#2023 Ficlets

[notsuchasecret]

A Third, Please

Ao3

#3: SakuAtsu meet uglies. It seems to me that most of y'all don't know just how bad of an obsession that I have with these two losers. Like, the Chaos Incarnate chat knows, and Haz knows, but outside of them, I feel like y'all have no idea. So here. A meet ugly for this challenge.

When Osamu had told Atsumu he'd set him up with a guy "about ten thousand miles outta yer league, yer welcome, scrub", Atsumu had been, of course, skeptical. And then he'd gone on the date and realized that Osamu had been understating just how gorgeous this guy was. And then the date had gone horribly, disastrously wrong. Like, Atsumu had never been on such a miserable date, wrong. Like, Atsumu wanted to change his name and flee the country, wrong. Like, Atsumu was never going to emerge from the pits of despair this date had left him in, wrong. He shuffled into the apartment he shared with his brother, sopping wet and miserable.

"I'm home," he whined, doing his best to peel his soaked sneakers off his feet. Osamu glanced up from the couch, then did a double take.

"Yer soaked," he said.

"Great observation skills ya got there," Atsumu muttered, but it was all the retaliation he could come up with. He just shook his head and squelched down the hall toward the bathroom. When he returned, considerably dryer and a hell of a lot warmer, he dropped onto the opposite end of the couch from Osamu and stared at the television.

"So I take it that didn't go well," Osamu said. His voice was quiet, feeling Atsumu out and gauging his reactions. Atsumu was too exhausted to really do anything about that just then.

"No," Atsumu said dully. "It didn't go well."

Osamu studied Atsumu for a moment, and didn't say anything else. He simply offered Atsumu the silent comfort of his presence. It was a rare show of support, considering how they would normally pick and pull at each other until they devolved into a shouting match or a fist fight. Which meant that Osamu realized just how miserable Atsumu was.

Atsumu couldn't work up the energy to be grateful. He just let himself sit in his misery, and then in the morning he moved on with his life.

Except.

It was perhaps two, maybe three weeks later when Atsumu received the first text. He wasn't sure why he hadn't deleted the message thread, except to say that it had gotten buried under all his others and he'd just forgotten about it. But when he did receive the message and the name on the contact popped up, it took him a moment of puzzling and a quick scroll through the history to understand what exactly was happening.

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR: [So while I was on a date last night it occurred to me that some helpful tips may be what you're needing to stop being a complete disaster and maybe even take someone on a successful date someday. I've compiled some notes for you.]

The typing indicator was going still by the time Atsumu had managed to piece together that this was his blind date being an absolute ass.

ME: [Thanks, but you really don't have to waste your time. Rest assured it was a shitty night for both of us.]

He must have been ignored, because thirty seconds later another message popped up.

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR: [First and foremost is this: Check the restaurant's website, at very least. Understand the level of formality involved and dress appropriately. Contrary to popular belief (or whatever it is that was going through the peanut shell that is your brain) joggers and a sweaty track jacket are not acceptable attire for a fine dining establishment.]

Atsumu closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control the swell of rage rising in him. Sure, he had been underdressed. Osamu wouldn't tell him the name of the restaurant, and dropped him off in person, so Atsumu hadn't had any time to find out of there was a dress code. And in all fairness, the maître d' had let him in the door, so he wasn't that out of place. He simply closed the message thread and swiped to his contacts to change the name. If he answered, it would only serve as encouragement, and Atsumu didn't want or need any more helpful tips. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and put the whole thing out of his mind.

Osamu whistled as soon as Atsumu walked through the door of the studio. "What shat in yer bed today?" he asked.

"Fuck off, Samu," Atsumu groaned. He slumped over to the baby grand in one corner, plunking down on the bench and poking at the keys. "Where's Rin, anyway?"

"Missed his train," Aran answered, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his bass. "He'll be here in fifteen or so." Atsumu grunted. He let his fingers poke along the keyboard of the piano, plucking out a half-thought melody. Beethoven, probably. That was where Atsumu's fingers tended to lead him when he wasn't thinking.

"Atsumu," said Kita, appearing from nowhere beside Osamu's drum kit. "Did ya finish transcribin' that song yet?"

"Ah, yeah, mostly," Atsumu said. He dug his notebook out of his bag, flipping past the half-started doodles and concepts until he reached the song that Suna and Osamu had come up with. "I need Sunarin here ta ask him about this chord progression in the bridge. I couldn't tell where he wanted it ta fall."

Kita nodded, craning his neck to look at the transcription. Atsumu turned the book so that Kita could see it better, listening to the quiet chaos of the band setting up for rehearsal. A buzz in his pocket had him startling, and Kita took the notebook from him before he could throw it. Kita walked away with the notebook and Atsumu let him go as he dug his phone out of his pocket; the notebook was safer in his hands than anyone else's.

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR, RUDE AS SHIT: [A bonus tip for you today, courtesy of the absolute dreamboat I went on a date with last night: bickering with the serving staff over their recommendations is not couth, nor will it win you any points with your date. Unless you're counting how much you embarrass them.]

Atsumu rolled his eyes. He knew better. He shouldn't engage with this. But Kita wasn't babysitting him at that moment, too busy chatting with Aran, so Atsumu started typing anyway.

ME: [Tell me, do you get off on being this much of a dick? Like, is it a fetish thing, or were you just not taught how to play nice with the other kids?]

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR, RUDE AS SHIT: [I could ask the same of you. Seriously, what was it about that bottle that had you ready to start a physical altercation like that?]

ME: [First rule they teach you in culinary school is never pair a red with seafood. The vintage was fine, but you ordered salmon, and that red had chocolate notes. That should've been paired with a rich desert at the most, but your dinner would've gone much better with white.]

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR, RUDE AS SHIT: [You went to culinary?]

ME: [My brother did.]

GREEN SCARF, DARK HAIR, RUDE AS SHIT: [I thought you said he was in that sad excuse for a band with you. I didn't realize either of you would have the intellect required for post-secondary education.]

ME: [See, this conversation was going fine until you said that. Lends weight to my question, you know. Is it a fetish? Because I don't consent in that case.]

Atsumu's phone buzzed again, but just then the doors opened and Suna slouched in, his guitar strapped to his back and his bag swinging idly from his arm.

"'Bout time," Atsumu groaned, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"Shut up, princess, I got here as fast as I could," Suna said as he set his stuff down. Atsumu just grunted. He stretched his fingers out, playing a couple of arpeggios on the baby grand before he swung out of the bench to go check the setup on his keyboard.

This was where Atsumu belonged. Not some stuffy, pretentious school, not some concert hall, here. This grungy little studio space, where he was totally free. He let himself get lost in the music, and put the asshole with the pretty curls out of his mind.

It couldn't last forever, of course, not with that dickhead insisting on texting him every time he went on a date with more "tips". But for the most part, Atsumu's life went on. Kita managed to secure them a gig at a local festival, the kind where bands had a tendency to be discovered. It was a far cry from the dive bars they'd been playing, but this little farmer's market with the best damn luck for emerging bands was exactly what they had been hoping for. It could be the gig that made them, if they played their cards right, and they only had three months or so to prepare.

Every so often, there was a text that wasn't the most assholeish thing Atsumu had ever read. Once, when Dickweed was presumably drunk off his ass, he even had a genuine conversation with Atsumu about life and dreams and the future. It was then that Atsumu learned just how much they had in common, at least in their personal histories.

But knowing that the unfairly pretty man with the unfairly horrid personality was classically trained on pretty much every string instrument out there didn't take away the fact that Atsumu didn't really have time to dive deep and find out what was underneath all that. Especially when the next day started with a text reminding Atsumu to chew with his mouth closed.

In short, Atsumu was done with dating for now, especially blind dates. Especially blind dates that Osamu set him up on. But networking was the name of the game this early in the band's career, so when Kita said that Atsumu had a lunch to attend with the nephew of the festival's organizer, Atsumu didn't even question it. It didn't occur to him that Atsumu going alone was strange, or that the restaurant that Kita sent him to was a bit intimate for a business meeting, none of it. He just put on a nice shirt, organized notes and song transcriptions into an expanding file in his bag, and let Osamu drop him off at the restaurant about fifteen minutes before he was set to meet his contact.

"What."

Atsumu stood stock still, staring at the table and the man sitting at it. Dark, endless eyes blinked up at him from beneath a curtain of glossy black curls. he didn't look surprised to see Atsumu, but he did scowl at him after a moment.

"Are you going to sit, or not?" he snarled.

"Uh, yes," Atsumu said, and did pull out his chair to perch in it. "Sorry, I'm just a little confused."

"About what?"

"I wasn't expectin' ya to be the person I was meetin'," he said. "Didn't know you had anythin' ta do with the popular music scene."

"Personally, I don't," he answered, squinting at Atsumu.

"But yer aunt is the organizer fer the festival next month," Atsumu said slowly. "Why do I get the feelin' we're here fer two different reasons?"

"Because, in all likelihood, we are," sighed the other. "I asked Komori, my cousin, to see if he could get you to come to lunch with me, to apologize and see about starting over. I take it he did so in some underhanded and convoluted manner, as he so enjoys doing."

"Yer cousin Komori," Atsumu repeated. "Like, Komori Motoya? The head producer fer EJP Record Label?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Atsumu blinked, puzzling for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Well," he said. "No reason we can't do both. If yer aunt wants any info on the band, I've got it, but I don't see why you and I can't have a nice lunch in the meantime." He grinned and stuck out his hand. "Name's Miya Atsumu. Pleasure ta meet you."

"Sakusa Kiyoomi." A large, strong hand gripped his own. "I hope you took notes."

"Yer such an ass," Atsumu laughed. "Half of the stuff that happened last time was not my fault, you know."

"Well, you do look considerably more human this time," Sakusa conceded.

"That's 'cause I dressed myself. I clean up nice, it's okay, you can admit it."

"The insufferable personality, though, that's all on you."

Atsumu cracked a grin, and he could just see how hard Sakusa was fighting to keep from smiling himself.

-

When Komori Motoya had first conspired with his old friend Miya Osamu to fuck with their respective relatives, he hadn't expected this. Weeks of coming home from perfectly good dates with a bitter expression, of pulling out his phone and texting with the biggest pout on his face, of grumbling under his breath about 'stupid, arrogant foxes with their stupid, pretty faces'. He hadn't expected to be begged for a second date, to be bribed into setting one up. And he certainly hadn't expected to come home that day to find Sakusa curled up on their couch with a massive plush fox in his lap, scrolling through the website for Motoya's mom's next festival with a scowl on his face and his credit card in his hand.

"Kiyo?" Motoya asked, cautious.

"They had better be good," Sakusa grumbled. "If I put in all this effort and they aren't even good, I can't do it. I can't date someone tone deaf."

Motoya laughed. "You don't have to worry about that, Kiyo," he said. "They met at Inarizaki, after all."

Sakusa dropped his phone, staring at Motoya with wide eyes. "They what?"

"Inarizaki School of Music. That's where they all went after high school. Atsumu's a prodigy on the piano, but he plays like six other instruments, too. And he sings."

"Fuck. I need a third date."

Motoya smiled, wandering off into his bedroom to the background soundtrack of Sakusa cursing himself, Motoya, Osamu, and especially one Miya Atsumu. It seemed that his time with that band was only just beginning.

[iamthecomet]

oooh i need to know how rainy reacts to seeing swiss or mountain next to aurora

You could not have sent this ask on a better day, Anon.

Kinktober - Day 13 - Size Difference

Almost 900 words of Rain pining over Mountain and Aurora in a very public place.

Rain can’t stand it anymore. Dew, Aeon, and Swiss are talking about something–guitars maybe. Beer? Rain doesn’t know. He shifts, feet sticking to the floor of the dive bar just enough to make him cringe. If he was more clear-headed he might just leave. This place is gross. Swiss always has terrible taste in bars. They’re always dirty, sticky, smelling of stale cigarettes and old beer. They remind him of the little music venues Dew will sometimes drag him to. The ones where they stand at the back the room and watch some hardcore or black metal band. Sipping watered down beer and watching Humans try to kill each other in the pit.

At least then, there’s entertainment. He doesn’t get this though. The appeal of coming somewhere like this just to drink?

Swiss says it’s because the drinks are cheap, but that doesn’t really matter anymore. And honestly, Rain would have gone back to the hotel a while ago if it wasn’t for the scene unfolding in front of him.

Mountain’s teaching Aurora how to play pool. His big body tucking around hers as he teaches her how to hold the cue. How to aim. Bending her down over the table with a hand flat on her back.

And Rain is hard. Straining against his jeans. If he moves away from the cover of the bar he’ll be in trouble. He angles his body to try to make sure no one sees. 

He doesn’t feel like making a scene tonight. 

Mountain bends, spine curving down to whisper something Aurora’s ear. She laughs. Cumulus and Cirrus stand at the other end of the pool table watching. Cirrus leans against the wall, cue in hand, eyes narrowed as she takes in the spectacle. Rain can’t decide if the look on her face is because she wants to win at pool, or she’s hungry for the same thing Rain is. 

Mountain’s fingers cover Aurora’s completely when he adjusts her grip. She smiles up at him, cheeks pinking with a blush that makes Rain’s cock kick in his pants. His mouth is dry. He takes a sip of beer to fix it. The bitter end of it doesn’t help. He wants to wash it down with the sweat beading on Mountain’s neck. He can see it, glistening against his throat. 

Aurora looks over her shoulder with bright eyes. She presses back against Mountain as he adjusts her stance and Rain feels like he might blow it right here. 

Mountain’s hand comes to rest on her belly. Rain can see the span of his hand. Thumb slipping below the hem of her cropped shirt. Palm flat to her skin. That hand covers all of her, from hip to hip. 

Rain watches as Mountain’s fingers flex and he pulls her back just a little. A noise builds deep in his throat, a growl or a whine he doesn’t know. 

“Take the shot. You can fuck later,” Cirrus says, rolling her eyes. Aurora’s blush deepens. The outburst does nothing to pull Rain from his reverie. He can’t stop watching as Mountain holds Aurora close, guides her to pull back the cute, to shoot. 

She makes the shot, a ball dropping into the corner pocket. Aurora whoops. Jumping, throwing her arms around Mountain’s neck. Pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Rain watches him blush too, grinning down at Aurora as she celebrates. 

“You get to go again,” he says to her, still holding her a little to close to be just instructional.  Rain reaches down to adjust himself in his pants. He wonders if he can hide it long enough to walk to the bathroom. To jack off into a dingy toilet to this image.

Aurora grins up at Mountain, there’s something strangely predatory about it. It makes Rain’s stomach hurt. 

“Will you help me again?” 

From her spot against the wall, Cirrus groans. Cumulus hits her softly on the arm, as if to tell her to be nice. Rain can’t help but feel the same sentiment. He’d love for Aurora’s turn to be over so he can breathe properly again. 

Instead, Mountain folds himself around her again. Presses her hips tight to the pool table. Clearly grinding his own against the swell of her ass.  He engulfs her. Rain feels like he’s about to catch on fire. His cock leaks in his pants. He can feel the wetspot against his palm as he touches himself. He can’t pretend to be adjusting anymore, he’s grinding into his own palm, hissing through his teeth at the pressure. He’s just lucky Dew, Swiss, and Aeon are engaged in a heated debate about guitar strings or some other asinine thing.  Aurora makes the next shot too and Mountain stays glued to her as they shift around the table. Rain grinds his palm down harder into his cock and gives himself a tight squeeze. Hips rolling up against his hand. He’s probably going to cum right here, in his pants in a dirty bar just from this, from them.  He should feel bad about it, maybe, getting himself off in public like this. To a pool game of all things. But there’s no blood left in his brain for shame to use. He huffs out a sigh in lieu of the moan he wants to and prepares to make a mess of himself. 

[fourmula1]

i was scrolling down the #summerofcome2023 tag and wow, every piece was exquisite.

maybe you’ll feel inspired some day to write more about a line that goes “he’s mating material, maybe Max thinks about this too” or something like that hahaha

Flufftober Day 11: this anon.

max/daniel. 1,309 words (oops). follow up to this piece.

-

When Daniel got back to Monaco and made his way to Max’s apartment he expected – and hoped – for the rather desperate and frantic sex they’d had previously.

For Max to be feral for him – because he always was before – and to drag Daniel to the bedroom and get on his knees for Daniel.

No other alpha he’d ever been with would ever.

But not Max. Max worshiped Daniel’s body and loved to make Daniel come with his mouth only and Daniel was getting very used to the way Max was about him.

Even if he was a bit past his prime omega mating years, Max still was crazy about sex with him and it made Daniel feel pretty good. At least someone still wanted to fuck him.

What he did not expect, upon his return to Monaco, was Max tugging Daniel onto the sofa with him to cuddle and nuzzle his way up Daniel’s neck and against his scent gland. What he didn’t expect was the way Max breathed him in deeply, strong arms squeezing him close.

“Missed you so much,” Max sighed against Daniel’s neck, taking another deep, slow breath. Daniel had at least had the good sense to shower upon his return home and it paid off. Max was scenting him at his purest – freshly showered and clean, no weird airplane smells, no one else in the mix.

Daniel’s tummy swooped a bit in his belly. They were having a great hook-up season together, lots of hot sex, and laughter and jokes and hanging out. Daniel was fairly sure, though, that Max’s youth was a hit against him. Max wouldn’t want to settle down with an omega any time soon, and especially not one nearly 35. If Daniel wanted to have a pup or two he’d be considered high risk, a ‘geriatric pregnancy’ as it was. Max would eventually move on to someone younger, more fertile, who could give him pups and look good and pretty next to Max in the Paddock.

“Glad to be back,” Daniel said, happy to just soak up whatever he could get. He often wondered… hoped… maybe Max would stick this out with him for a few years, at least. Daniel could accept the benefits of being friends with Max and when Max was ready to move on… it’d hurt, it would. But. That’s the way life went and he’d have to accept it.

“Don’t go for so long, again,” Max murmured, dragging his lips across Daniel’s jaw and pressing a little kiss to the corner of Daniel’s mouth.

He’d only been gone ten days.

“Oh Maxy, I’m sure you could have found pretty much anyone ready to hop into bed with you,” Daniel joked, laughter cutting off short when Max pulled back to look down at him laid out on the sofa, deep frown etched in his features.

“Why would you say that?” Max asked, and Daniel’s omega empathy could feel and smell the wave of hurt that washed off of Max. It surprised him, because Max always smelled happy, and warm, when they were together.

“Just a joke, I guess,” Daniel shrugged, a little frown of his own forming. “Plenty of omegas would be glad to help you take the edge off.”

Max paused, pulling back even further to rest his weight on his elbow as he looked down at Daniel. Daniel looked back, feeling Max’s hurt and confusion in a way that was more uncomfortable. He wanted to squirm away.

“Did… were you… with other alphas in Los Angeles?” Max asked, and his voice was small. Soft. Not accusatory but defeated. He wasn’t jealous. He was sad.

Daniel let himself feel Max for a moment, take in the way his scent changed, and his confusion started to bleed into something more hopeful. Daniel had not been with anyone else since he started sleeping with Max a few months ago but he always understood that they had no formal agreement and Max would be free to do what he wanted. Daniel had had a history of sleeping around plenty, but once he started hooking up with Max he wasn’t looking for anything else. Neither was his heart.

“Max, no,” he said, shaking his head a little and reaching up to cup his hand at the side of Max’s neck, thumb stroking gently over the hinge of his jaw. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I. It’s just been you, since, like, March,” he explained, meeting Max’s pretty blue eyes and trying to gage where Max was coming from.

Max studied Daniel’s face, and Daniel could practically see the gears turning in his head, and then the relief on his features when he understood Daniel was being honest.

“I don’t want any other omegas,” Max offered, shifting again to lay on the sofa with Daniel, tugging him close again, chest to chest as he curled his arm around Daniel’s shoulders. “I only want my own,” he said, squeezing gently. Daniel’s heartbeat picked up in his chest.

“Your own?” He asked.

“You of course are my omega, Daniel,” Max said, leaning in for a little kiss Daniel was happy to receive. “If you want to be,” Max finished, looking back at Daniel again. Daniel could smell the softening of Max’s scent from the sharp worry of before, back to his happy, sated, content scent Daniel was so familiar with.

Daniel swallowed the lump in his throat. This wasn’t what he expected when he returned today. He didn’t expect to get everything he wanted.

“I want to be,” he agreed, shivering a little at the way Max nuzzled back in against his neck to press a kiss to his mating mark spot. He couldn’t help the little moan that escaped him when Max dragged his teeth gently over it – a promise for the future. Daniel would let him do it now, if he was honest.

“Good. I have hoped so since I presented,” Max said and that sent Daniel reeling back, enough to stare Max in the face. Max presented as an alpha shortly after he got promoted to Red Bull. Years, and years ago. “I knew I of course had to wait and become an alpha you’d even consider before I tried.”

“Max, what?” Daniel asks, shock, confusion, awe taking him over.

“What?” Max asks back, and his face is cracked open with delight, a bright smile and laughter bursting out. “Daniel. You of course would never have agreed to be with me when I was nineteen. I needed to of course grow up and work hard to be a good alpha if you were ever going to agree to mate me.”

He says it so matter-of-fact. Like those sentences haven’t sent Daniel for a tailspin, trying to figure out what the hell Max was saying.

Max is smart, though, and Daniel realizes he’s probably right. Daniel wouldn’t have given nineteen year old Max a shot – because of his age, because of his feral inexperience, because of a lot of reasons. Daniel is lost for words for a moment as he processes this. What if he had found an alpha he wanted to settle down with before Max felt he could be the right one for Daniel? What if he’d mated someone, never knowing all along that Max hoped they’d be together. What if Max had to go through that and bury his feelings about it and pretend everything was okay? So many what ifs. Daniel spares a thought to be grateful that that never happened.

“You’re too much, Maxy,” he said, the tiniest little smile on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. Daniel tucks himself back into Max’s chest and nuzzles in, closes his eyes. He needs to nap off the jetlag and can think of no better way to do it then curled up with his alpha. His alpha.

[acasualcrossfade]

Angel, Baby, Sweetheart, Sunshine

Sicktember Day 22:  Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Words: 500 | Rating: M | CW: mentions of drug use, sex, and edge play

Summary: Steve loves all the pet names Eddie has for him.

Find me on Ao3!

--

Steve loved the way Eddie used pet names and was surprised at how many there were. 

Big boy was first, and it had caught Steve off-guard. He’d never been called something that left him equally confused and amused. 

Eddie only proved to have more pet names in his arsenal. 

Angel came soon after.

They’d both been insomniacs the night before, sharing joints on the patio as they watched the stars shift to sunrise. The sun’s soft golden light stretched across their bedroom and Steve rolled over closer to nudge Eddie awake. 

The pet name mumble-rolled from Eddie’s mouth. 

A few more minutes, angel

Steve paused at the pet name, relishing in it. Angel. 

Eddie had uttered it with breathy ease, as if the name was meant solely for him. 

And when Eddie woke, he murmured it again, voice still thick with sleep. 

Good morning, angel

Warmth bloomed in Steve’s heart and spread through his chest and he cuddled Eddie closer.

Baby was next. 

Baby, Steve learned, was reserved for the bedroom. 

Baby was whispered in Steve’s ear while Steve moaned through Eddie’s rhythmic thrusts from behind. 

Baby was hushed between soft praises and softer commands as Eddie edged him.

A little longer, baby, so good for me

Steve was a spool of thread, woven with want and need, and Eddie wound him tighter and tighter before finally allowing Steve to unravel and come undone in his arms. And then, Eddie stitched Steve back together with the same pet name and praise. 

I got you baby, you did so good 

And Steve was left delightfully buzzing as the world crackled back to clarity. 

Sweetheart was the Sour Patch Kid pet name, either sweet or snarky.

When Steve came home from his day of teaching, Eddie was immediately on alert as Steve coughed into his elbow. Steve was sick; there was no denying it. 

You sound terrible, sweetheart , Eddie tutted, and filled the kettle to make tea.

When the pet name came snarky, it was complete with Eddie’s best cocky smile and his brown eyes glinting.

Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet , Eddie would challenge, one hand caressing the neck of his guitar while the other fingered his guitar pick. 

Sunshine was Steve’s favorite. 

It was always uttered with intention, and always served with a thick layer of love between its letters. 

Steve loved hearing sunshine woven into songs that Eddie sang to millions. He loved knowing it was him Eddie was referring to when he sang about sunshine warm on his skin. 

You’re mine, sunshine

I bathe in your beams, struck silent, self-aware and sun-kissed

It wasn’t just Eddie’s songs, either.

Sunshine was everywhere.

Eddie breathed sunshine between sunset kisses on the patio, and sunshine on firefly summer evenings at the lake. Eddie enthusiastically declared how much he loved sunshine both onstage and again backstage. 

I love you, sunshine

Each name was endearing and left Steve enveloped in comfort. 

And Steve knew he’d always be Eddie’s. 

Eddie’s angel, baby, sweetheart, sunshine.

[neondiamond]

If you know me at all, you’ll know that two of the things I enjoy most are writing fluffy ficlets, and Christmas. This year, I decided to combine the two and create my own little Christmas ficlet party all throughout December! 8 ficlets, 4 different pairings, many different tropes—all short, fluffy and festive! Perfect for a quick reading break with a warm drink!

Here is a little sneak peek of what you can expect!

🎄You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight (Larry, coffeeshop AU, strangers, 2k, fic post)

Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

❄️ An Annual Affair (OT5 friendship, A/B/O, 1.6k, fic post)

One Direction’s annual Christmas dinner, featuring pregnant Harry and his overprotective Alpha Louis, nervous Liam and his calm and collected mate Zayn, and clueless Niall who may or may not have a death wish.

🎅🏻 Not Quite Structurally Sound (Ziam, kid fic, 1.1k, fic post)

Zayn and Liam help their two kids build a gingerbread house.

⭐️ You’re Family (Larry, meeting the parents, asexual characters, 2k, fic post)

Louis is a little nervous about meeting Harry’s family for the first time for Christmas. Harry’s Mum shows him he has nothing to worry about.

Part of the Inner Crisis universe.

🎄A Special Bond (Narry friendship, kid fic, uncle Niall, 1.1k, fic post)

Baby Lilah goes to see the Christmas lights with her Daddy Harry and her uncle Niall.

❄️ Mistletoe Kiss (Larry, roommates, mutual pining, 1.2k, fic post)

A little bit of mistletoe is just the thing Louis needed to let his roommate Harry know he’s got quite the crush on him.

🎅🏻 Cookies and Christmas Cheer (Ziall friendship, hospital AU, 1k, fic post)

When Niall is feeling a little sad at having to work over the holidays, his fellow nurse Zayn shows him a little Christmas spirit is still possible.

⭐️ All That Counts (Larry, established relationship, 1.2k, fic post)

A soft Christmas morning in the Tomlinson-Styles household.

Merry Christmas everyone! ❤️

[f1amboyant]

There's definitely been a shift after the summer break, especially on Charles' part 👀 what happened Charles, did you like have some sort of sudden realisation?

Anon, you are so right! Charles has been throwing longing stares and heart eyes at Carlos like crazy since summer break, it's crazy. It's making me go insane.

Like. What is that?? This is not how you look at a teammate! Charles, get a grip (please don't, I am living for this!)

Something happened during summer break. My theory is that they did meet during the summer break (was it planned or not, I don't know, but something happened in the south of France 👀), they fucked (for the first time) and Charles is now obsessed with that man. And it shows.

Here's a little something for you...

.

They meet in the south of France.

Except for a few texts and one or two silly memes, they haven't been in contact much during the summer break. A like on an Instagram post here and there, keeping up with the other through social media. Kinda. Realizing they are not far from each other and yet they haven't planned to spend a single day together.

They spend enough days together working. This is summer break. This is for fun.

Still. They do meet. Somewhere in the south of France. In a private yet crowded club. Neither wanted to go, dragged by their friends. And yet here they are. Catching eyes from across the room.

Carlos wiggles his eyebrows. Charles giggles.

They go back to their friends.

They meet again later at the bar.

"I didn't know you would be here."

"They dragged me here, it wasn't planned."

They shout over the loud music and the alcohol slowly settling in their veins.

They go back to their friends again. They meet up again later. Much much later. In the bathroom. By accident.

Charles sways (drunk) and collides with Carlos' chest. Carlos laughs (too high, too loud, too drunk).

"Missed me this much, Lord Percival?"

"Maybe," Charles mumbles in Carlos' collar.

Carlos' shirt hangs open almost all the way down. There's only one or two buttons still attached.

"At this point, you should just take it off," Charles slurs.

(Or at least, that's what he is trying to say.) His alcohol-addled brain cannot really form sentences anymore. So he mumbles a few words then proceeds to rip the last two buttons on Carlos' shirt and opens it wide over the expanse of his muscled chest.

"Charles," Carlos groans. In warning. In lust.

But Charles barely listens, hypnotized by the glistening skin of Carlos' stomach, reaching a hand to trace the lines on Carlos' abs. He draws a shiver out of his teammate, a strangled moan, and a visible bulge in his pants.

Charles' mind buzzes with alcohol and the heady feeling of getting this kind of reaction from Carlos. It's exhilarating. He wants more.

He puts his hand on Carlos' crotch. Carlos pushes him back, slamming him back against the bathroom door.

"Charles," he whispers. Another warning.

He sounds wrecked, shaking with desire, rendered helpless from a single touch from Charles. Charles feels all too powerful. He needs more.

"Don't play with me," Carlos says.

"You want this?"

A nod. A step forward. One of them (Charles doesn't remember who) has the presence of mind to lock the door. The click is loud even with the music blasting from the club.

They are alone and Charles' hands are all over Carlos' body, eliciting all sorts of reactions from him and reveling in them all. The power he has over him is heady.

Carlos kisses him, messy and hungry.

Charles' hand slides into Carlos' pants, his fingers wrapping around a hard and leaking cock. Carlos gasps.

It's so so exhilarating.

He gets closer, his pelvis grinding against Carlos' hip as he strokes faster and faster. He drinks in all the little gasps and moans that escape Carlos' mouth. He bites on that plump bottom lip as Carlos exhales and comes right into Charles' palm.

"Charles..." he shudders.

Charles comes in his pants.

.

Charles wakes up the next morning, in his bed, with a headache pounding like crazy inside his skull. The nausea is strong but the dawning feeling as he remembers the previous night is stronger.

He kissed Carlos.

He gave him a handjob.

He came in his pants while doing it.

But most of all...

He wants more.

[forlorn-crows]

kinktober day 20

(not so) dry humping. we already know who's the king of cumming in his pants. put a pretty water and air ghoul on top of him and he's a goner. and they're high? oh yeah, big boy's totally creaming himself

little dick mountain, they/them zephyr (dick/cock for their anatomy), transmasc dew (cunt for his anatomy)

Dew lets ribbons of herbal smoke seep out from his gills, giggling at the ticklish feel. 

“Showing off for us, are you, water lily?” Zephyr lilts, reaching out to run a finger along the curly fins on the water ghoul’s neck. Dew sighshappily, preening under their attention. 

Mountain hooks his chin over Zephyr’s shoulder and watches the smoke curl and dissipate around them. “Pretty,” he mumbles. 

“He is, isn’t he,” Zephyr purrs. 

“Pretty high,” Dew replies with a laugh, snuffing out the end of the joint. 

Mountain squints. Stares at the ashtray for longer than necessary. He grumbles a little into Zephyr’s hair. “Was’at th’ end already?” he slurs, brows knitting together. 

“Number . . . uh . . .” Dew sucks his teeth and lets his eyes droop, brain visibly buffering as he struggles to remember just how many they’ve shared between the three of them. 

Zephyr chuckles at the both of them. They relax further back into Mountain’s chest and pull Dew further up their outstretched legs. He happily makes himself comfortable on Zephyr’s lap, wriggling and readjusting until his legs fold pretzel-like to fit between the taller ghouls’ equally lanky limbs.

“You two are adorable lightweights,” they muse. They smooth their hands up and down Dew’s sides, earning a pleased hum from the water ghoul who promptly tucks his face into the crook of their neck like a milk-drunk kitten. 

“‘S not fair you just,” Mountain gestures vaguely with one hand, “make it disappear. Fuckin’ air ghouls.”

Dew huffs a laugh against Zephyr’s shirt. “Not fair,” he echoes. He wriggles his hips again, settling further into their lap and into the comfortable haze hanging between his ears. 

Zephyr can’t really hide—or help—the strained grunt that escapes their throat at the sensation of a pretty water ghoul squirming directly over their dick. Blame it on the weed, or blame it on the lack of substantial material between Dew’s sex and theirs, but Zephyr is instantaneously more lightheaded and significantly harder than they were just moments ago.  

Mountain’s nostrils flare against their skin, ears perking. “Mm, smell good, Zephy. Feelin’ good?”

Dew sniffs too, jolting back up from his draped posture and grinning wide when he feels Zephyr chubbed up beneath him. “I’d say they’re feelin’ real good, Mounty,” he drawls. He rolls his hips for good measure, wrenching a real groan from the air ghoul’s throat. 

“You would too with a pretty little water ghoul in your lap,” Zephyr retorts. They give a pinch to Dew’s side as payback. 

“Ohhhh,” Mountain says, neurons finally firing in the right series. He squeezes his hands around Zephyr’s middle and pulls them properly against his chest, rumbling contentedly as the bright honeysuckle scent of their arousal wafts over them all. “Wha’ if I have a pretty air ghoul in my lap?”

“Dunno, pet,” Zephyr breathes, dropping their head back against Mountain’s shoulder. Dew takes this as an invitation to melt his lanky body back against their chest, nuzzling his nose close to their pulse point. “What will you do?” they tease. 

And then they have the audacity to wriggle their own hips, grinding against Mountain’s lap until he groans too. “Fuck, Zephyyy,” he whines. 

“Zephyyy,” Dew snorts, mocking him lightly. But any menace is lost in the giggle he lets loose less than a second later—a giggle that morphs straight into a moan when Zephyr’s cock rubs just right against his clit through their pants. “Oh,” he gasps, humping right back. “That feels real nice.”

“Yeah, does,” Mountain groans, his own cock quickly filling out and the little head turning sticky. “Too—mmpf—too nice,” he admits. 

“Plenty to go around, boys,” Zephyr teases. They grind between the others, indulging in the lazy heat settling in their veins. A pleased purr kicks up in their chest. “Fuck, you two feel divine.”

Mountain noses along the wispy hair at their temple, mouth slightly parted as he huffs hotly against the side of their face. A high earth ghoul is an easily excitable—and sensitive—earth ghoul, so his hips are already kicking up in tempo underneath Zephyr’s ass. It’s rough and greedy, but it feels too good to even fathom stopping. 

Thoughts are in short supply between them anyway. Especially not when Dew starts bouncing a mere minute later like he can ride Zephyr through their pants. 

“Don’t—don’ do that,” Mountain whines. His arms wrap around Zephyr’s torso and he grabs Dew’s waist, but he does nothing to stop him from moving. If anything, he grips the little ghoul tighter, keeping him from slipping off of Zephyr’s lap while he ruts harder against their ass. 

The air ghoul gasps, caught between amusement and arousal. “Can feel how hard that little cock is, pet. Getting needy?”

“Likes seeing me ride you,” Dew pants, almost just as desperate. Almost.

“You are doing nothing of the sort.”

“‘lose enough,” Mountain wheezes. The water ghoul keeps glancing past Zephyr’s face, batting his eyelashes at Mountain and flipping his silver hair out of his face. And devils below if he would stop bouncing like that, maybe Mountain wouldn’t be so close to cumming in his jeans. 

“Mounty-y-y,” Dew sing-songs, voice bouncing in time with his body. “You got that look on your faaaccee.”

The earth ghoul shakes his head, biting back a childish nuh-uh. The look in question has his eyebrows drawn together, and his chipped fang poking over his bottom lip where he’s worrying it between his teeth. His eyes are droopy and red-rimmed, fighting not to stare at Dew or roll straight back into his head. 

Zephyr cranes their neck to run their tongue up the column of Mountain’s neck. They rock their hips back and forth between the two ghouls, slow and torturous. "If you cum, pet,” they rasp, “I bet our droplet will clean you up while I fuck his darling cunt. Won't you, Dew?"

Dew chokes. "What the fu—"

"Oh Lucifer," Mountain cries, voice cracking through breaks he didn't even know he had while his hips give a telltale stutter. Before he can gather the scraps of his remaining wits, he squeezes his arms around Zephyr’s middle and humps them rabbit-quick, creaming himself in no less than five thrusts. He shudders through it, whining high and wounded, cumming harder under the burn of embarrassment. 

“Oh, darling,” Zephyr groans, albeit with a slightly teasing lilt. “That sounded like a very good time.” 

“Shut up,” Mountain mumbles, grimacing at the way his cock twitches in the confines of his now sticky underwear. 

Mercifully, Zephyr leans forward so their ass isn’t directly on Mountain’s lap anymore, getting close to Dew’s face with a wicked smile on their face. Dew can’t help but giggle as they brush their lips over his. 

“Better get to work, water lily,” they croon. Zephyr casts a quick peek over their shoulder, winking at Mountain who’s still staring at them, slack-jawed. They turn back to Dew, pressing even closer and lowering their voice to a barely-there whisper: “Wouldn’t want your treat to go to waste, would you?” 

[medusapelagia]

R- Rockstar

R is for Rin (@rindecision) the first person I DMed ever! Thank you for being so kind and helpful���

I hope you will enjoy your present 🎁!

This fic is inspired by this beautiful art made by @firefly-party (who was so kind to let me use it as an inspiration!)

Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve /Eddie (vague mention of Chrissy /Robin) WT: no one Words: 1144

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Eddie swears while he smokes the last cigarette from his packet.

“Didn’t you promise Murray that you were going to quit? It’s bad for your voice, you know that.” Chrissy tells him when she finds him on the roof smoke chaining.

“This is a fucking emergency and I’m sure that Murray will understand.”

“If you say so.” She replies, looking at him unconvinced, so Eddie puts out the cigarette on the wall behind him.

“Did you come to give me more bad news?”

She shakes her blond ponytail “No, actually I came with a good one.”

“Is Gareth ok? Are we going to play tonight?”

“Well these are two very different questions and I’ll give you two very different answers. First no, Gareth is still at the hospital and they are not going to let him leave his room, he just got his appendix perforated and it’s not a joke.”

Eddie lets himself slip toward the floor dramatically “Fuck. We are screwed.”

“But…” she continues, helping him up “You must go back because Corroded Coffin are going to play tonight!”

Eddie’s eyes widen “You didn’t.”

Chrissy smirks “I did.”

“How the hell did you find a drummer with such a short notice? Is he good? Does he know our songs?”

“He is quite good. We are very lucky because his tour just ended and he seems to know at least some of your songs.”

“Some?”

“He is good Eddie, you will be really pleased with him, I’m sure of it.”

Eddie hugs her so tight that he almost hears the bones in the girl's body cracks “Sorry, sorry. You are a magician Chrissy! I don’t know how you made it but it’s the greatest news ever! I would have been so pissed if we had had to cancel the last date of our concert and rescheduled!”

“I know, that’s why I insisted. The drummer wasn’t really convinced at the beginning, but you know me! I worked my magic and now it’s downstairs to rehearse with Frank and Jeff.

“Without me?” the metalhead asks, offended.

“You are the one crying on the roof, not my fault.” Chrissy replies with a sweet smile.

“The face of an angel and yet you are so cruel! I was mourning! Didn’t you notice?”

“Oh, I noticed, as I noticed all the cigarette buts on the floor.”

“Promise me you will not say to Murray that I smoked.”

“Pinkie promise.” She replies with a smirk, and Eddie feels there is something he is missing, but he is so excited to have a temporary drummer that he doesn’t ask any questions and runs toward the stage.

The new drummer is turned toward the boys but he seems familiar.

“Hey, Ed! Have you seen the new drummer Chrissy got us?”

The boy turns and Eddie’s blood turns into ice “Harrington?”

The chestnut boy winks at him “Hey, Munson. Chrissy told me you needed a drummer.” 

Eddie turns toward Chrissy who is laughing behind the papers that she is holding.

“Do you care to explain, Cunningham?”

“Well, Different Twins last tour date was yesterday and they were still in town, so I asked a favor to a friend.”

“Which friend?” Eddie knows that Chrissy has a crush on the blond singer and guitarist of the duo, but she knows that he is not indifferent to the pretty drummer either.

“Is it important? I got you a drummer, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Even if Different Twins play pop music Eddie has seen Harrington play more than once and he is definitely capable of repeating a song just after one listening so Eddie is pretty sure that he will nail it; the problem is Eddie: will he be able to concentrate on the music and not on the drummer?

“I fucking hate you, Cunningham.” he murmurs between his teeth.

“Nah, you love me. Now go and do what you do best!”

Eddie raises an eyebrow “Make a fool out of myself?”

“Play!” she replies, pushing him toward the stage.

“Well, I think that the boys already told you about our songs’ setlist, right?” Eddie asks, getting on stage.

Steve nods “Yeah. We were talking about the last song. I was proposing to play Running Up the Hill.” He says making a bun with his hair and fixing it with a pen.

“Sorry?”

“Running Up The Hill, your version of the song.”

Eddie shakes his head “We usually close with our version of Sweet Dreams.”

“Yeah, I know it, but it sounds like an easy choice. I mean… don’t you want everyone to leave the concert still pumped? It’s your concert, so it’s your choice but…”

“We haven’t played it in so long.” Jeff intervenes, looking at Eddie “I’d like to play it again. What do you say?”

Eddie glares at Jeff, he just put him in a difficult position “That’s not what we decided…”

“Come on! It will be fun!” Frank insists and Eddie sighs.

“Ok, ok, but we have to rehearse it at least a couple of times, ok?”

That’s how Eddie finds himself close to Steve, watching his every movement and finding them impeccable.

“You are good.” Eddie tells him, offering some water.

“Were you worried?” Steve asks amused.

“A bit? Sorry, but it’s our last tour concert and I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“I get it, I’m the pretty boy who plays pop music, aren’t I?”

Eddie can’t deny that he was thinking these very same words so he simply shrugs whispering “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I guess you’ll have to offer me a beer.”

“What for?”

“For being rude?” Steve replies sticking his tongue out.

That’s not what Eddie was expecting from him, he was expecting a preppy rich kid who would have reminded him that he comes from a rich family and is a talented multi-instrumentalist, but instead, he simply asked for a beer and stuck his tongue out like a five-year-old.

When they get on stage Steve is wearing a blue tank top that shows all his constellations of moles and Eddie has to try his hardest not to get too fixed on the drummer during the concert, even if his eyes find Steve’s more time than not.

“So, how do you like him?” Jeff asks Eddie when they get backstage after the concert.

“He is good.”

“I’m sure he is good at many things…” he whispers with a wink, but Eddie can’t reply because Steve is waiting for him.

“If I’m not wrong you still owe me a beer, right?”

Eddie turns toward Jeff to ask him if he wants to join them, but somehow both he and Frank have vanished into thin air.

“Well, it seems it’s just me and you, big boy.” Eddie concludes “My place?” he asks and the smile Steve gives him tells him all he needs to know.

[darkpurpledawn]

For the AU-gust prompt "Sculptor AU"

“But as your realtor, Mr. Crowley, I do insist that a different piece would be more-ah, welcoming for the foyer.”

Aziraphale’s hands twisted around his briefcase. They were oddly sweaty, although it was a cool day and the Mayfair residence was well-shaded by a mature hawthorn.

“But you do like it?” Crowley asked. His expression was unreadable beneath the everpresent sunglasses, but Aziraphale thought his gaze flicked to the statue of the two angels.

Aziraphale did, in fact, like it. It was large and dramatic, and sculpted with a vigor that made it look as though the winged beings might topple from their pedestal. But it had been dashed difficult to get Crowley to make any of his living space more approachable-looking before he put this hulking thing in the entry, and Aziraphale suspected the average homebuyer might find it all a bit much.

“Oh I’m no great art appreciator, Mr. Crowley,” Aziraphale demurred. “Certainly I think you’ve evident talent, and it’s quite--compelling.”

Crowley tapped his nose thoughtfully with one finger. Aziraphale imagined him running those long fingers over the marble flanks of the angels, bringing forth flesh from stone. He mentally chastised the capillaries in his face for blushing in front of a client.

“It’s Good and Evil, you know, can’t get more classic than that,” Crowley drawled. “Thought I’d make evil win this time though.”

He lowered the sunglasses and gave Aziraphale a wink.

Oh, now that was unfair.

“Mr. Crowley, did you have a look at the paint samples I suggested for the upstairs bath?” Aziraphale said faintly.

“Erm, yeah,” said Crowley, “I didn’t know there were that many kinds of beige, being honest.”

Aziraphale exhaled. They were back on firmer footing now. It was impossible to be erotically excited by comparing shades of ecru.

“Let’s take a quick look at the baseboards and see which of the suggested colors best matches the tile,” Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley nodded, and headed for the stairway. Aziraphale cast his eyes around at the projects in Crowley’s studio on the ascent to the second floor. There was a monstrous-looking dog, snakes that seemed about to wriggle free from their stone skin, and a number of angels that seemed to be in various states of psychological distress.

“Whoa!” 

Aziraphale moved before he could think, before he could really see what had happened--Crowley tripped and fell back a stair and Aziraphale braced himself against the railing and stopped the two of them from falling further.

“For heaven’s sake, my own sodding flat--thanks Mr. Fell, sorry about that,” Crowley said, and stood upright again. Aziraphale was relieved--Crowley’s back was no longer pressing into him--until Crowley turned around to look at his rescuer, and he was forced to bear the pressure of an even more hazardous side of Crowley. 

Think of beige, he instructed himself. Think of baseboards, think of bifold doors. Think of renovations to historic buildings that remove all the ornamental stonework. Think of smart home devices, and those horrid bookshelves that barely have any books on them at all. Think of all the dreadful, palatable things you tell people to put in their homes.

Think of Crowley moving away from London. Think of how you’ll never have to think of this again.

[notsuchasecret]

first, a celebration

I've decided, against my better judgment and at the horrible enableationing of a certain @ezzydean, to write and post 365 ficlets this year, again. I've got a nifty little spreadsheet to keep track and everything. Each one of these will be a different sort of funness. Some will be ceated using the random fic generator I made a while back. Some will have to do with specific numbers or prompts. I'm not promising to post every single day, but I will have 365 by the end of the year. This one in particular is *apparently* the poly karasuno bug coming back to bite me once more, so enjoy!

"God damn you, you stupid motherfucking cunt waffle!"

Asahi smiled, not even bothering to open his eyes as the melody of profanity drifted through the house. It was a beautiful sound, the sound of his love and all the happiness she could bring to his life. There was a long pause of silence, long enough that Asahi could fully wake up and realize just how big and empty their bed was.

When she started shouting again, he grinned and threw the covers off.

"What are you cursing at today?" he asked, padding up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He had to stoop to bury his nose in her soft black hair, but it was worth it for the scent of her floral shampoo and the way she leaned back against him with a happy little hum.

"These morons don't know how to play," she groused, and clicked away at her controller some more.

"Why are you playing standing up, you weirdo?" he laughed, and she just shook her head.

"Gotta concentrate," she said, and then immediately shouted, "You fucking piss ant, my grandma could play better than that and she's fucking dead!"

Asahi shook his head with a chuckle and padded off to find himself some coffee. When she finished her round, she shut down the console and followed him into the kitchen.

"Happy birthday," she said, her voice soft and melodious as it always had been. She stepped up behind him, copying the pose he'd used a moment before, and nuzzling between his shoulder blades.

"Thank you, Kiyoko," he said. He patted at her hand until she let him turn around, but she never removed her arms from his waist. "What time does the chaos start?" he asked.

"I told the others to be here around noon, so any time between an hour ago and six this evening," she said. He laughed again, just in time with the pounding of fists on the door. She hummed, swatted him on the ass, then swiped his coffee cup from the counter and nodded toward the door. "Well?" she taunted. "Go on. You know they won't wait for long. They love you too much for that." There was a double meaning in that, but Asahi ignored it for the time being.

"Brat," he laughed, and went to face his fate. As he opened the door and several members of the old Karasuno team tumbled in in a pile, he couldn't help but think that this right here was exactly how he wanted it.

"Asahi-san!" Nishinoya shouted from his spot on the top of the heap. "What the hell are you still doing in your pajamas?"

"Well, Noya, I just woke up, having spent the morning of my birthday lounging in bed, but a certain group of miscreants decided to interrupt me," Asahi huffed, and Nishinoya grinned up at him.

"I don't think they know what the word 'miscreants' even means," Tsukishima drawled. He was the only one who had avoided the pile, and he stood with his hip leaning against the doorway and his arms crossed and a smile on his face.

"Probably not," Asahi agreed, and hauled Nishinoya out of the doorway so that the others could start standing. He counted six: Nishinoya and Tsukishima, Tanaka, Hinata, Kageyama, and buried all the way at the bottom where Asahi hadn't even seen him, Kinoshita, who turned and glowered at Kageyama as soon as he was freed. "Are the others coming here, or are we meeting them?" Asahi asked.

"Daichi-san and Suga-san said they were coming here, but Yamaguchi and Narita-san are picking Yacchan up and meeting us at the shrine," Hinata chirped in answer. Asahi glanced at the clock on the stove and nodded.

"We should probably get going as soon as Daichi and Suga get here, then, to make sure Tadashi and Kazuhito don't break anything," he said.

"You gonna go in your boxers?" Tanaka asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. Asahi glanced down at himself and hummed.

"I would, but you know how I feel about free shows," he answered, turning down the hall to the sound of Tanaka choking on his own laughter. Kiyoko met him in the bedroom, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Are you going to do it this year?" she asked.

"We'll see how the shrine visit goes," he answered. She nodded.

"I'm with you either way."

"I know."

Suga and Daichi were just arriving when Asahi emerged, dressed this time. Suga hadn't removed any of his layers, but at the sight of Asahi coming down the hall, Daichi groaned and started pulling his coat back on.

"Do we have everyone?" Suga asked. "Who's got the child leashes today?"

"It's my birthday, so not me," Asahi said serenely.

"I lived in a foreign country for--"

"Two years, we know, Shouyou," Nishinoya interrupted. "I've set foot on six different continents. It's not gonna stop them from trying."

"You're both so small. We just don't want to lose you in the crowds!" There was absolute innocence in Suga's voice, but they all knew by then not to trust that. Hinata just rolled his eyes and stomped out the front door.

As Asahi walked through the streets toward the nearest shrine, he turned the same thought over and over in his head like a shiny stone. Kiyoko held one of his hands, muttering obscenities under her breath as they walked arm-in-arm, but the other hand was swinging back and forth in Suga's grip. Kinoshita had Noya in a piggyback hold, while Hinata tried to cajole Tsukishima into the same. Tanaka and Daichi were talking in soft tones at the front of the group.

"You know," Suga said, quiet enough that Asahi could pretend not to hear, if he wanted, "It doesn't need to fit in a box. It doesn't need a label that anyone else understands. If it works, it works, and that's all that matters."

Asahi hummed, squeezing his hand. They were just coming up to the shrine, their missing three waiting for them at the bottom of the steps. Asahi took a deep breath of the cold air and looked around at all of them, chattering and laughing and swearing and hanging off of one another, moving in a synchronized orbit like they had for years now. Suga was right, he thought, and smiled. What did it matter what anyone else thought, when he had this? Good fortune was already his, and had been all along. He just had to reach out and take it.

So he did.

[fuctacles]

Steve Harrington's Barbie-shaped thighs

now on Ao3 | final edit: 04.08

Robeen: Barbie tonight @ 5!!! Robeen: Dress accordingly OR ELSE Eddee: ????? Steef: 👍👍👍💅💅💅

Eddie did the best he could with his monochrome wardrobe. Which meant an impromptu thrift hunt. He found a tiny pink tank top and a vaguely 80s-shaped shirt he could throw over it. It didn't look half-bad, paired with high-waisted shorts and a couple of borrowed accessories (a pink belt and huge hoop earrings from Gareth's sister). He already owned a pink scrunchie - a gift from Steve - which he used to tie his hair into a high ponytail.

On the bus, he felt slightly self-conscious, making him realise how much he relied on his metalhead armour on a daily basis. The way kids dressed up these days and the fact that he wasn't the only one on his way to see Barbie helped him blend in. So while it felt that way, he wasn’t actually standing out.

As it turned out, definitely not as much as Steve.

While Robin decided to recreate the striped costume look to her best ability (the top and the bottom didn't really match but the reference was apparent enough), Steve decided on a pink tennis outfit, with a pleated skirt. He even shaved his legs.

His hair has grown out long enough to tie it into a tiny ponytail, which was, in Eddie's objective opinion, fucking adorable.

He approached his friends and, unable to help himself, tugged on the skirt.

"Somebody understood the assignment," he smiled teasingly, laughing when Steve swatted his hand away, straightening the pleats. “Aced it, even.” Then, both to preserve his sanity and socialize properly, he turned to Robin. “You both look great.”

"I can't hold a candle to our diva here."

Steve preened, twisting his hips so the skirt twirled around his thighs. Which again, fucking adorable. Eddie's queer heart was on fire. He wanted to tug on the hem of the skirt, play with the white collar, and tip the visor askew. Touch every part of the outfit and the person in it because Steve Harrington wore a skirt to a Barbie screening. It was like he wanted Eddie to die of a heart attack.

Thankfully, they arrived just in time for the movie to start and couldn’t ruminate on their Barbie-inspired outfits. When buying popcorn, Eddie lagged behind, hoping the view in front of him inspires him enough to maybe, finally, ask Harrington out. After the movie, perhaps. He’s heard great reviews so far, it may just give him the nudge he needs. 

They found their pre-ordered seats and Eddie watched Steve's skirt ride up sinfully high when he crossed his legs. Torture.

"You look great by the way. Colours look good on you," his friend leaned in to whisper. The theatre was running the commercials and some people still talked at full volume, so it wasn’t like he had to do that. "You're wearing the scrunchie," he observed too.

"I am. I wear it all the time," Eddie answered with a frown, almost offended at the implication that he wouldn’t. He leaned back to look at Steve. His eyes were sparkling in the dim theatre.

"Yeah?"

He shrugged, playing it cool in front of The Boy.

"Yeah, just. Not in public." 

In the comfort of his home, when he was practising guitar, doing the dishes, or cooking. Doing domestic shit alone, missing his friends. Thinking of Steve.

The commercials ended and the lights went off. Steve's fingers brushed against Eddie's arm as he pulled back to sit comfortably. Just a fleeting, accidental touch; Casual and friendly, but it left him reeling.

Eddie braced himself for almost 2 hours of sitting in the dark next to Steve's bare thighs.

Alas, no amount of bracing could prepare him for Steve's fingers against his skin, this time intentional and teasing. For how when he silently reprimanded him, knocking his knuckles against his knee half-playfully, he grasped them and pressed down, letting his hand rest on the bare skin. 

For the second half of the movie, all Eddie could think of were shades of pink and soft skin.

[fourmula1]

Flufftober Day 13 - Scent

eager baby alpha max gets everything he's ever wanted. 375 words.

-

Once he realized he was truly allowed to, the first thing Max did was pull Daniel from the foyer of his apartment to the sofa – big enough for the both of them to snuggle on. Daniel was his omega. Max had always known it, but Daniel realizing it now just sweetened the deal.

As they settled in together, Daniel squeezed between the back of the sofa and Max’s body, Max curled his arms back around Daniel and nuzzled into his neck to scent him properly. He’d always been drawn to the warm, honey-like scent of Daniel but getting to truly follow his instincts and scent him properly, not just get passing whiffs, was easing his inner alpha in ways he’d never been calmed before.

He was good at masking. He was good at hiding it and showing restraint and leaving Daniel alone as best as he could manage, longing from afar. But now that he was free to do it he indulged his every instinct to run his hands over Daniel’s body and rub his face against Daniel’s scent gland, wanting Daniel all over him. He was going to smell like Daniel so strongly they’d never be able to deny or hide what was happening but Max didn’t care. His instincts were stronger than his rational brain, and his inner alpha was leading the way. Max rumbled as he pulled Daniel closer, felt the omega shiver in his arms as he did so. Daniel’s scent was comforting beyond measure and calmed him, worries and anxieties melting away in the moment.

“I always knew,” Max whispered, lips trailing along Daniel’s jaw as he spoke, moving down to kiss Daniel again. “Always knew we were supposed to be together,” he said between kisses, loving the way Daniel smiled into it.

Max pulled back enough to properly look at him, smile of his own spreading on his lips.

“You are so beautiful,” Max said softly, sliding a hand up to cup Daniel’s jaw, thumb brushing over a high cheekbone beneath Daniel’s eye.

Max had never heard Daniel make this noise before – the involuntary, sweet, little coo omegas made when pleased with their alphas.

He vowed in his heart to hear Daniel like this again, and again, and again.

[momo-t-daye]

"Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget it must be taken under conditions of need and valor-" the portrait recited, an echo of Albus Dumbledore, a recording unspooling predetermined plans. It wasn't Albus Dumbledore, it was paint and canvas and curated memories and trained habits, it was a simulacrum that could only ever offer false connection and empty comfort.

Minerva thought it was a mockery of remembrance, hanging the portrait of Albus behind the desk Albus had once occupied. She had refused to enter the Headmaster's office a second time as staunchly as she refused to look at Severus with anything but hatred now. It was torture. Every parroted guile and canned expression of concern and impersonation of Albus' intelligence was another knife twist in the knot of grief and guilt that had replaced his heart in the last terrible year.

It was continuing on, another reminder that Severus mustn't let Potter see him, mustn't let Lily's son know of Severus' allegiance lest the child become a liability before he could be a sacrifice.

"I know," Severus said, curt, hoping to skip past the pre-recorded reminders of all the promises he'd given to a dead man.

He didn't need the portrait to press a hand against some invisible wall as though it wanted to reach him, he didn't need it to make that expression of determined concern Albus used to make when Severus had marched off to another terrible meeting with the Dark Lord for the sake of the Order and keeping the boy alive and as safe as they could.

Yet despite the mimicry of care, it wouldn't even tell him why he had to get the sword into Potter's possession; perhaps Albus hadn't trusted his own portrait enough to imbue it with that knowledge even as he had trusted it to continue to haunt Severus.

It was a ridiculous dedication to his little mind games, like that note on the inside of the firewhiskey label, as if Albus had feared that, left to his own devices, Severus might go and haunt himself off Dumbledore's plotted path with grief over his own wasted loyalty and rage at the fate sewn under Harry Potter's skin and memories of his once best friend. As if Severus wasn't an expert at closing his mind and shuttering his heart and ignoring furious wailing of his own ghosts.

The portrait was still talking, another formulaic warning to take caution while accomplishing Albus Dumbledore's plans.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," Severus said, speaking more to himself, his disappointed devastated selves, than the portrait, "I have a plan..."

For Unofficial Snapetober 2023 prompts "Ghost" and "Remembrance" The idea of haunting ones own self/of seeing the ghost of your past self seemed like it would be suitable for Severus- Sev is different from Severus is different from Snape is different from Professor Snape etc. etc., right? I mostly work with traditional media and do a little bit of digital tidying up to try to get the colors on the screen to look like the colors on paper, but I had a bit of fun figuring out how to put the ghosts of past Snapes (young Sev, Teen Sev, and Professor Snape) haunting Headmaster Snape into the picture. I painted each of the ghosts separately- in dark orange over black inked lines- and then inverted the colors once it was scanned and put those as semi-transparent layers on top of the separate painting of Headmaster!Snape in Dumbledore's office (...I am not very good at drawing backgrounds inside of a building where furniture and walls have too many straight lines, let's just put the characters in the woods with trees and lots of nice wavy wobbly lines...). Also! Have you all read "Stronger than a Butterbeer" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786743)? It's such a precise gut-punch of "the absence of Severus" that haunts me so I just had to make a reference to it.

[ghostofskywalker]

….I believe this is where to drop requests….

{this is a bad batch request} I have two small prompt ideas (it doesn’t have to be both), the rest I shall leave to your artistic liberty: “Medics need medics too, sometimes.” & “our scars show how we’ve learned and grown.”

hello! i used the first prompt, i hope you enjoy!! side note: this fic is hunter-focused :)

words: 714

summary: after you get injured on a mission, you try to take care of it yourself. hunter doesn't let that happen.

clone troopers masterlist

Stubborn Medic

As you sprinted back to the Marauder, you could feel one of the droids’ blaster bolts sting your shoulder, and you just tried to ignore the pain until you were on the ship. Hunter ran up the ramp after you, and soon Tech was bringing the ship into hyperspace, setting course back to Ord Mantell. You felt the pain in your arm begin to amplify as you set down the bag you were carrying and immediately headed towards your bunk, not even bothering to say anything to the rest of the batch. 

There was a medkit that you kept under your bunk, a small and simple one for when you didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of finding the larger one you kept around for more serious injuries. You knew that there were a few bacta patches in the kit, and you really hoped that those (along with a day or two of rest) were all you needed to get yourself feeling better again. You changed into a tank top and began to look through the kit, gathering everything you would need to clean and cover the injury.

As the team’s medic, it didn’t feel right to ask for anyone’s help, because you were the one who was most qualified to handle it. You know they would help you if you said something, that wasn’t the question, but you still felt a little bit useless sometimes on the ship, especially because all of the others had such useful enhancements. Half the time, the scrapes and bruises that the team sustained were so minor that they were able to patch themselves up, and you wondered why you had been assigned to them as a permanent medic. 

Right as you had finished cleaning the wound (to the best of your ability, because it was in a bit of an awkward location), you heard someone step into the room and Hunter’s voice fill the space. “What are you doing?” 

“I got hit with a blaster bolt out there,” you said matter-of-factly, as you peeled a bacta patch off its paper. “I was just patching myself up.” 

“Did you clean the wound?” Hunter asked, and you looked at him like he had grown a second head as you held up the medkit’s cleaning wipe. “Because there’s still some blood on your arm.”

“Oh,” you said, mentally kicking yourself for not doing a better job. “I’ll just-” 

“Here, let me help you,” Hunter said, taking the wipe out of your hand and gently running it on the skin surrounding your wound. You were about to protest, but it was all happening so quickly, and the feeling of the antiseptic against the raw skin made you wince. 

While you couldn’t categorize the relationship you shared with the squad’s sergeant, it was certainly different than the one you had with the rest of the squad. “Mesh’la,” he said, his voice quiet as he took the bacta patch from your hand and started to apply it to your wound. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” 

You sniffled, and whether it was from the pain or the emotions you were currently feeling you didn’t know. “I thought I should be able to handle it myself,” you responded. “It is my job on this squad after all, and you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’ll always worry about you,” Hunter said, and he sat down next to you on your bunk. Instinctively, you leaned into his side. “And medics need medics too sometimes.” 

“I know, but I thought I could handle it.” 

“I’ve seen you patch up injuries way worse than that, so there’s no doubt in my mind that you couldn’t, but I wanted to help you,” he said. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead, and you nearly combusted into flames right then and there. “You should get some sleep, sergeant’s orders.” 

Maybe on another day you would have argued a little with him, but the excitement of the day and the adrenaline rush from the mission had long since worn off, and you were really tired.

As you drifted off to dreamland, you couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on your skin.

- the end -

[zukos-firebending]

wrote a lil Zukki week ficlet for either day 1 (domesticity) or a silly take on day 6 (political complications).

475 words, comedy + fluff, Zukki, pregnancy

“How would you raise a child, if you had one?” Suki says. She’s laying in between Zuko and Sokka, and as she says it, she turns her head lazily to look at Sokka. 

“Dunno,” he says, shifting so his arm can continue to be her pillow even as he idly strokes Zuko’s hair. They're wearing two pairs of pants and two tops between them, and it's a lazy afternoon indeed. “I'd raise them Water Tribe, I guess. Teach them to fish. Take them ice dodging. But I'd make sure we traveled, too. Gotta see the world.” 

“What about you, Zuko?” Suki turns to her other side. 

“Uh, they'd be a palace kid, I guess,” Zuko says. “I don't want to raise them like I was raised, but they'd have to learn politics and all that. I'd meditate with them. Teach them to control their flame.” 

“Great,” Suki says. “I'm pregnant.” 

“WHAT?!” 

The men sit up comically quickly on either side of her, staring at her stomach as if they'll see the shape formed by a handful of cells. They're both speaking, voices overlapping, asking if it's real, when she found out, if she's ok. 

“I went to the healers earlier today,” she says. “They say I'm about a month along.” 

“That's incredible,” Sokka says, grabbing her hand, but Suki turns to see Zuko looking stressed enough to start sparking. 

“Zu?” 

“Whose is it?” 

“What?” Suki says. 

“I mean, what'll we tell the Fire Sages? If the kid’s a firebender, of course, they'll need to be my heir— but if they're not mine biologically. Agni, if they're Water and Earth— what if they're a water bender! They can't be the heir to the throne, but there's no way to know— Suki, I'll have to tell the Sages right away—” 

Suki grabs him by the shoulder. “Calm down, love, please. What are you saying? If the child is whose?” 

“Mine or Sokka's,” Zuko says. 

“Zuko. My darling. My fire-lily. My spark.” Sokka takes Zuko’s hands in his, and looks deep into his eyes. “Baby, the kid’s yours.” 

“How would we know?” 

“I'm trans.” 

Zuko turns red so fast he starts steaming. “Oh. Yeah. I knew that.” 

“I should hope so,” Sokka says with a snort.

“I'm so stupid,” Zuko mumbles, but Suki just gathers him in a hug as her quiet chuckles fade. 

“You've been stressed recently, and this is a big surprise. It's ok.” 

“Are you okay with having my heir?” Zuko says tentatively. “I know it's a big thing...” 

“Well, are you okay with having a child?” 

“Yes. Of course.” 

“Then we'll do it. Together.” 

“I still want to take them ice dodging,” Sokka cuts in. “And teach them to fish. But I think it's time we moved to the palace. Don't you think, Sukes?” 

She nods. “Here's to a new adventure, huh?” 

The end.

[cheriboms]

doctober day 23: nostalgia

fact: doc has a saxophone in his garage in both 1955 and 1985, with seemingly no ties to his scientific pursuits. hypothesis: theres some sentimental reason, maybe he played (plays?) it as a hobby since and/or prior to 1955...? conclusion: they def had at least one jam session

[[ proof of my claims >:0 ]]