. “I will.”

“Thank you for saying that earlier,” he said, turning your head to face his. “To this day I don't know what made you choose me.”

You immediately realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, please,” you said. “Be serious. I am the luckiest person alive by your side.”

He kissed you and you kissed back, but he truly wouldn't let you go. You started hitting his arm, hoping he would let go so you could catch your breath. After what felt like the longest moments ever he finally let you pull back, letting you breathe.

“Soushirou, I can't breathe!” you said, trying to sound irritated, but your tone lacked the edge you were hoping for.

He completely ignored you, however, and pulled you back into a tight embrace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“In this small place?” you said, laughing a little.

“Absolutely wherever,” he said. “As long as you're here with me.”

[mintjeru]

pov you're at the airport to see your bias and he smiles directly at you?? and his bodyguard is kinda cute too?? thank you @/dendrosummer for your donation to @hkvthm-action!! (this gotcha is accepting donations until august 9! your support is appreciated 🍉)

open for better quality | do not repost

[stealingyourbones]

Short DPXDC Prompts #443

Danny moves to Gotham and chooses to do his best to help all wayward children that come across his path.

He keeps seeing another ghost on his visits near the Narrows, a very small boy in a ratty and torn up Robin costume...

[astrobei]

hey :) so i was wondering if you could incorporate 3, 12 and 50 into a single one shot ? bc that would be Amazing but if you don't want you you can just pick whichever haha

challenge accepted !! this was super fun to write thank you !! :^)

3, 12, and 50 for touch prompts: hiding face in neck + pushing a strand of hair behind their ear + putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

If you’d asked Mike, a few years ago, how he thought he’d end up dying, he’d have a few different guesses. Clawed to death by monsters, maybe, was up at the top of his list for a while there. Shot to death by government agents also made the top five more than once, which was kind of worrying. And it was probably very concerning that getting stomped on, impaled, or eaten by an alien supermonster hivemind was on there at all.

Suffice it to say that he didn’t die in any of those ways, since Mike is currently, in the present moment, alive. But probably not for long. He’s seen some shit, and he hasn’t even graduated college, and maybe it’s a little bit pathetic that after all of that– the monsters and the Russians and the end of the world– that this is how he really dies: backed up against the wall at some completely questionable house party, being flirted with by Will Byers.

At least, that’s what Mike thinks is going on here. If he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t have all that much experience in the flirting department, considering that the one person he’d ever dated hadn’t done much flirting and the one person he had maybe wanted to flirt with hadn’t–

Well, it doesn’t matter. Said person is doing it now, and for all of Mike’s past reminiscence and speculation on the topic, he didn’t think it would be happening like this.

“You look nice tonight,” Will is saying, barely audible over the low thrum of music in the background. They’re not even somewhere particularly loud– the hallway is a blessed reprieve from the chaos of whatever is happening in the living room, but Will’s voice has dropped into something low and intentional. He smiles. “You should wear more green.”

Oh, god. Mike is going to die.

“Uh. Really?” he says, in what’s definitely not a squeak. It comes out assured and confident and–

Oh, who is he kidding? Will’s smile grows, surely delighted at the unfortunate crack in Mike’s voice. He leans in a bit closer, and it’s barely a few inches, but he might as well have just pushed Mike up against the wall and–

“Yeah,” Will whispers, so soft that Mike has to lean in another inch to hear him. He reaches a hand out and runs a thumb along the hem of Mike’s sweater, the side of his wrist brushing softly against Mike’s collarbone. Mike’s heart stops dead, still and unmoving and seized up, right there in his chest cavity. “It’s definitely your color.”

“Oh,” Mike breathes, and yeah.

So Will might be flirting with him, is the bottom line here, and the issue isn’t so much that it’s unwelcome– the opposite, in fact. Mike feels a little bit like if he weren’t caged in by Will’s arm on one side of his chest and the adjacent wall on the other, then his soul might be just flying right out of his body altogether. It feels like maybe it’s already halfway there, because Will’s gaze is steady, eyes sparkling with amusement even in the dim light of the hallway, and wow, are his hands shaking?

For his own sake, he hopes not. 

And the issue isn’t that it’s unwelcome, but more so that in all his years of existence and all the crazy shit he’s seen, somehow, being flirted with by Will Byers was lower on the list of things Mike thought might happen to him someday than interdimensional portals or his telekinetically gifted ex-girlfriend.

“You look nice too,” Mike gets out, in a surprisingly even voice. Will does look nice, so this isn’t a difficult sentiment to portray by any means. He’s swapped out one of his usual sweaters, big and worn comfortably around the edges and all down the seams, for something a little more fitted. It’s a soft cream color, and Mike doesn’t know where Will got this, because he’s been shopping at the same stores the entire time since they moved here for school and none of them carry clothes like this. Mature, a little grown up, and really, really attractive.

Will lets out a small, pleased noise. “Yeah?”

“How many drinks have you had?” Mike peers suspiciously down at him, because it’s not like Will is an idiot, per se, or super uptight about these sorts of things, but he’s not usually this– this bold. If Mike is going to be blunt about it, Will has never been this bold before and maybe it’s about time, but that doesn’t mean Mike is any more ready for it.

Not that he’s complaining. Oh, god.

“One,” Will grins. “Why? How many have you had?”

Christ. Mike swallows, and says, “Like, half. It was nasty so I just– um. Left it there. Heads up, by the way, don’t drink the jungle juice.”

“Noted,” Will laughs. It does something to Mike’s stomach, watching the way his shoulders relax, like he’s comfortable and at ease here, standing in front of Mike all up close and personal in a dark corner of a dark hallway with– oh, god– no one around.

“Yeah,” Mike says, kind of lamely, and notices belatedly that his gaze has settled somewhere around the general vicinity of Will’s mouth sometime in the last forty seconds or so. Maybe longer, if he’s being totally honest, but who’s counting, right?

(Mike. Mike is counting.)

“So anyway,” Will continues, without missing a beat. “You look really good in green. I don’t know why you never wear colors.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Mike insists, even though it kind of is, because it’s a lot harder to accidentally look like an idiot if all of your clothes match by default. “I don’t know, I just– I don’t have a reason to?”

“Okay, well,” Will starts, and then he moves forward until their chests are almost flush against each other, and Mike is seriously, seriously backed into a corner, even more than he was before. Both metaphorically and extremely literally. “It looks nice with your hair,” Will murmurs, and reaches a hand up to tug lightly at a strand falling loose around Mike’s face.

Will smells really nice, actually, like the good cologne he wears on special occasions, and Mike doesn’t know why he dressed up so nice to go to a party where you have to scoop your drinks out of a bowl with a red plastic cup, but hey. Again, he’s not complaining.

“My– my hair?” Mike asks faintly, because it’s just his hair, and he hasn’t ever given it much thought before now, because it’s only hair. Black and just long enough to land on this side of inconvenient, but suddenly Will has one hand in it and it’s not just hair anymore, but maybe the best thing to ever happen to him.

Will nods. He looks a little pink, which is quite possibly the most endearing thing Mike has ever seen, and it’s also more of a confidence booster than it probably should be, that Will hasn’t turned into a total smooth-talking Casanova out of literally nowhere. That maybe he’s losing his shit just as much as Mike is right now.

“Yeah,” Will says, and yeah, his voice catches just a little bit on the single syllable, and Mike bites back a pleased smile. “It looks really good with your hair,” he says again, then tucks the loose strand carefully behind Mike’s ear. “So that’s one reason.”

“I hardly think that’s good enough reason to redo my entire wardrobe,” Mike says, egged on just a little bit by the way Will is definitely turning more pink by the second.

“It brings out your eyes too,” Will murmurs, looking steadily up at him. It’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking– half his face is drowned out in shadow and the proximity is rendering Mike kind of useless altogether– but Mike thinks maybe he has a guess.

He blinks. “My eyes?”

“Mhm.” Will strokes the pad of one thumb over the skin there, just over his cheekbone. Mike instantly forgets how to breathe. Christ. “They’re pretty.”

“I– are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Stone-cold sober,” Will assures him. “Why? Who’s asking?”

Me, Mike thinks, me, me, me. What he says is, “Um. Someone.”

Will raises an eyebrow, but he keeps his hand right where it is– resting on Mike’s cheek, thumb under his eye, and oh, god. Mike is going to die. 

“Someone?”

“You don’t know him?” Mike tries.

“Shame,” Will says noncommittally, and it sounds like he might be on the verge of laughing again. He steps back, the vacuum-seal proximity between their bodies vanishing in an instant as the air of the room rushes in all at once– stifling, stuffy, a little warm and sweaty and immediately, it’s like the noise in the place has been cranked up to ten.

Was it this loud in here all along?

Mike is going to scream. He’s going to die, right here in the hallway, and then he’s going to scream some more. “Where are you going?” he asks, and it comes out a bit petulant and a bit needy and way, way too thrown off-guard for his liking, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The lingering warmth of Will’s palm against his cheek is something he’s already missing like it’s a physical thing.

“Who’s asking?” Will says again, and dear god, if Mike had known before what it would have been like to be flirted with Will Byers, he would have, like, grabbed a couple witnesses and signed off an early copy of his last will and testament, bequeathed his meager belongings to whomever they may concern, then laid himself down to die in peace.

“Me,” Mike blurts out this time, taking a step forward from the wall and grabbing Will’s wrist. “I’m asking because I think you shouldn’t go and you should just stay here with me and– and flirt with me some more, because, um. That was nice, and I liked that, even if I thought I was going to die for a minute there, and if you go then– um. You can’t flirt with me anymore?”

Will smiles for real this time, wide and shocked and pleased. “Yeah?” And it’s a little shy when he says it, like maybe he didn’t actually expect this to go anywhere, like he didn’t expect Mike to grow a fucking pair and stop melting into the floor long enough to reciprocate.

“Yeah,” Mike whispers, and he’s just started to pull Will back towards him, Will already stumbling a little with the motion, when he hears a voice from around the doorframe they’re currently maybe ten feet away from.

“Mike? Will?”

“Shit,” Will mutters, eyes wide. “What the hell is Max doing here? I thought she was upstairs.”

Mike opens his mouth to answer when a second voice responds, “I swear I saw them go through here,” and it might be Dustin and it might be Lucas but all that’s really important is that whoever it is is close, and Mike doesn’t know if he has the cardiac strength in him to go through all of this again later, and all of his brainpower is currently being used to not pass out on the spot, and–

Lucky for him, Will has his shit marginally more together. “Here,” he’s saying, then there are fingers wrapping around Mike’s forearm and before he can fully process what’s happening, he’s being dragged in the opposite direction. Will throws open a door, then shoves Mike inside.

Mike wrinkles his nose. “It smells like feet in here,” he says, and he can’t see Will’s face because it’s pitch black in– wherever they are– but he’s willing to bet real money that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Coat closet,” Will says simply, “now shut up.”

Okay, yeah, makes sense. There’s something heavy and soft brushing up against Mike’s side, and he takes a couple steps backwards until he can feel the wall behind him. God, okay. This is fine. This is fine. This is–

“You know,” Mike says, as if this will distract him from his unnecessarily sweaty palms, “you didn’t have to ambush–”

Quick as lightning, Will claps a hand over Mike’s mouth. “If you want to kiss me,” Will hisses, and, okay, he’s pressed up against Mike again, which is fine, it’s great, actually– “I’m going to need you to shut up.”

The footsteps come closer. Mike holds his breath. He thinks maybe Will is too because he can’t hear him breathe, and he’s gone tense and still where he’s pressed up against Mike. A voice that’s definitely Dustin’s is grumbling, “Man, if I find them and the taco place down the street is already closed, I’m going to kill him.”

Mike bites back a laugh. The taco place closed twenty minutes ago, which he knows, because he’d been on his way to find Dustin when he’d– when he’d run into Will in the hallway.

Oh, god.

“Are they gone?” Will whispers, as if his hand is not currently over Mike’s mouth. He clears his throat like hello, and Will drops his hand. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you,” Mike says hoarsely, and Will’s hand pauses somewhere between his collarbone and sternum.

“Well,” he hears Will say, still entirely invisible in the dark save for a few dots of faint light coming in through the slats in the door. “You don’t have to kiss me. If you don’t want to.”

For the first time all evening, Will sounds a little hesitant. No, Mike thinks. He can’t have that. He shakes his head, even though Will can’t see him. “Let’s not be too hasty here, okay, I didn’t say that.”

A pause. “Yeah?” Will says, a little shy, almost. “You want to kiss me?”

Screw it. 

“I do,” Mike says, as earnestly as he can find in himself to muster up, and he hears Will breathe in sharply somewhere in front of him. “I really, really want to–”

To Will’s credit, kissing in the dark probably wouldn’t work out for anybody. Mike is a few inches taller and the angle is a bit off, and it’s pretty impressive, if he’s being honest, that Will’s mouth lands mostly on his. Which should also not be rendering Mike as totally speechless as it is– being kissed on the corner of his lips in an awkward, clumsily endearing sort of way– but Will has always surprised him. “Shit,” Will says, pulling back slightly, “sorry, I was trying to guess where you were, and I–”

“It’s cool,” Mike hears himself say, and he didn’t mean to say it, but it seems that his brain has sort of kicked itself into autopilot mode, because he’s reaching out before he can really think about what he’s doing. His hand brushes Will’s shoulder, and he moves it up against the side of his neck, and says, hesitating, “Here– let’s try this.”

“Okay,” Will says softly, not even a whisper with how quiet it comes out. Mike drags a hand into Will’s hair, brings the other one to cup his cheek, and slowly, slowly moves forward.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Mike murmurs, tracing a thumb over the curve of Will’s lower lip, grounding himself. “Um. Just so you know that I’m, like, coming in.”

“Okay,” Will says again, and then Mike kisses him.

It’s instantly better this time– so much better, Mike thinks, immediately going lightheaded with the sensation of it. It’s like every other sense is dialed up to eleven in the dark– Will’s hair soft against his hand, the scent of his cologne, the faint taste of orange soda on his lips. The soft, startled noise Will makes in the back of his throat, cut off like it escaped him before he could stop himself, and that thought is enough to make Mike’s stomach swoop in a dizzying sort of way, that Will really wanted to kiss him so badly that he just couldn’t help himself, that maybe he thought about it in all the same ways Mike had. That maybe he came up with a hundred and one ways it might happen and maybe this was a possibility, in Will’s mind– a coat closet in the dark, barely one drink in.

“I can’t see you,” Will says, pulling back so that their lips are just barely brushing against each other. He’s got his hands on either side of Mike’s neck, like he’s anchoring himself lest he drift away entirely in the dark.

Mike lowers his hands, pulls Will in by the waist– the solid planes of his back, the soft fabric of this sweater, this goddamn sweater– and says, “You’re the one that kissed me in the dark, you idiot.”

Will makes a small noise of affront. “You’re the one that asked me to,” he says, a little smugly, which technically isn’t the most true statement, but Mike supposes that he had kind of set himself up to be kissed, so maybe he should let this one slide. And then Will runs a thumb along to his chin, tilts his face down, slowly, slowly, and kisses him again– and Mike can’t remember what exactly it was he was protesting.

Maybe Will had been onto something, because Mike is pretty chuffed about not being able to actually see the person he’s kissing, especially when that person is Will, who Mike spent a disproportionate amount of time wanting to look at even before this whole thing went down, but this is pretty nice for now, he thinks, as Will presses him a little more firmly into the wall. And that’s also nice, because Mike thinks he might be dying, and the solid parallel weights of the wall behind him and Will in front of him might be the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.

“Okay,” Mike says, pulling back, which is nowhere close to his top ten most intelligent moments of all time. Or even twenty, maybe. “You–”

The rest of the sentence gets lost to the sands of time, because the door is flying open so fast that Will flinches, and Mike tightens his grip around his waist on instinct. “What–”

“Oh,” Max Mayfield is saying, arms crossed. “This is where you two disappeared to.”

Mike closes his eyes, and prays to whichever higher power might be listening for a rapid, painless death.

Nothing happens. Figures.

“Come on, man,” he hears Dustin say, “we were looking for you guys!”

“We know,” Mike says, and then immediately wants to sink through the floor and disappear at the way his voice cracks, just a little. It’s barely noticeable, really, but his friends are like sharks in blood-infested waters. Lucas’ smug grin grows so wide that Mike considers just leaning over and smacking it off his face.

“Oh,” he says, far too gleefully for Mike’s liking, “so is this what you meant by I’m going to go look for Dustin, Mike?”

“Didn’t realize I took up residence near Will’s tonsils,” Dustin grumbles.

Will groans, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “Never talk about my tonsils again,” he mumbles against Mike’s collarbone, but he’s smiling. Mike can tell, even if he can’t see him.

“Not even if they’re inflamed?”

Will doesn’t pull away, just shakes his head and tightens his arms where they’re wrapped around Mike’s neck. Despite himself, despite the way his face feels about a million degrees warm right now, Mike smiles. “No,” Will says simply. “All of you go away.”

“Yeah, I bet you want us to,” Max says, “but I’m serious. We gotta go. Someone just threw up on the couch and it’s nasty in there.”

Mike wrinkles his nose. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Mission accomplished,” Max says, and wiggles her car keys in the air. “I’m leaving in five, with or without you.”

“I don’t want to stay here with the puke sofa,” Mike admits, pulling away with no small amount of reluctance. “So we should probably–”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Now come on. I want to be able to see you when I kiss you this time.”

It’s a good thing the hallway is still dark, because Mike goes very, very red.

[hungharrington]

[ CONTROLLED ]  receiver stops stimulating sender and tells them the have to be still if they want to continue

i love sub steve sm and you write him so well !🩷

gosh... two request for sub!steve.. i didn't realise i was known for my lil sub!steve <3 MDNI this entire blog is 18+

You're feeling a bit mean tonight, so it seems.

Steve's not entirely sure where the dominant streak is coming from, nor the cooing condescending voice you put on that makes his tummy throb hotly — certainly not anything from earlier. Before you'd both shed your clothes and swapped spit, hands roaming desperately, you'd been so nice and loving. Doting even. It makes this even hotter to Steve, knowing you're doing this just because you adore seeing him fall apart for you.

"That's it, aw, you look so cute when you're all frustrated." You say sweetly. You're pouting, perched in his lap with one hand holding the side of his face gently, your thumb tracing over his freckles. The other hand is wrapped around his cock, fisting it in the space between your bodies. You're being mean.

Steve can feel his hold body shudder when you hand twists up and you start thumbing over his slit, a loud cry coming from his mouth. His hands, twisted in the sheets on either side, wind up tighter. You've told him he's not allowed to touch you.

"Please," Steve says breathily. He's fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to stop his hips from bucking up and chasing your touch but fuck, you're teasing him hard tonight.

You remove your hand completely for a moment, delighting in how Steve deflates with one big jagged exhale, before you hold your palm out flat. You rub it over the tip of his cock slowly, arousal sparking and catching at how it drags the most pitiful noises out of Steve. It's the barest touch and yet, you finally get to hear the sound you love from him most. A loud and needy whimper.

"Please, please, please," He whines, one of his hands flying off the duvet to hold your hip — and your hand on his cock stops moving. Steve groans, loud and long, already aware of the mistake he's made. His hand retreats off your hip and grabs the sheets again, chest heaving as he tries to rein in his breath. He opens his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them.

"Stevie," you start, another loving swipe of your thumb along his cheekbone.

"I know, I'm sorry," He gasps, hips shifting beneath. He can't help it, he's so keyed up, just aching for you. His cock bobs between you, the tip of it flushing red. "Please touch me again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Sh sh sh," You hush him softly, leaning in to dot his nose with a kiss. Steve's head tilts up instantly, searching for your lips and you grant him them, kissing him deeply, tongue swiping against his own. You can feel the vibrations of his moan into your mouth. Breaking the kiss you pull back, "Y'gotta be still, baby. Think you can do that for me? No touching or I stop touching, okay?"

Steve's nodding fervently as you speak, his hair flopping over his eyes. You push it back without being asked, not daring to hide any of his beautiful blush. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry, please- please— ngh—"

His pleas drown into another moan, as you hand reaches back down— ignoring his cock and rubbing against his balls gently, fondling them in the way you know drives him mad. Steve leans forward, hands still at his side, his head bowed as he presses his forehead into your shoulder. Weak pants laced with whimpers escape his mouth as you tease his balls so more, driven by his sweet noises.

"Stevie," you murmur, your hand on his face nudging him to sit back up. He does reluctantly, putty in your hands when you finally curl your fingers back around his cock tightly. He keens loudly and you coo in response, adoring how his cheeks glow brighter.

"That's better— mm, yeah, look at me, okay? I wanna see how I make you feel good..."

[forlorn-crows]

Requesting, if I can, Rain asking Aether to use his Quintessece powers to force him all relaxed and pliant so Mountain can knot him- something Rain can't take without a little h e l p. >:)

ENJOY THE DEBAUCHERY, MY DEAR SAINT

“That’s it, raincloud, you’re doing so well,” Aether mutters against the water ghoul’s temple, fingers methodically running through his hair. Quintessence flows through the digits and into Rain’s cradled head resting by the foot of the bed, leaving a pleasant, hazy nothingness in its wake. 

Mountain hums in agreement where he’s buried in Rain’s cunt, mouth lazily lapping at his folds. The taste becomes increasingly tangier the longer Aether works Rain’s mind. It’s not as deep of a trance as he could induce, just fuzzy enough to make the water ghoul pliant—and wet. 

Mountain licks a stripe from Rain’s entrance all the way up to his clit, the tip of his tongue flicking its small length on the upstroke. Rain gasps and arches with it, the smallest of moans escaping his slack mouth. 

“Can’t wait to hear those moans when you’re full of me,” Mountain says huskily, darting his eyes up towards his face. It’s perfectly lax, eyebrows upturned and just a sliver of white showing behind dark lashes. His cheeks, as always when he’s aroused, are blushed a pretty lilac, with matching flush along his collarbone and at the tips of his pointed ears. It’s endearing, the earth ghoul thinks, how Rain trusts them both to see him so open, every reaction on full display. 

But that’s part of Aether’s power—to unravel, to present that which gets buried under nerves and insecurities. Even now, Rain still sometimes gets nervous to take Mountain, regardless of how badly he wants it. Needs it. Craves it. Mountain will never tell him, but the times he asks Aether for help are some of his favorites. 

He flicks his eyes over to Aether’s as he sucks on Rain’s clit, holding his gaze as he works his tongue over the water ghoul. He loves the way Aether looks down at his mouth, then back up again to his eyes, biting his lower lip as he presses at Rain’s scalp. He can’t see past the middle of the quintessence ghoul’s torso, kneeled on the floor as he is, but Mountain can bet he’s at least a little affected. 

“Bet that mouth feels so good on you, doesn’t it Rainy?” Aether rumbles against the side of his face. Mountain’s mouth quirks up in a smile, and he winks at Aether before dropping his gaze once more. The earth ghoul sucks hard, wringing from Rain a long moan and a buck of the hips. 

“I’d say so,” Mountain answers for him, pulling off and sitting back on his haunches. Rain whines at the loss, but the noise turns to one of pleasure when Mountain replaces his mouth with his fingers, stroking through his slick folds. “Fuck, you’re soaked, tadpole.” And thoroughly debauched, Mountain notes; Rain’s hair clings to his forehead and neck, damp with sweat, and that lilac blush has bled down his sternum and even spread across his ribs. He can’t even keep his eyes open anymore, not with the way Aether has him pulled under and the way Mountain circles his clit. But the earth ghoul wants him to try, if only for his own enjoyment.

“Rainy,” Mountain sing-songs. “Look at me.”

Rain tries, by Satan he tries. It’s a glazed-over look, but he manages to dial in his focus just enough. The moment Mountain’s confident he actually sees him, he pushes two fingers into Rain’s cool, slick, cunt. The water ghoul’s eyes immediately roll straight back into his head as he keens against the digits, claws digging into the bed. 

“Poor thing, feels too good, doesn’t it?” Mountain smirks, ignoring the way his cock kicks at the sinful display. He pumps his fingers in and out of Rain’s heat, collecting slick and spreading it over Rain’s cunt. If it was wet before, it’s practically dripping now. Rain twitches and gasps with each thrust of Mountain’s hand, responsive as ever. 

“Need it, don’t you?” Mountain mumbles, a little lost in the feeling of Rain’s muscles already clenching around him. He adds a third finger and feels his own mouth go slack at the sight of slick drooling into his palm. Rain doesn’t really need the precursor, not with magick loosening him up in all the right ways, but Mountain likes the prep and the tension it builds. The pining. The yearning. The basal need.  

“Please,” Rain whines. “I can’t—I need—”

“Shhh, raincloud,” Aether soothes. “Mountain’s got you. He’s gonna give you what you need.” He moves his hands from Rain’s scalp to the tops of his shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

Mountain removes his hand and spreads the coated digits over his own length. He sighs at the feeling of Rain against his skin, tossing his head back as he indulges in a few strokes.

A grunt from Aether makes him drag his head back up. Rain’s chest heaves as he cranes his neck back to mouth at Aether’s jaw, hips bucking against the air. Aether’s trying and failing to ignore Rain’s ministrations, one of his hands having crept up to drape gently across Rain’s flushed throat. 

“Having fun down here, boys?” Mountain teases, slotting himself on top of the water ghoul’s lithe body. Rain pulls off Aether’s neck like he’s been burned, gasping at the contact of Mountain’s body. “Don’t I get some?” he purrs, guiding Rain’s mouth to his own neck as he pulls Aether into a kiss. It’s messy and sloppy, but none of them care. Aether lets Mountain turn it filthy, opening his mouth with a groan as the earth ghoul licks into it and grinds his cock against Rain’s cunt. The water ghoul falls away from Mountain’s neck with a loud, unbidden moan, pressing his hips up to meet the slide of his length.  

“Try to keep an eye on him, hm?” Mountain whispers against Aether’ lips, nipping his bottom lip before pulling away. He puts his attention back on Rain, kissing along his neck and down his chest. He pushes back up onto his hands and looks down at the—already—wrecked water ghoul beneath him.

“Rain,” Mountain says, almost a growl. “Let me see those pretty eyes.” 

It’s easier this time—Rain cracks his eyes open, cerulean quickly locked onto emerald. In his peripherals, Mountain can see Aether press his palms more firmly into Rain’s shoulders, waiting. Mountain rolls his hips again, dragging his cock through his slick cunt. Rain’s eyes flutter, but he holds steady, fighting hard to keep them fixed on Mountain. 

“Fuck, tadpole,” the earth ghoul groans, slipping the head of his cock between Rain’s folds. “Gonna knot you so good, gonna make you take it all.” Mountain watches Rain’s eyes roll as he takes his cock inch by inch, mouth open in a silent cry. “That’s it,” Mountain breathes, looking down to see Rain’s cunt drag him all the way in. 

All of them groan when Mountain bottoms out—Rain, unsurprisingly, the loudest of the three.  There’s little pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes as his chest heaves. 

“Yeah, cry for me while I fuck your pretty wet hole,” Mountain raps, pulling halfway out and slamming back in. “Fuck, you’re so good for me, Rain.” Tears run down the water ghoul’s cheeks as Mountain thrusts into him, wasting no time in setting a feverish pace. 

“So good, raincloud,” Aether echos, lips pressed against his temple once more. 

Rain sobs with every snap of Mountain’s hips. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin is loud and lewd, a rhythm broken only by wanton moans and heavy sighs. 

“Will you cum on it?” Mountain asks after a while, now hunched over on his elbows. “If I touch you, will you cum on my cock for me?” He’s desperate to feel it, feel Rain drool even more slick over him and onto the sheets. 

“Yes,” Rain cries, tightening his arms where they’ve wrapped around Mountain’s neck. “Please, make me.”

Mountain sneaks a hand down between them, daring a glance at Aether. The quintessence ghoul’s watching his arm move with rapt attention, chin resting on his own arm. It’s a calm focus, with only the hint of desire deep behind his eyes. Mountain tears his eyes away and looks back at Rain’s face, which is screwed up with anticipation and pleasure. 

Mountain barely has to rub at Rain’s clit—once, twice, three times—before he’s spasming around him, whining high and feminine as he cums. The sensation nearly makes Mountain’s arms buckle, but he keeps his pace steady, knot already starting to swell. 

“Fuck, Rain, oh,” he moans into his neck. “Aethe, you gotta—oh shit—you gotta give him a little more, I’m gonna—” Mountain gasps. 

Aether nods. “Little more,” he agrees, gripping the shoulders of his writhing water ghoul. Rain sobs as the last bit of quintessence shoots straight down his spine, back arching off the bed. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” Mountain cries. 

“Please,” Rain keens. 

“Fuck, gonna tie you so tight, oh Lucifer—” Mountain cuts off with a groan as his knot pops in with one hard thrust, taken in by Rain’s body like it was meant to be there. Rain wails, clawing into Mountain’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood. 

[shejustcalledmeafish]

it’s time for some guys in some situations

i’ve got a bunch of these and i will be abusing this power you have given me to the fullest extent. (mostly requesting a fuck ton of johnto + john/jack/ianto)

first up on our list:

4 + 7 (mind meld/telepathy/mind reading • trapped in a room/closet/elevator); john/jack/ianto

“If you make a closet joke, you won’t be leaving it alive,” John promised as he slammed his fists up against the thick oak door. Absolutely ridiculous quality craftsmanship for a bloody broom closet. “I’ve had enough of those from you.” He felt more than heard Jack open and close his mouth behind him. He resisted the urge to try the handle again, knowing he’d only get a scorched palm for his troubles.

The mission had been going well, or well enough. They’d made it in and found the latest Rift Gift in record time. John still had it tucked in his coat. But they hadn’t been the only ones after it. One broom closet mistaken for an exit, one door handle melted by a laser blast, and one Jack Harkness taking up far too much room with his broad shoulders.

John huffed and slid to the floor, back pressed against the door. Back in the day, this would have been a lovely situation to find themselves in. A nice excuse for a shag. They didn’t do that anymore.

John could tell Jack was thinking about it though. Even after so many years apart, they slipped back together like well-oiled gears. The rest of the team could tell. Especially Ianto. Sweet sexy jealous Ianto.

“If you move, I can try and break down the door,” Jack said, snapping John back to reality. He rolled his eyes.

“I could too,” he muttered, before enunciating more clearly. “We have what they want. We’re better off keeping it safe and letting Toshiko and Eye Candy chase them off.” A moment’s hesitation, then Jack joined him on the floor.

“Fine. But if they call for us, I’m going to tear it off its hinges.” Jack tapped his earpiece. “Ianto? What’s going on out there?”

“We’re in pursuit,” Ianto’s voice answered after a few seconds, tinny in John’s ear as well. “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine, just a little trapped,” Jack replied. “Capture them or chase them off, then swing back around and pick us up. We’re in the broom closet on the second floor.”

“The one with the melted doorknob,” John elaborated. For a moment, Ianto didn’t respond. It was enough to send irritation flushing hot through John. He didn’t know what else he had to do to prove himself. He kept his hands to himself, did the work.

“Right. I’ll bring Rob.” John blinked in confusion.

“Rob?” No response. Jack laughed, a low rumble in the dim light.

“He named the crowbar we keep in the SUV boot.” John let out a soft ah of understanding. “Apparently this is Rob the Second, although I didn’t get the full story.”

“More than he’d give me,” John said, then regretted.

“John—“

“Shut it,” he snapped. “You don’t have to pretend to care. It’s easier if you don’t, for both of us.” Because of course Jack had been pretending. Sure, he’d let John stay with the team when he asked, but John knew it was because they were dangerously understaffed. Jack needed someone skilled to make sure the others got home at night. And John could do that. He didn’t have to like it, and Jack didn’t have to like him.

“I’m not pretending,” Jack said. The confusion was laid on too thick for John to even entertain believing him. “John, you know I care about you, right?”

“And you know I told you to shut it, right?” John snapped back. He wrapped his arms around himself, tucking them under his coat. This was bad. He’d been holding his tongue for so long he’d gotten used to the blood in his mouth. He needed to remember that, and stop before Jack forced him out and he lost the only thing he had left.

This time, Jack thankfully listened. They sat in silence, John very deliberately staring down at his feet. Even in the dim, he could tell his boots needed a wash and a polish. Something to distract him after work then. If the team had plans, he’d never know.

“I almost forgot how he pouted like this,” Jack’s voice rang clear in his head. John snapped his head up to glare at him.

“I’m not pouting,” John bit out at him. Jack blinked.

“I didn’t say anything.” John could feel the irritation and something else coursing through his body, bringing blood fresh to his cheeks. And now Jack was fucking lying to him, again, and—

“So defensive. Angry.” It was Jack’s voice, but his mouth definitely wasn’t moving. Or rather, he wasn’t talking, although his lip twitched upward in a smile as John heard the next thought. “It’s sexy.” John wasn’t that stupid. He reached inside his coat, and pulled out the small device that had fallen through the Rift.

“I’m hearing your thoughts, Jack,” John said, and almost immediately, he felt the low murmuring of thoughts from Jack’s head cease, like a dam slamming down over a river. Shut out in the cold silence. He expected nothing else.

“Oh?” Jack said like he hadn’t just turned his psyche into Fort Knox.

“Very surface level only. Things you’re thinking like you might say.” John turned the device in his hands, feeling the intricacies rather than just squinting at it. “I think this is a psychic amplifier. Low level, or maybe broken. Just enough to give my aptitude a push into hearing without me actively trying to read you.”

“Makes sense,” Jack said, and held out a hand. John passed it to him. He didn’t bother trying to shore up his own mental walls. Jack already knew him too well, knew too much of him. Some days, John wasn’t sure if he knew Jack at all, if he just saw Javic because that was what he wanted to see. He wasn’t drunk enough for this train of thought and so derailed it.

Before Jack could question him any further, there were footsteps out in the hall. They both stayed silent, listening as the person approached the door.

“Jack?” Ianto called, and John saw the gleam of Jack’s teeth.

“In here!” Jack called, getting to his feet. John followed suit, stepping closer to Jack to get away from the door. “Did you catch them?”

“Got away, but Tosh is in the SUV, following them on the CCTV,” Ianto said. “The hinges are on the outside, so I’ll have you out shortly.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. John stayed quiet, hoping they would both overlook that John was in a tight space with his ex. Not that he’d done anything, but Ianto wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe himself.

“Did you kill John, or just gag him?” Ianto joked as metal scraped against wood.

“Hale and hearty, Eye Candy,” John said before Jack could make his own joke.

“Good,” Ianto said. “I was worried.” John just stared at the light working its way into the closet as Ianto worked on the hinges. Worried about Jack, not him. He didn’t have to be told that he was an afterthought.

“Is that really what you think about us?” Jack said. Ianto paused in his work. “John.” John thought some elegant insults about Jack’s parentage and sexual prowess. “Now, you know that’s a lie.”

“Jack?” Ianto asked.

“He’s reading my mind, Eye Candy. It’s what the Macguffin does.” John crossed his arms. “Careful, he could read yours too.”

“I—“ Jack started, then stopped himself. “It’s not intentional. Whoever’s holding it gets a psychic boost. Since John and I are already semi-telepathic, well.”

“I see,” Ianto said. His voice was frosty, and John felt a sudden urge to know what he was thinking. A risky thought. He never much liked telepathy for this reason. There were some things people weren’t meant to know. “Could you give it to John?”

“What?” John said before he could stop himself. This night was going awry in so many ways already. He couldn’t fathom what Ianto’s agenda here was. But maybe he was about to find out.

“Sure,” Jack said, and then there was a hand on John’s arm, pulling it away from himself. Warm rough familiar fingers pressed the alien metal into his palm before retreating.

“The effects take a bit to take hold,” John said, worried about when it would. He clutched the device so hard it was leaving marks on his skin. “We could keep passing it between us, make sure it doesn’t get a chance to latch on and activate.”

“No,” Ianto said, and he could see Jack nodding. Ianto started to work again on the hinges as their thoughts began to sliver their way into John’s mind. Jack had dropped his defenses, and so all John had to do was sit and listen as the truth, and it felt too potent to be anything but the truth, poured inside him.

It wasn’t individual sentences at this point, just the overwhelming knowledge that he’d been wrong. He’d been absolutely certain he was only something they tolerated. A mistake that Jack had let into their lives, and was too good now to simply kick him out again. But they’d been working together for months now, and John got the undeniable impression that neither of them were any good at keeping their hearts in check.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that,” Jack’s voice burst through the blur of affection. John stiffened for a moment because Jack never apologized, not to him. “It wasn’t you, it was me. I was trying to keep myself away because I thought it could never work, not with how we’d changed, and not with Ianto.”

“It might still not,” John said. “Ianto, your boyfriend wants to have me.” The real unspoken truth, the one that they’d known from the moment John had been permitted to stay. The fact that had been keeping them all in orbit around each other, close, but never making contact. Until now.

“I know,” Ianto replied as he pulled the last hinge free. “He’s not the only one.” John had to shut his eyes against the light as Ianto pried the door open with a godawful screech of the damaged wood and metal being forced to give. John felt Jack’s hand take his own, entwining their fingers and holding the device securely between them.

“Can we show you?” Jack said, closer to John now than he’d been in months, more intimate than they’d been in years. Ianto stood there for a moment, sweating and shining and triumphant. Then he dropped the crowbar, the infamous Rob the Second, and stepped into the closet with them.

“Mind if I join you?” So polite even as John knew they were all balanced on the cliff’s edge and wanting nothing more than to plummet over the edge.

“Yes,” John said, and in an instant, they were both on him, Jack turning his head toward him to catch his mouth with kisses, Ianto stepping up near-flush with John’s hips and placing his own hand over the device. It didn’t take long for Ianto to join the link, their minds connecting as easily as their bodies. Ianto was a natural at the threeway, mouth to John’s exposed throat, free hand easily cupping his arse as they moved backward to press against the wall.

They would have break away eventually, talk about what exactly this meant, or rather, not talk about it and move forward like they had. The device would be deactivated and secured in the archives, too dangerous to keep out, even for such a transcendental experience as this. But for now, John was held solid and firm, and all he had to do was let go. So he did.

[riikaa-chan]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon), 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Webcomic), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Nie Mingjue Characters: Nie Mingjue, Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Nie Huaisang, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian Additional Tags: Romance, Cute, Librarian Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Businessman Nie Mingjue, I dont know how to tag Summary:

Businessman Nie Mingjue meets quiet librarian Lan Wangji, sparking an unexpected romance.

[brick-a-doodle-do]

I finally have thought bc mermay

How about something with a giant mer in an aquarium

You see tiny mer in fishbowls/tanks but how about the giant one...

MERMAY!!! i totally forgot about that. so now i gotta write for it today which was not rlly planned but ehhhh :D this is my first time writing on tumblr so let's see how it goes. also for this i'm making the titles a line from whatever song im listening to because im lazyyy

you live life above me, and i just can't get any higher

words: 846

cw: description of sharp teeth & claws? other than that it's neutral,,

—–—

Despite his fathers’ obvious attempts to drag him along the hallway, Sapnap stayed put, with his arms crossed tightly over his torso and a grimace on his face. He was not going to the small fish, he wanted the big fish; he sees small fish all the time, so what if these are a little more human than the last?

Bad and Skeppy looked back at him, already several feet down the hallway before they realized that Sapnap’s little pitter-pattered footsteps weren’t following them.

Sapnap stayed put, against Bad’s words of encouragement and Skeppy’s already-tired-of-him gaze.

“I don’t want the small fish!” Sapnap whines.

His parent’s share a worried look.

“Sap, we think you might not like the big fish,” Bad reasons, walking to him and crouching by his side. Sapnap looks into Bad’s eyes and frowns. His brows furrow and he tries to compose his anger. Why didn’t they listen to him?

“But why not? I can handle anything, and I don’t want the stupid smaller fish,” he explains, reluctantly letting Bad undo his angry arms to hold Sapnap’s hands in his own. The touch is warming, and it cools him down almost instantly.

“We’re saying we don’t want you to be scared of them. Do you remember the sharks last year?” Skeppy adds from afar. Bad nods quickly in agreement, but it only causes Sapnap to huff, half-scoffing and half-groaning.

“I was five last year, and I liked the sharks, I never said I was scared of them. And these are real mermaids,” he tries. He doesn’t want his efforts to be lost, but that’s what it’s looking like.

Bad, after a moment of consideration and a look back at Skeppy, sighs. “We can take you, but if you get scared, you tell us, okay?”

Sapnap’s eyes light up, nodding eagerly, his raven-colored hair falling over his eyes with the motion. 

Easily, he leads the way and his parent’s follow close behind him, all the way to the end of the hall, then left into a much larger hallway with tanks that seemed  to run all around them in one big pool. Everywhere he looks there’s deeply colored and isolated waters.

Sapnap is much more at ease here, with eyes eagerly looking around the giant tunnel-like tank to try and spot a mer.

The waters seemed quiet, for a while, where Sapnap grew easily disappointed at the silence, like somehow he wasn’t worthy of seeing something. 

Bad and Skeppy talked quietly amongst themselves, and if it wasn’t for his divided attention, perhaps he would’ve heard about how supposedly aggressive these beings were.

He was halfway across the hallway before a shadow stretched over him from above, smothering him in darkness and a newfound hope. Eagerly, he looked up over him, a tail easily fivefold his size. And the top half of the mer slightly smaller but somehow the intimidation never leveling out, it was huge.

Another thing for certain was that his parents were foolishly wrong. Because as soon as the mer had come down over the side of the tank and settled in by watching the three in the tunnel, Sapnap was running to it, something of relief in him. 

“Hello!” Sapnap greets it from behind the glass, putting a hand onto the exterior of the tank. It’s cold underneath his touch, but it somehow disperses when the mer behind the glass is returning the gesture with five harsh taps against the glass tank; it’s almost like touching the mer entirely with how warm it gets.

And easily, it obscures his view to where Sapnap has to move around the hand to look at it again. Its tail was almost glowing from the deeper waters, neon-green lacing the bottom of emerald scales. His ears were a similar color, with fins flicking as Sapnap smiles at it.

It looks young, probably just a bit older than him. As it smiles at Sapnap, it bares its sharp teeth which almost glow the same green as his scales. His eyes are neon, just like everything else. And although he can’t really tell, his hair looks both blond and brunet. It’s fluffy, even from under the water as it drifts around him. 

His jaw nearly drops. It’s entrancing to watch how a creature could look so human, but so massive and alien.

The two stare at each other for a while, before the mer swims to where Sapnap stood. 

Sapnap takes a step to the left so his worldview isn’t a predator. Because even though he wasn’t scared, it was nevertheless unsettling to see sets of predatory teeth grinning at him with neon eyes to accompany him.

But, as he moves, the mer follows him.

He frowns, shaking his head while taking several steps to the left to try and keep it away.

But, almost as suspected, it follows after him.

‘Stop,’ he mouths, running in the opposite direction. 

Sure enough, the mer follows him, cutting through the water to chase after the little human who couldn’t help but smile as his new friend trailed after him.

—–—

[quietwingsinthesky]

In spirit of all your posting about Cain today, I request Lucifer/Cain content please 👀 my evil disaster duo

Yeah sure I’m insane enough about them. Although, note, but I’m not sure how well this reads as shippy? It’s definitely. There’s something here. There is something between them. Ah well. You’ll see, you’ll get it.

~1700 words

The devil is on Cain’s doorstep.

He’s imagined this meeting happening a thousand different times in a thousand years. None of which looked like this. The screen door is a sheer barrier between the angel that unmade him and his last refuge. Lucifer doesn’t open it and let himself in. He lingers on the threshold like a vampire, not one from the real world, the kind Cain has met and had meals with and killed, but one from a romantic myth, gentle-voiced and waiting for an invitation. He looks Cain over, one slow sweep up and down, like he’s surprised this is the body Cain remains in.

He never tried to take another. It was a fitting casket for a damned soul. The curse he carried could not be tricked into being left behind.

“Can I come in?” Lucifer asks. He looks tired.

That may just be what immortality does.

Cain stays silent, one hand on the door handle. He has a stew coming to a boil in the kitchen. He has a fire to feed in the living room. The wind outside rattles the screen door but doesn’t dislodge it. Lucifer has melting snow in his hair and collar, like he walked all the way here.

“How did you find me?” Cain questions, needlessly. In answer, Lucifer lifts his own arm and touches exactly where the Mark scars Cain. He leaves his fingers there, his eyes not dropping from Cain’s face.

They are not Lucifer’s eyes. It is not Lucifer’s face. In Abel’s voice, Lucifer told him that his brother was screaming for Cain to put the jawbone down, and that he would spare him hearing that but only if he struck quickly. It had never seemed like mercy, only a way to keep Cain from saying goodbye. He left Cain alone with a body already going cold and Hell to pay.

Cain’s fingers tighten on the doorknob. He has never tried to kill an archangel.

Lucifer tilts his head. “Something’s burning,” he says. His eyes leave Cain’s for only a moment to look at the home behind him, and then they’re fixed on his again. Neither of them need to blink. Cain can smell the acrid warning coming from the kitchen as well as Lucifer can. With one movement, he shoves the screen door open an inch and turns his back on Lucifer to go back to his pot. He sees the tips of Lucifer’s fingers curl around the side of the door, and that’s all.

He grew up eating pomegranates and apples and lamb. It seems too recent that he learned to cook with corn and potatoes. He reserves no chopping board for meat in his kitchen.

The stew is piping hot. He flavors it to the dulled pleasures of a demon, too strong for most humans to handle. Colette used to-

He ladles the stew into a bowl for himself. All of her is his alone to know.

He doesn’t bring Lucifer a bowl.

The devil sits on his sofa comfortably, watching the snow fall outside. His shoulders are damp with it. He hasn’t bothered to dry them with whatever power he has. He looks up at Cain’s approach, down at the bowl, and then frowns, as though he expected to be treated like a guest. Cain ignores him. He sets his bowl down to poke at the logs in the fireplace, crackling with heat, laced through with veins of burning wood. The flame-light dances across the living room, more wild than the electric lights but just as well contained.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” he asks Lucifer. He takes his time the same as the devil does, waiting, but someone has to make the first move and Lucifer seems content to watch him eat.

“Atonement,” Lucifer answers. Cain sets down his bowl and wipes his mouth.

“No.” Lucifer frowns.

“Not forgiveness.” He repeats, “Atonement.”

“And I said no.”

“You don’t know what I’m offering to do.” Cain drinks. The stew burns the roof of his mouth, and it heals, and it burns, and it heals.

“We’ve made one deal. That was enough for me. I will never escape it.” For the first time, Lucifer can’t look him in the eye. His gaze drops to Cain’s arm and remains there. It feels like having his skin peeled off to reveal what’s beneath. Cain bears it with a clenched jaw. The Mark growls against his bones like a hibernating bear, glutted, but at any moment, ready to wake hungry for more blood.

“I can’t give you your brother back,” Lucifer says, apologetic, like he understands the loss. He never sounded anything like that the first time they met. Absently, his hand rises to his chest, fingers sweeping across his heart and then falling to a tight fist in his lap.

The devil is good at appearing like a broken man.

“I don’t want my brother back,” Cain tells him. There’s another thing that surprises Lucifer; Cain can see it in his eyes. All angels are poor liars. They don’t have a demon’s intuition when it comes to handling meat. Cain doesn’t owe him an explanation, but he has no one else to tell. No one who would understand what he means. If nothing else, they share the same curse. “I’m not the man I was when I picked up the blade. I’m the monster I became when I chose to wield it after. I wouldn’t want my brother to see me now, and I wouldn’t want to know what I made him when I cut my love out of him.” Souls in Hell are torn apart. Souls on Earth linger and decay. Cain never thinks about souls in Heaven because he’s not sure they have it any better.

“What about her?” Lucifer asks. He tips his head towards Colette’s picture. Cain sets his bowl down loudly enough for the sound to echo. A few drops spill. There are no cracks in it. He doesn’t let that happen.

“If you talk about her again, I-“ Lucifer nods. Cain falls silent before he finishes the threat. That feels like mercy. He’s not sure whose. “What are you here for if all you do is tell me what’s impossible to have?” A half-empty bowl lies on the table between them. The wind howls. The fire draws shadows in the folds of Lucifer’s clothing like wounds.

“I came to take it back.”

Cain stares at him a minute, then bows his head and finishes his stew.

“The cost?”

“None,” Lucifer answers, then frowns, “that I know of. I can’t guarantee you would survive the exchange, if I uproot every tendril of it from your veins.” Cain’s expression asks plainly if Lucifer thinks this is something that would matter to him. Lucifer’s answers with understanding. “It was meant to be my curse.”

“And if you take it, it will devour you the same way it did me.” It’s not a question. It’s a fact. Cain has lived with the Mark longer than a hundred repeats of his life without put together. He knows it. He has heard the scratching behind the door that only death silences, for heartbeats of time.

“That isn’t your problem.”

“You made it my problem.” A rise to his voice he hasn’t allowed in a century or more. Lucifer is unfazed. Anyone else who knew what he was would be begging by now.

“I’m sorry.” The bowl is empty. Cain breathes out heavily through his nose.

“It isn’t enough.”

“I know,” Lucifer says. He looks towards the fire. It doesn’t reflect in his eyes. They are too bright from within. “I know,” he repeats, softer.

“Why now?” Cain asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before going back into the kitchen and leaving his bowl in the sink. Lucifer stands to follow him. He inches too close to the unwashed dishes, staring at them like their presence irritates him. Cain is off-put for the first time by his behavior, by the devil standing over his sink like his hands are itching to reach in and scrape the crud off the silverware and douse the ceramics in dish soap. Lucifer finally looks at him again.

“Because I’m here."

“You have something good, and you want to ruin it.” He makes an archangel flinch.

“No,” he lies, “I want to fix what I broke.” He leans against Cain’s counter.

“If you love them, you’ll leave,” Cain says. Colette is watching them from the other room, forever frozen in a memory. “Let me be. The damage is done.”

He doesn’t want Lucifer to be happy. It’s not something he deserves.

He steps out of the way of the kitchen door. Lucifer doesn’t move. He won’t leave.

Cain knew he wouldn’t.

Bearers of the same curse and all.

“Give me the Mark, Cain,” Lucifer says. Cain rolls up his sleeve. He does it slowly, dragged inch by dragged inch of fabric, until the sharp slice of the scar shows itself. Lucifer looks at it like an old friend with a gun to his head. Cain extends his arm.

Lucifer’s palm is cold where he wraps it over Cain’s arm. He covers the whole of the Mark with one hand. It wakes up suddenly, furious as it is cut out like a cancer. Cain can feel it fight Lucifer as he brings it back into himself. Lucifer makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, his grip on Cain’s arm tightening. He shakes. Cain feels nothing, no pain, no relief. There’s an empty hollow in his being that once soaked the ground with poison. Nothing will ever grow there, but the ring of dead grass won’t grow wider. Lucifer lets go of Cain.

The Mark is gone, scar and whispering and urges and all.

The Mark of Cain no longer belongs to Cain.

Lucifer bears it on his own body’s arm now, and deeper, where it will begin to rot him from the inside. It’s an angry, throbbing red now like an infection. Cain spent all that time lulling it to sleep and now… Now, it’s not his problem.

Lucifer breathes heavily.

Cain crosses him, their shoulders barely brushing. The stew is still warm as he ladles another bowl and brings it to Lucifer. Lucifer cups his hands around it like it will bring him any comfort. Cain stares at him.

“I hope you never know peace,” Cain tells him. Lucifer shuts his eyes in acceptance.

[spurious]

WIP Wednesday

it's still wednesday somewhere...

State of the WIPs Live Oak #5: 15,580 Mark on You: 5,771 Secrecy: 3,011 BTHB "I'm Fine": 3,463 Music Fest fic #2 - R.L.Y.: 3,552 This week's ✨WIP Wednesday Theme✨ is:

I've Got 26 Problems, and the Alphabet is All of Them

Or: send a WIP title and a letter; I will respond with a line that begins with that letter.

No-pressure tags: @audioletter @sparrowsarus @nimuetheseawitch @texasdreamer01 @colonelshepparrrrd @sga-owns-my-soul @hero-in-waiting

[nikkiissleepy]

@eggsnatcheskneecaps biggest hat at the ball

[sacredpit]

↳               ❛   i thought you’d like some company .   ❜   //    Polnareff

    sender :   @redlineoffate      /     source :   prompted     /     status :   open .

    it’s rare for kakyoin to be left alone in his hospital room .   his mother is sure to stop by for at least a few hours with each new sunrise ,   voicing her elation that his recovery has gone smoothly overall   &   offering small trinkets to remind him of the comforts of home ;   his handheld games ,   his favorite books ,   vhs tapes of films she thought he’d like .   &   when it wasn’t her by his side ,   it was jotaro ;   kakyoin finds immense comfort in his presence ,   whether they’re engaged in thoughtful conversation or sitting in comfortable silence .   it’s the warmth of friendship ,   a life - giving light he’d been certain he would never experience a mere amount months ago ,   only for it to find him at   rock bottom   &   blossom through cracks in concrete   &   stone .

his heart aches at the thought of mr. avdol   &   iggy   &   the devastating reality that he will never see them again .   though the lofty likelihood of death had not been lost on any one of them as they sought out that   great evil   in the heart of the desert ,   that awareness had not made the grave reality any easier to accept   ━━━━   even more so for kakyoin ,   who had so narrowly managed to slip free from the clutches of his own demise .   what does it mean that he survived   &   they didn’t ??   how can he truly cherish the second chance fate had graciously offered him ,   but heartlessly withheld from his beloved comrades ?? 

mr. joestar urged him not to think that way ,   the few times he’d visited .   fate cannot be personified ,   cannot embody human attributes   ━━━━   it is a phenomenon beyond the bounds of even the vastest intellects ;   a   faceless ,   nameless deity   that rejects the perception of any prying eyes seeking to decipher its true nature .   but when kakyoin lies on the stark white sheets of this bed ,   cloaked in the depth of the night   &   left with only his thoughts as company ,   he cannot help but ask these unanswerable questions .   had their lives been given for his ,   somehow ??   is it fair that he will live the rest of his life while they remain frozen in time ,   at the   eternal end   of some tragic story ?? 

the late morning light spills through undrawn drapes ,   casting a beam of white warmth over his abdomen .   he opens his eyes just as the door to his room swings on its hinge ,   &   a half - curtained gaze doubles in width as a familiar figure crosses into the room ,   filling kakyoin’s vision like some kind of holy figure as daylight catches in his silvery hair .

“   polnareff ??   ”   he asks through a stolen breath ,   though no answer is needed .   sitting up nigh on ninety - degrees ,   a mountain of pillows tumbling down his straightened back ,   kakyoin reaches out for his friend almost instinctively ,   the intravenous tube burrowed into his arm swinging like a loose rope .   in an image that might be shocking to any who witnessed how sourly kakyoin behaved toward polnareff for the bulk of their shared journey ,   his   true regard   for him shines through ,   the glow of a campfire beneath the blackened desert sky ;   kakyoin is smiling wide ,    his dimples on full display as the whites of his teeth fill the space between rosy lips .

“   nobody told me you were coming ,   ”   he utters ,   voice airy with surprise   &   eyes alight with genuine mirth to see his friend ,   &   to see him looking well .   “   jojo said he hasn’t seen you since you went back to france .   you didn’t come all the way to japan just to see   me ,   did you ??   ”

[mooshkat]

nanteo + "don't cover your face, I want to see you" from the smut prompts!

It's something Nancy has noticed Mateo do a lot when they switch it up. In some way or another, Mateo will hide his face while Nancy is fucking him with her strap—whether it be pushing his face into the pillow under him, or throwing an arm over it while he's on his back, like he is now.

Nancy rubs her hands along his thighs, scratching lightly with her nails. Her thrusts slow down from the brutal pace it once was and Mateo whines, trying to push his hips back onto her for more.

Always wanting more, even if he looks too embarrassed to ask for it most of the time.

"Don't cover your face, baby," Nancy tsks, and reaches to gently pull his arm down. She grabs his hand and links their fingers together, holding onto him. "I want to see you. Hear you. Show me how good you are at taking my cock."

God, she loves how much a few simple words can affect Mateo. He shivers, a loud mewl torn from his lips as she snaps her hips, driving the dildo in deeper.

Mateo looks up at her, face flushed as his mouth drops open to pant as Nancy picks up the pace again. He squeezes her hand, eyes rolling back as the tip of the strap grinds against his prostate. Precome dribbles from his neglected cock, dripping onto his stomach and adding to the mess that he hasn't been allowed to touch.

"Please, baby, I need—oh, god, fuck—I need more. Please let me—" he goes to wrap his free hand around his dick, aching for some relief, but Nancy grabs his hand and pushes both hands above his head, pinning them.

"You're going to come on my strap or not at all, Teo. That was the deal," she reminds him. Mateo whines again, growing teary, and she leans down to soothe him with a kiss. "You can do it, baby. Come on, you're doing so good for me."

send me a smut prompt !