#ficlet

[cloakedsparrow]

Commissioner Jim Gordon figured out Bruce Wayne was Batman early on in their partnership but he needed all the help he could get cleaning up Gotham, so he figured he’d let it go as long as he maintained plausible deniability and as long as Batman didn’t do anything too reckless or damning (like killing someone or getting a civilian killed).

He could tell that Batman genuinely wanted to help and he honestly grew to respect him, so he decided if it ever looked like he needed to pull the plug on Batman, he could just quietly inform him that he knew his identity but he wouldn’t have to pursue it if he just stopped.

He almost did just that when Robin entered the picture. Because that was not a grown man with training and intellect in a combat-ready suit. That was a child in a leotard and pixie boots. Of course, Robin was obviously Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s new ward. And, yeah, the kid was a remarkably gifted acrobat, but still. What the fuck was Batman thinking?

A few captured crooks and a couple overheard conversations later and Gordon realized that this was Bruce attempting to reign in Dick. He decided he’d let it go for a while and see if the situation didn’t just take care of itself.

It did, but not in the way Gordon had assumed, where Bruce eventually got Dick to stop. Instead, the kid turned out to be a brilliant vigilante. So as much as the idea of a kid fighting criminals in a leotard upset him, Gordon decided to let it go as long as the boy seemed more or less safe (and also didn’t cross certain lines).

Then Batgirl appears and Gordon is even more concerned because Batman also doesn’t seem to know who this girl is. That’s concerning. She’s wearing his symbol. One fuck up from her could ruin everything Batman (and Gordon) have built. All the goodwill with the non-corrupt detectives and citizens of Gotham could be destroyed overnight. There’s no way to prove she has nothing to do with Batman shy of unmasking one or the other or both.

So Gordon decides to look into Batgirl, because that’s the lesser of two evils at this point, and it turns out she’s his daughter. Because of course Barbara would do something like this. Fuck his life.

Then Nightwing enters the picture. Before Gordon can worry about this new vigilante too much, Nightwing shows him the cute little deputy badge he’d given Robin and repeats some of his own words back to him, proving Nightwing is Dick Grayson. Which, good for him. At least he came up with a better suit. Gordon hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he’d been getting a little too old for the pixie boots.

Then there’s a new Robin, which is obviously Bruce Wayne’s newly adopted son, Jason Todd. Barbara is still acting as Batgirl, so Gordon figures he doesn’t have any room to be judgmental of Batman’s parenting choices at this point. At least Batman keeps his kid with him while he’s fighting crime. It’s more than Gordon can claim.

Then, the worst comes to pass. Jason Todd dies.

Batman tried to kill the Joker, so there’s no point in guessing how that happened. Gordon feels terrible. He feels even worse when Batman is clearly losing it and, as much as he understands (Barbara could have been killed instead of crippled, and just for answering her father’s door), he can’t let it continue. He’s going to have to show his hand and threaten Bruce Wayne.

As if by some miracle, Batman starts getting better before he has to act. Gordon assumed he’d either sought help or just worked through the worst phase of his grief…until another Robin shows up.

The kid is wearing a different suit that covers (protects) more of him. He’s constantly perched on something so Gordon can’t get a definite estimation of his height. The hair could always be dyed or a wig. Overall, there’s not much to go on identity-wise. It’s certainly not Jason Todd after faking his death or being revived somehow (it’s Gotham, stranger things have happened). This is definitely a different kid. He’s smaller, younger, paler, and he doesn’t move or sound like either of the previous Boy Wonders.

Bruce Wayne does not have another son. He does not have another ward. No nephew or godson or the like. So who the fuck is this kid?!

The new kid is really good. Batman is doing really good with him. Gordon would be very happy with this progress except that he still has no idea where the kid came from. He’s taken to going over missing person reports, but it’s Gotham (there’s a lot) and he doesn’t even have a decent description of the new Robin to work with.

He tried saying something to Robin once, after Batman ditched them on the roof of GCPD. The kid had stopped him and told him that he’d given the adults their chance to fix it but they didn’t, so he’s taking care of it now. Then the unknown child jumped off the roof and fired off a grapple to follow Batman. Gordon has no idea what to make of that but he feels like he should be a little ashamed, at least.

After what feels like a year of mental torment, Janet Drake is murdered and Jack Drake is left in a coma that he may or may not recover from. Then Gordon learns that Bruce Wayne has quietly assumed custody of their son, Tim Drake.

There is no paper trail of any kind between the Drakes and Bruce Wayne. If the Drake boy is Robin, then Gordon has no idea how that came to be. If he isn’t Robin, then he still has no idea who the current Boy Wonder is.

The mystery of this particular Robin will continue to haunt him for years.

Bruce loses custody of the Drake boy, but there doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Suddenly, Robin is gone with no explanation and there’s a girl in the role for a couple weeks but then she’s fired and starts a gang war that claims thousands of lives including, apparently, her own. Then maybe-Tim-Drake-maybe-not Robin is back.

Bruce takes permanent custody of the Drake boy, and there still doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Then there’s a new suit but it appears to be the same Robin, just sadder. Then Bruce Wayne’s biological son shows up and, lo and behold, there’s a new Robin. With a chip on his shoulder the size of Wayne Manor and a fucking sword. Gordon actually misses the Robin that had been confusing the hell out of him for the past several years.

Then there’s a Red Robin. Then he's gone and there’s two very different Robins operating at the same time. Gordon’s pretty sure the one that isn’t Damian Wayne is the one that’s been a constant source of headaches and nicotine cravings for the past four years, but he still can’t be sure who the little shit is.

[weeesi]

Chaos - May Prompts (17)

“Sherlock? Tesco had only twelve—”

The first thing John notices, incidentally, is that the dishes are clean and balancing precariously within an inch of their lives on the solid square foot of the draining board.

The rest of the flat resembles a rubbish tip, if said tip consisted of a weird combination of chemistry equipment, case files, medical journals, and the ubiquitous detritus of baby stuff. Oh, and also made noise. 

Something drips, something splats, something oozes, something beeps, something—he’s pretty sure—might’ve been on fire earlier. Something smells too sweet—or maybe sour?—and something else that could only be Rosie’s distinct brand of nappy pressie hits the back of his nostrils like the principal note in 221B’s potpourri. Stained babygrows cover his chair, colourful blocks teeter on Sherlock’s, and a well-loved copy of Dear Zoo stares at him from a pile of flannels. CBeebies blurbles quietly in the background.

A lingering cloud of baby powder shifts like a weather pattern when John crosses the room.

Rosie—neat as a pin, hair brushed, tummy full, bum in the air like a Christmas goose—is tucked into her little nest, snoozing away.

“You got her to sleep,” John whispers.

“Controlled chaos,” Sherlock mouths from the sofa.

John gently tugs the Peppa Pig plaster out of Sherlock’s hair and kisses him.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[raina-at]

Experiments in Compatibility II

This is a sequel to this ficlet from last year, for the prompts Experiment and Chaos.

I'm putting this under a cut because it's a bit NSFW.

This is nice," John mutters as he traces the shell of Sherlock's ear with his lips. "Isn't it?"

Sherlock shudders and nods into the pillow. They're both naked, and John is plastered to his back. He can feel every inch of John's body in contact with his skin, can feel the enticing curve of John's erection pressing against his lower back.

They're taking it slow, and Sherlock is grateful, so grateful. He's also painfully aroused and his entire body feels like a plucked violin string, vibrating with sensation. He wants John to touch him everywhere at once, and they're awfully close to achieving that goal, pressed together front to back as they are, nearly head to toe.

Ears, Sherlock thinks. He never thought ears would be so erotic. But John's lips against the delicate shell, his breath, his voice... it's thrilling.

"I wonder what it would take for you to let go completely," John whispers, nosing along Sherlock's neck. "I bet you're incredibly hot when you lose control."

Sherlock freezes, feeling icy tendrils of doubt and worry snake along his limbs, chasing away the aching arousal with dread.

"What?" John asks, moving away from Sherlock's neck, craning his head around so he can look at Sherlock's face. "What is it?"

This is why this wasn't a good idea, Sherlock thinks. "Nothing," he says. "Continue, please."

John takes a deep breath, then gently turns Sherlock to his back, so Sherlock can't avoid looking at him. "What is it? Please tell me. What did I do that you didn't like? Remember, you promised to tell me. You don't like it, it's off the list for good. That was the deal."

"It's nothing. It's fine."

John just looks at him, and Sherlock knows that John doesn't believe him, and he realises, in a sudden moment of insight his brain occasionally gifts him with, that they're at a crossroads, and he has to decide now. In, or out. John isn't a mindreader. If Sherlock isn't capable of voicing what he wants and doesn't want, this entire experiment is doomed to fail from the start. So either he starts talking, or he ends this now, before either of them gets badly hurt.

"It's..." he takes a deep breath, then decides he can't do this while looking at John. So he pulls John's arm back around himself and rolls to his side away from John, returning them to their previous position. He takes a hold of John's hand and pulls John tightly against his back. "It's nothing you did."

"Then what.... wait. Something I said?"

Sherlock nods.

He can tell the exact moment John gets it from the small huff of breath he exhales against the back of Sherlock's neck. "You don't want to lose control."

Sherlock shudders at the very thought of how much giving up his hard-won control over his life, his body and his mind scares him. "I- bad things happen. When I lose control."

John says nothing for a moment, pressing gentle lips against Sherlock's shoulder. "When I met you, I thought you were chaos impersonated. Hurricane Sherlock, dragging me along in your wake. But that's not true at all, is it?"

"It is, and it isn't. It's controlled chaos. Chaos I control, at least."

"And you're afraid of losing that control again," John finishes the thought. Sherlock thinks for a moment that John is going to ask the next logical question.

Is this about the drugs? Is this because deep down, you're still a pathetic little junkie in an expensive suit, hanging on to sobriety by the skin of your teeth?

But John, thankfully, says nothing, just presses a gentle kiss into Sherlock's hair, and waits.

Sherlock brings John's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles in silent gratitude.

"It's not—It's not because I don't trust you," Sherlock finally says, his voice muffled a bit against the back of John's hand.

"I know," John says, squeezing Sherlock's fingers with the hand Sherlock has trapped between his. "I don't think we would be here right now if you didn't. But it's early days yet, and I need to earn your trust in here," John gestures at the bed with his free hand, "as well as out there. And that's fine."

"But you want—"

"I want what you want to give me, freely and enthusiastically. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But—"

"No. Listen." John traces the shell of Sherlock's ear with his nose and says, quietly, gently, "I get it. You want to give me what I want, and I want to give you what you want. But sex isn't like trading apples for oranges during lunch break in primary school. There's no itemised list to check off, no clear path to follow. That's what makes it complicated, and that's what makes it great. Good sex is about more than body parts, and so much more than just getting off. It's about trust and communication and closeness and intimacy, about respect and acceptance. And you can't even imagine how much more valuable your trust and comfort are to me than any one physical thing I might have thought about happening in this bed between us. So if you say stop, we stop. Period."

Sherlock huffs out a frustrated breath against John's hand. He hates that John's right. There's nothing easy about sex. There's no manual, no standardised steps to follow, no predictable response. No rules. There's just trial, and error.

But as John traces soft lips along Sherlock's throat and hums quietly against his skin, undemanding but showing Sherlock in no uncertain terms that John is here because he wants this, Sherlock is reminded forcefully by the shiver of pleasure down his spine that there's also trust, and lust, and love, and that there's plenty of all three between them. And he reminds himself that he started this in the first place because sometimes, the reward is definitely worth the risk.

John Watson, he thinks as he pulls John closer again, is worth every risk.

John gently rakes his teeth along Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock feels arousal spark all over his body. "Do that again," he breathes.

He feels John's smile against his skin as John answers, "With pleasure," and does as Sherlock asks.

-----

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @jrow @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @salmonsown @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee

[actually-a-girls-name]

just posted my first ever work on ao3!! very short, not perfect but oh does it feel like a victory!

for @calaisreno may prompts, thank you thank you for this btw, it pushed me to create something!

here's the link :)

[pookiebearmick]

galladrabbles - muscle

thanks to @blue-disco-lights for the @galladrabbles prompt this week! i'm sick today and feeling the achy, so here's some fluff <3

There’s nothing that Mickey hates more than being sick. The stuffy nose, scratchy throat, and sore, achy muscles. God, he’s miserable. There’s not much he can do but sit under a blanket, watching the stupid cooking channel and wait for his cold meds to kick in.

But then, of course, his sweet husband gets home from work, kissing his forehead as he sets down a bag of takeout.

“Picked up some chicken noodle soup from the diner down the street. Debbie swears by it,” he says sweetly with a smile. “Says it always makes Franny feel better when she’s sick.”

[secret-gallavich]

birthday surprises

'Mickey had it all planned. He'd dealt with unnecessary teasing from Lip who after the mocking and whip sound effects agreed to take Ian out for his birthday during the day. A brothers' day he'd put it.

He'd woken Ian up with a blowjob, counting 28 kisses along his snail trail and nuzzling in the coarse hair. He had no shame kissing Ian on the lips as soon as Ian came.

Ian hadn't wanted a fancy breakfast, said he'd rather have lunch or dinner for his birthday. So they made their coffees and took their bowls of cereal to the couch.

After Ian has left to go have lunch with Lip, Mickey gets to work. He pulled up a basic vanilla cake on his phone and took a screenshot of the ingredients he'd need. He could get a boxed cake mix but he kinda wants to see if he has what it takes to actually bake a cake. Maybe if it completely fails he'll resort to it.

He bought the home brand ingredients and then spied a 'happy birthday' banner and threw that into the trolley as well. He could hang it up on the cupboards or something.

Turns out Mickey's pretty good at following directions and the oven doesn't combust, it's a little crispy around the edges but other than that it looks fine. The icing is easy to make, it's assembling that's giving Mickey trouble. He wanted the cake to be done and presented on the bench with the banner hanging up.

It keeps toppling over and Mickey has chocolate icing all over his apron - yeah he's wearing a fucking apron, sue him - and he had to take off his wedding ring so it wouldn't get lost or dirty. The knife is doing shit all at spreading the icing and Mickey's almost ready to give up when he hears the banner start falling behind him. He audibly groans and takes a sip of his second coffee of the day.

He's nearly finished when he hears the door open and close. Ian's voice echoes down the hallway and then he's in the doorway looking completely surprised.

"Wow" Ian steps fully into the kitchen "You made me a cake?"

“Was meant to be a surprise” Mickey mumbles as Ian makes his way over to stand next to him. He feels himself being pulled into Ian’s chest and given a tight hug. He was never a hugging type of person before he met Ian. But he really likes them. 

“I am surprised” 

“Yeah?” Mickey asks

“Yeah” Ian smiles “And a banner! Wow, is this why you wanted me out of the house on my birthday?”

“Lip was being a prick about it” Mickey says “Like always”

“You’re so good at surprises” Ian presses his lips against Mickey’s head “Anymore up your sleeve?”

“Oh one or two” Mickey smiles back “Now leave me alone and pretend to be surprised when it’s finished”

[frankenjoly]

what about kunichuuzai + "why are you looking at me like that?" (Maybe even pre relationship....👀)

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Kunikida was, by no means, noticing right then. Quite the opposite, he had been aware for around half an hour prior saying something, and had recently reached the point of not being able to keep going on about his day and tasks without bringing attention to that topic.

“Looking at you like what?” Daza instantly answered.

“Yeah, like what?” Chûya then followed suit, managing to even sound innocent. Or maybe he was willing to let some things slide more when it came to Chûya because the redhead was a visitor, and therefore not slacking off work like Dazai.

“Dunno, like that.” Like he was the eighth world wonder, more or less, but Kunikida didn’t know how to say so without melting from embarrassment.

“And how are we gonna be aware of what we’re doing and change it if you don’t explain it properly, Kunikida-kun?” He specifically chose to turn his back to them, and yet it wasn’t enough to turn a blind eye to Dazai’s smugness while letting all those words out. The audible ‘Hm’ coming from Chûya shortly after didn’t help either. “You used to be a teacher, so y’know how the best approach to change any behavior starts with stating clearly what’s wrong, right?”

“Ah, shut up.” Kunikida turned his head to stare at them both, then directed his attention to Chûya specifically as if pleading for some help with… whatever that was going on at that point.

Except that one time, Chûya didn’t take his side.

“Sorry, honey.” Honey? “I’m afraid sometimes this idiot’s right, and this is one of those, so… will you tell us, please?”

Holy shit, they weren’t famous when teaming up for nothing.

(Also on ao3.)

[koushuwu]

*:･ﾟ✧ BAD HABITS DIE HARD

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬): afab!reader, perceived unrequited love, voyeurism, f!masturbation, m!masturbation, sex toys, sexual fantasies about one another, a little bit self indulgent but who cares.

『•• suna rintarou | words: 1,6k | hq masterlist ••』

excerpt: he wasn’t going to look. he really, really wasn’t. until he caught a glimpse.

beta read by: @owoasis

it’d been a long day. a long fucking day. you’d woken up with a headache. your coworkers had been annoying and loud since the moment you sat down at your desk. your boss had been a real dick and kept piling work on your shoulders, as if you didn’t already have enough on your schedule. not to forget that you’d run out of coffee and of course you just had to forget your purse as well. it was safe to say you felt frustrated. incredibly so. and that kind of frustration needed release, otherwise you might end up taking it out on your flatmate when he woke up.

you’d been quiet when you came home, feet stepping carefully down the hall as you made your way to your room. suna had only been half asleep when the door unlocked, so it wasn’t like you woke him up when you came back. it was just that when you walked past, he stirred, suddenly aware of the insistent pressure of his bladder, urging him to rise. and suna knew that you’d had a long day when he didn’t run into you outside his room. you’d probably gone to take a nap after you’d had a really long day.

it must have been a frustrating day, he realized, when a sound stopped him dead in his tracks on his way back to his room. a sound that made his mouth feel like the sahara desert. that made his skin tingle and his ears buzz. but it wasn’t his ears that buzzed. he knew that. it was something else entirely. nailed to the spot, outside your door he looked towards the sound. blood rushed from his face when he found that the door had creaked open. shit. you couldn’t be that careless, could you? you couldn’t. right?

but apparently you were. you’d pushed the door shut behind you when you entered, but hadn’t bothered to lock it. hadn’t even bothered to check if it closed properly. you were just that fucking drained. and as you pressed the vibrator of your trusty rabbit against your clit, you didn’t spare it another glance. with your hand pressed against your mouth you angled the toy, tip prodding at your entrance and caught the broken sigh as it slipped from your lips and into your palm.

it took all of suna’s will power, and then some, to keep his breathing even. he shouldn’t have heard that. in fact, he should be leaving. right now. but he didn’t. he felt utterly enthralled. captivated. the buzz like a sirens song, pulling him in. he should leave. he should– instead, he inched closer. just– he wasn’t going to look. he wasn’t. it’s just– he hadn’t even noticed when his hand had moved, before another muffled sigh from your room had his cock jump in his palm.

the frustration bled away as you pushed the toy inside. the sigh that escaped this time louder than the last. but it was too late to worry much about. suna was sleeping anyway. he wouldn’t hear if you just kept it moderate. you’d be fine. it’d be fine.

he wasn’t going to look. he really, really wasn’t. until he caught a glimpse. it hadn’t been on purpose, he tried to tell himself. but as soon as it happened there was no going back. even with your duvet covering your body, suna clearly saw your legs bent and spread, the cover rustling and moving with every flick of your wrist. with every time you pulled the toy from your snug walls. with every time you pushed it back inside. with every twist, angling the vibrator to stimulate your clit. he didn’t have to think hard to imagine it, knowing exactly what the toy looked like. he’d been there when you bought it after all. and then there was your face. suna had never thought he’d see you make such a face. but the moment he did, he knew he was fucked, fingers already undoing his pants and reaching inside. it wasn’t like you’d ever know anyway.

your back arched off the bed when you angled the toy just right, legs tensed. your teeth dug into your lower lip as your hand fell to the sheet, twisting up in the white fabric. just a little more. that’s what you needed. just a little more.

awestruck, suna watched as your hips bucked under the covers. he really hadn’t meant to. he would never– but he did. he never thought he would. but seeing you like this. watching you bite back a whimper? he knew he shouldn’t be fisting his cock in the hallway. he shouldn’t be stroking it desperately in front of your door. he shouldn’t. and maybe he was going to regret it later. maybe. but right then and there? he squeezed a little harder as he watched you through the crack of your door. how was he supposed to stop when you were looking like that? would you look the same if it was him, pressing inside? if it was his cock filling you up, stretching you out?

just a little more. just– the sound of the buzzing toy and the wet squelches sent your mind spinning, body tingling. the toy that you’d bought that one time, when you and suna hung out at the mall. he’d picked it out, and said he’d heard good things about them. and for reasons undisclosed, even to yourself at the time, you’d bought it. muscles tensed when you thought of him. you didn’t let yourself do it too often. think of him, that is. but it hadn’t been intentional, and when he’d crossed your mind you found yourself not wanting to push the thought way. so for once, you indulged. how would it feel if it was suna? if it was his cock, plunged deep inside of you? you tightened around the toy. what if it was his fingers against your clit? his tongue even?

would you let him try if he asked? would you let him taste you? would you still hold back your voice like this? he hoped you wouldn’t. with every little sound that carried across the room, his head was swimming and he almost didn’t catch the groan that built in his chest. shit. this wasn’t good. so why did it feel so good?

thinking of him wasn’t right, and you did know that. you shouldn’t be thinking about your friend, when you pleased yourself. but it felt good. what would his lips feel like on yours? what would he taste like? you imagined he’d be a really good kisser. you didn’t know what it was, but there was just an air about him. always had been. would he caress your skin with his fingers as they traveled south to play with your clit? your grasp tightened around the toy. sweat turning your grip slippery. would he plunge them deep inside of you,

even as you pleaded for more? suna could almost hear your breathless voice in his head, telling him to hurry up. you’d never been very patient, and suna always found that endearing about you. he would let you have your way though. eventually. he didn’t wish to hurt you, but self restraint was not going to be an easy practice for him, if it was you. he already knew that he’d be aching to push inside your cunt. honestly, he was aching for it now too.

suna had always been wrapped around your finger, really. he always gave in, in the end. he’d sink inside with a wrecked groan. you could almost hear it.

he could almost hear the whimpers you’d let out when he did.

you wanted him. you didn’t often admit it. but you wanted him. you wanted him so bad, and you wanted him to use you to his heart's content. you wanted him to push you to the edge and beyond it. you wanted him to want you.

he wanted you to want him. he wanted you to want him to bully his cock inside of you until you could only cling to him and take it. he wanted to make you cum, in every possible way he could. with his hands. his tongue. his cock. everything. he wanted to feel your warmth around him. to smell your arousal in the air in sweet symphony with his own. and he wanted you to give him everything that he would give to you.

you wanted him to cum inside of you and keep fucking his seed back into your cunt, until you tipped over the edge with him too.

he wanted to see your face contorted in pleasure as the orgasm ripped through you.

pleasure crashed over you, your own half stifled cry perfectly covering the guttural sound from the other side of the door as suna followed in your wake.

the sound took even himself by surprise as he spilled into his own hand, alarm bells washing the haze of his orgasm away as he rushed back to his room. he couldn’t believe he just did that. but he did. and maybe he should have been ashamed. but when he heard you scramble from your room towards the bathroom, he couldn’t bring himself to feel as bad as he should’ve. and maybe. just maybe. maybe he found himself hoping this wouldn’t be the last time that it’d happen. and since that day, he’d stop by your door every now and then, listening for those sounds. looking for that same creaked door. he knew he shouldn’t, but bad habits die hard.

[sapphic-bats]

How fucking bold can you be?

I mean, that was the question of the night, wasn’t it? Billy and Stu, pulling off a massacre. Billy and Stu, cornering Ms. Final Girl, Ms. Surviving Non-Virgin. The only one who makes it out of a horror movie, but wouldn’t this time. Billy and Stu, spitting free their motives — rather, motive — to the last living bastards in the house.

And yet, Billy was standing here, blanking at how bold Stu could possibly be. Besides all of the slaughtering that just occurred.

Sure, one moment he’s speaking to Sidney, the moment he’s been fuckin’ yearning to glean. The day he’s rued with wide eyes and set teeth forming an ugly-pretty smile.

And then, Stu comes up behind him.

It’s normal, actually. Nothin’ special. I mean, if you wanna get technical, they knew each other very well, on many levels. Among these levels included carnal, which- honestly, it didn’t take a genius to decipher. But hey, people weren’t usually on the hungry lookout for queers to disdainfully sniff at and pass by, were they?

So what, as Stu sidles up to him, the heat radiating off of him and right onto Billy? What’s the big bleeding fuss, as they’re ratting themselves out to a proclaimed dead-woman? Not that she sees, or cares.

But then, Stu presses forward, and oh, god.

It’s not something dirty, no, not exactly. It’s not outright lewd. But it is. It so is.

Because Stu’s leaning his whole self into Billy, front to back, cupping him in this upright-spoon. He’s pressing close, fitting to Billy like a lanky glove, and his body heat’s now flaring straight from within Stu, and soaking right into Billy.

It’s sick, and twisted, and downright fucking hot.

He notices it in the back of his mind, but it’s too damn right to be a coherent thought. Billy grins.

“Tell that to Cotton Weary.”

Stu’s got his chin rest on the back of Billy’s shoulder, on the mothering muscle of his scapula, so Billy can feel when his expression changes, roughly when Billy’s does. Now they’re both grinning like the madmen they are.

Large, soft hands slip up overtop his white shirt; grazing Billy’s waist, then stomach, then sweeping surely over his ribs, his pectorals. It feels fuckin’ great.

“You wouldn’t believe how easy he was to frame.”

Stu laughs, and it’s a rumble that buzzes against Billy’s back, like they’re some married couple stood standing straight up out of their domestic morning scene in bed.

Sidney hasn’t noticed any of this public shit, the acts of lustiness, of mutual pride in one another and themselves, respectively. Can’t believe he ever had to fake like her liked her. Thank the fading stars it’s over, it felt like forever that he had to keep up the act.

Stu caresses Billy, hands rubbing circles into his chest.

“Watch a few movies, take a few notes,” he tilts his chin down, nose gently ghosting against the base of Billy’s neck. He laughs again. “It was fun.”

As Sidney begins to lament the foolishness that she and her fallen friends had followed, Stu leans forwards — not much, because he doesn’t really have to lean far — and presses his lips into Billy’s skin.

He kisses Billy’s neck, and the boy almost falters. He almost turns his head to give Stu a better angle, so he can maneuver his mouth against the other’s. He doesn’t, but it takes a village to swallow back his urge.

He wasn’t quite sure what genre of a movie this made his life, but it was a movie he would fuckin’ watch.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

I can actually see misa possibly haunting Mikey, not out of malice of any kind but because she hadn’t been gone for very long and hadn’t instantly moved on when he suddenly showed up. She’d probably feel so guilty that she left him that was and that he had to be the one to find her

Hamato ghostie

Mikey lays on his bed. It is day three. He hasn’t moved.

His family comes in to bring him food at mealtimes.

April tries to get him to go outside, exercise, dance, do something requiring movement.

Karai asks him when he wants to try practicing with his mystic powers again. He always says he’s tired.

‘Phael lets him use his plushies for hugs when he isn’t around.

DvD does his best to talk things over with him, but Mikey rarely talks back.

Leon pesters him the most, trying to get him to eat or move or talk or do something other than wallow and lay in bed and rot away.

But nothing helps.

So Mikey is alone again tonight, three days after Misa’s death.

His dinner is sitting cold on the bedside table. He’s picked at it, but he isn’t hungry. His appetite has shrunken these past few days. Every time he tries to eat, he thinks of the birthday cake he got for her, and his stomach turns.

He hugs his pillow close to his chest, flexing the friendship bracelet he made for his dearly departed sister across his fingers.

“Mikey…”

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t want another talk about how he can’t let himself waste away… he knows they’re right, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything right now. He just twirls the braided orange and pink thread between his fingers…

“You gotta get up sometime, buddy.”

“Don’t wanna…” he mumbles. “Too tired.”

“Probably because you haven’t eaten all day,” the voice says, coming closer and messing with the plate. “Come one, just one bite? For me?”

“It’s cold now.”

“I wonder how that happened… Mikey, I’m sorry that you’re feeling this way, but you can’t just—“

“I know!” he argues, pressing his face into the pillow. “I know, I know! She wouldn’t have wanted this, I get it! But… but it… hurts too much…”

“…I’m so sorry, Mikey,” the voice says quietly, as a gentle hand strokes his head. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“What do you mean, hurt me—“

Mikey turns over. His eyes pop.

She’s standing there. Here. Now. How? She… she…

She’s all glowing green and stuff. She’s… a Hamato spirit?

“…Misa…?” he asks weakly.

“In the flesh!” she says with a wink. “Except, not really… well, you know what I mean. Oh, hey!”

She reaches over to Mikey’s hand and pulls away the bracelet. It fits over her wrist, slowly glowing green as well.

“Wow, is this for me?” she asks. “It looks just like my old one! Did you make this?”

“I… uh… b-birthday…” is all he can manage.

“Oh,” she says softly, realizing. “…I’m sorry I couldn’t open it before. It’s the perfect gift, Mikey.”

She reaches down and holds him in a gentle embrace. Mikey can feel her. She’s real… she’s… she’s real!

He throws himself onto her, sobbing hysterically as he does all he can to keep her with him.

“Don’t go!” he begs, sobbing so hard he can’t catch his breath. “D-don-n’t l-l-leave me a-ag-g-gain! D-don’t — hic — don’t g-go away — hic — ple-ease!”

“I’ll stay for a little bit,” she promises. “But I’ll have to go eventually.”

“No!” he screams, tightening his grip. “Y-y-you can’t — hic — can’t! You can’t — hic — you can’t leave me again!!”

“Mikey, sunshine,” she coos, rocking him back and forth. “You may not always see me, but I never leave you. You might not always feel me, but I’m with you. Even ghosts have to go home sometimes, too!”

“But n-n-not yet!” he begs, rubbing his face into her shoulders and chest. “Please? Stay?”

“I’ll stay if you eat something and promise to get better,” she compromises. “You don’t want to end up like me just yet, y’know!”

Mikey whimpers and squeezes her even tighter.

“Too soon?” she chuckles nervously.

Mikey manages to finish his plate and talk for a while with Misa before he eventually tuckers out and falls asleep. Misa kisses his head and takes the bracelet before vanishing…

(Previous bit) (art bit)

[wolfawaycamp]

Dylan introducing Ryan to Schrödinger

🔮 “Are you allergic to cats, by any chance?” Dylan asks, his voice sounding from below Ryan where his head is laid on his lap.

“Not… that I know of, no.” Ryan replies, his eyes still focused on the movie playing on the television. They’re on a date, (one which he knows Emma would tell him isn’t a date) but it’s the way they date. Dylan gets stressed about eating out at restaurants, and Ryan was happy to accommodate, considering even the quietest of restaurants could be too loud for him.

Dylan poking his cheek with his right pointer finger brings him back down to earth.

“I know we’re at your place, but would you like to come back to mine?” Ryan must make a funny face, as Dylan rushes to amend his words. “To meet my cat. Come to my place. And meet my cat.”

Ryan snorts. “Sure. Like, actually, sure.” Dylan grins, wide and dimpled, and presses a short kiss to the corner of Ryan’s mouth as he sits up. He’s drawn to the smooth expanse of skin that’s revealed when Dylan stands and stretches his arms above his head— Ryan’s almost certain, based on how much skin he can see, that Dylan’s stolen one of his many oversized Goodwill hoodies— but he’s quickly drawn away by the jangling of Dylan’s keys in the direction of the front door.

“Helloooo? Ryan? I’ll leave without you, if that’s what you want.” Ryan shuffles off the couch and slips his shoes on at the door, following his boyfriend out to his car that sits in the parking lot.

——

“Dude… my cat liking you is way more important than my mom liking you. I think I’m having an aneurysm,” Dylan whines, his leg that isn’t pressing the gas pedal bouncing up and down.

Ryan snorts and turns the volume on the radio up.

——

“Schrodie, my son, where are youuuuu?” Dylan sing-songs as the screen door slams shut behind the pair. Ryan hears a thunk, and a big, fat, orange tabby with a sky blue collar comes trotting around the corner from the living room.

Dylan gestures towards Ryan like he’s showing off a case of trophies as the cat— Schrodie, was it?— pads closer. “My son, this is my boyfriend. Your other dad. I guess. Stepdad.”

The cat immediately winds itself between Ryan’s legs, bumping its forehead against his calf.

“Oh.” Ryan crouches to pet the tubby orange cat from ears to tail, and the cat purrs, spinning around and nuzzling his face back into Ryan’s palm. “That was easier than expected.”

Dylan feigns wiping a tear like a proud father.

[weeesi]

Blanket - May Prompts (18)

Finger to thumb, thumb to finger.

Sherlock closes his eyes and ignores the pounding at the door. Three days he’s left himself to rot in a doss house in Kraljevo. Better to wait it out. 

Thumb to finger, finger to thumb.

He can’t smell it anymore. The scent has long passed into memory.

He can nearly see through it now—could do, if he wanted to take a fingernail and separate the fibres. Threadbare holds new meaning for him. He’s down to two shirts, one pair of shoes, and only thirty-one teeth after seven months spent in isolation dismantling Moriarty’s web. Worst part is, he’s not isolated at all. He’s trapped at the arse-end of the universe with the scum of the earth and John is not here.

But John is alive.

Sherlock rubs the little patch of cloth between finger and thumb. Grey, with a thin band of red and a thinner band of white. Irish wool. He’d been careful to select an area that had always been exposed. Touched. Warmed.

Snip snip snip, rotate, refold, replace. No one would be the wiser. 

They’d never used the blanket as a blanket anyway. Long ago he’d left it on the back of John’s chair as an afterthought.

Now it is here with him.

It is comforting.

It knows how to wait.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[disappointmentthemusical]

Eddie was taking his break up with Ana hard.

On one hand, Buck got it. Like, Ana was nice, and she was objectively hot, and she was also the personification of that one Ryan Gosling meme about his sweater being boyfriend material, except her sweater was wife material. She was the definition of perfect.

So Buck understood why Eddie was upset. He saw it as a personal failure – to himself, to Chris, to his parents and society at large – that he managed to fuck up another relationship. This wasn't accurate, of course. Eddie was, like, the best guy ever, and, sure, maybe his relationship with Shannon hadn't been the greatest, but he'd evolved from that place. Fuck what his parents thought. Eddie deserved to be happy.

And Ana didn't make him happy.

That right there was enough, in Buck's mind, to disqualify her entirely. Who cared if she was gone? She didn't make the meals Chris and Eddie liked; she wasn't adventurous, not enough for Eddie (and most certainly not for Chris who would be damned if he didn't at least get to try skateboarding or surfing or rock climbing); she wasn't willing to risk everything – her life, career, status – to make sure the Diaz boys were happy. She wasn't Buck.

And that was the crux of the issue wasn't it?

God, he was such a shitty friend, wasn't he? That as they sat on the couch while Eddie cried into his shoulder, it was all Buck could do not to laugh with relief. Because Ana was gone, and he was still there. He was still there, and he got to hold Eddie as he cried with the knowledge that he would get over this, one day, and Buck would be there the whole way through. He'd be there for the ups and downs and all the vulnerable bits that Eddie showed no one, except for Buck.

"All I want," Eddie said thickly, his voice catching on a shuddering breath, "is a wife; someone to lean on and take care of. Is that so much to ask?"

A wife, a partner, an equal. Buck's heard it again and again, and every time it hurts like a physical blow. Because what's a wife that Buck isn't for Eddie?

They're quite literally partners at work, he cooks meals for Chris and Eddie at least twice a week, and when he's at the house, he cleans and does laundry and helps Chris with his homework. For fuck's sake, the amount of times Chris has slipped up and called him "dad." (And every time, Buck has to take a deep breath to prevent himself from bursting into tears because come on.) He loves the Diaz boys with every inch of his being, and Eddie knows he does. It's, like, a regular topic of conversation among the 118, how Buck should give up on his apartment 'cause he hardly sleeps there anyway in favor of Eddie's shitty fucking couch. Buck could be a good wife to Eddie.

He is a good wife.

But Eddie will never see it, and that knowledge – the knowledge that Eddie is straight and doesn't feel that way about Buck – twists up something mean deep in his chest and weighs like a ton of bricks. He can't breath for how much it fucking hurts. And he can't say anything about it 'cause he can't – won't – risk losing the little that he has.

So this is good enough. This, with Eddie sad, exhausted and half-drunk off top-shelf whiskey that Buck'd been saving, is enough, and Buck will have to be content to love Eddie quietly at his side.

Theirs could have been a could life, he knows. Eddie just never will.

[a-vivid-dreamer]

Snippets (1) - Ticking Samsara AU

Disclaimer: contains some 2.2 lore spoilers

“Where are you heading to at this hour?”

Yanqing didn’t even flinch at the familiar voice at his doorway. He merely continued to toss his outer robe on. “Investigating. I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet. Especially, from Mikhail.”

Gallagher huffed, arms crossing as he leaned his weight against the doorframe. “Well, now I know that this is a big deal. You practically never keep things hidden from him.”

“All I have are some suspicions — nothing concrete, unfortunately.” Yanqing sighs wearily, and it’s during such moments that his increasingly-old age shines most. If it weren’t for the current conversation, Gallagher would gladly offer to share his flask with the Nameless swordsman. “Until I’m certain of some things, I don’t wish to bother him with this when it could be nothing.”

Gallagher raised a knowing brow. “Lemme guess, you’re getting all worked up cause of a gut feeling?”

“Yes.”

“…You do know that your gut feelings have yet to lead any of us astray?”

“I know. But, for once, I hope I’m wrong.” Yanqing pauses for a moment before quickly tying up his hair. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but reminisce as he recalled the pure excitement Mikhail had on his face when showing off drafts for the story of Clockie and friends. “…Because if I’m right again, then we are likely going to find ourselves fighting another battle.”

“…That bad, huh.”

“You’re starting to realize it too, aren’t you? The Stellaron… They went behind our backs to use it and thanks to it, there’s a beautiful dreamscape. …But there is always a price for power and “perfection”. And the results of a Stellaron fulfilling a wish is far from an exception.”

Yanqing grabs his sheathed sword before heading out, not even giving Gallagher a glance as he passed by. “…If it’s a false alarm, it’s a false alarm. If it’s not…then let Mikhail enjoy himself for just a little bit longer before things begin to crash again.”

Gallagher stared at the nearby wall before sighing deeply as he gave in. These Nameless are going to give him grey hairs. “Fine, my lips are sealed. Go and do what you need to. But you owe me a drink, and it better be damn good quality too.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t dare to hand you a bottle that isn’t the finest.”

[End]

—

(Hello, everyone. I’m going to be slowing down in art for a bit so I can focus more on actually writing the plots/stories for my AUs. And that’ll include some occasional snippets of various scenes. Some that will end up canon to its AU storyline and some that will be more lighthearted/less plot significant just to give a better idea of some dynamics or moods.)

[hazzybat]

Omg you're doing kiss prompts?? Yay!! Can I ask for a combo of 8 and 16? Like they're kissing lazily in secret. I probably don't even need to say what ship but Bo(Jan) pretty please ❤️

In secret and lazily. This was fun! I always associate lazy kisses with morning kisses so that where this came from. Also I like camping and it's winter here so I was thinking about the cold.

Hope you like it 💚

Jan's nose was cold. His beanie had thankfully stayed on during the night, keeping his dark hair off his face for once. He could hear movement outside, branches snapping and crackling as the fire from last night was restarted along with the quiet murmurs of his friends as they began to organise breakfast.

He snuggled further down into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes tight, hoping that if he was lucky he could go back to sleep.

His nose was still sticking out though. It was still cold.

He felt a pair of lips press against it, a small reprieve from the cold inside the tent and he hummed happily at the contact.

"Morning Janči." a husky, sleep filled voice said next to him.

Jan cracked his eyes open to see warm brown filling his vision. He moved his head forward so their mouths slotted together in a closed mouth kiss. He felt Bojan's warm exhale against his cheek and when they pulled back Jan couldn't bring himself to move his face further away, instead they stayed with their noses rubbing against one another gently.

"S'time?" Jan asked.

"Morning I think," Bojan responded, moving his head to steal another lazy kiss from Jan.

The group had decided to go camping together for a few days, driving out to a camp-site to enjoy the autumn colours and take a break from the world for a bit. They only had two small tents, Jan and Bojan in one and Kris, Nace and Jure in the other. 

At night Jan would sit next to Bojan on the large log next to the fire, a blanket wrapped around them both and try his best to not kiss him when the others could see. When they all went on a hike together Bojan insisted on showing Jan every wildflower he saw until they were far enough behind the group he felt safe to plant a kiss to Jan's mouth. Jan felt like a schoolboy with a crush, holding hands, stealing glances and hoping no one would notice the budding affection between them.

The mornings were the best so far. When it was just them, safe in the tent and they could kiss as much as they wanted before anyone expected them to get up.

Jan dared to brave the cold and bring one hand out of his sleeping bag to hold Bojan's cheek, bringing him closer and kissing him again, lazy and easy and perfect.

"I love you," Bojan whispered.

"I love you too," Jan responded with more kisses, still sleepy and soft.

"You two better stop making out if you want any breakfast," they heard Jure call out as he shook their tent, laughter echoing around the camp-site as the smell of bacon and coffee drifted in.

Okay, maybe they weren't as secret as they thought.

[voidboymads]

Was looking in my old drafts and found this. Dunno if I’ll work on it anymore but I thought I’d post what’s been written anyway.

————

“A Gargoyle!? Like those stone statue things on Church’s?” The jeep pitched to the left, sending Stiles into Derek’s shoulder. He crashed against him, hard enough to knock some wind from his lungs that yelling wasn’t already doing.

“Yeah those!” Derek yelled back. The jeep pitched to the right and sent Stiles flying into the door, knocking it open. He would have fallen through if Derek hadn’t grabbed at his shirt to pull him back.

Stone-like claws pierced the top of the jeep as the door behind Stiles slammed shut, grappling on the roof like some demon claw game with Stiles and Derek as its prize. “So why the hell is attacking us?” He yelled as Derek tried to unwind the window. The handle broke in his massive hand and Stiles couldn’t help but shoot a look of pure incredulity in his direction.

Derek snarled back and threw the handle onto the floorboard. “I think the more important question is why is it only attacking us?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Look, Stiles!” And for emphasis, Derek grabbed Stiles head and twisted it enough for him see out the front window. Scott and Lydia were hiding behind an open door of Peter’s car while Peter was yelling something at the both of them.

Stiles couldn’t hear any of it though as the claws of the creature scratched along the metal of his jeep. It jostled the entire thing, tires lifting and crashing down on the road they were on, screeching something awful overhead. “You didn’t unearth some ancient evil did you?” Stiles yelled back at Derek and Derek had just enough time to shoot Stiles an irritated look before the window behind him smashed to pieces. “Derek!”

Stiles reached for him just as claws snatched onto Derek’s shoulders. Derek roared as they dug into him and when Stiles grabbed ahold of his hand, he took it and held on. Stiles planted his feet wide on the floor board, trying his hardest to keep Derek inside the cab of the jeep.

He glanced over at Scott and them, wondering breifly why they were just standing there, staring, when he noticed their gazes drifting upward far above where the creature was attacking the roof of the jeep. It must have meant there was more of them, but how many he couldn’t be certain. Not inside fighting to hang on to Derek.

Derek’s grip on Stiles’ arm started to slip and Stiles suspected he was doing it on purpose. Some self sacrificing thing to keep Stiles safe while he was pulled away by monsters. “No!” Stiles yelled, directed more at Derek than anything else.

Then the jeep began to rise off the ground and Stiles knew they were truly fucked. He gripped Derek’s arm with both hands, fingers struggling to hold on as he dug them into Derek’s flesh. The jeep was too far up in the air for a safe landing now and Stiles was determined to hang in there. If they were going to take Derek, they’d better damn well take him and the jeep too.

The window behind Stiles bursted, shards flying along his back and one stony claw slashed at Stiles’ shoulder. It was enough to force him to let go of Derek, pain flaring instantly as he cried out.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled as he was yanked from the jeep and before Stiles could have a moment to react, to protect himself or brace himself from the fall, the jeep crashed back down to earth and smashed against the road.

Stiles blacked out the moment the jeep the ground.