#a little ficlet

[royalsunshinehotel]

Stones (Gawain x Reader)

A/N: Introspection from a Queen's Point of View

Cobblestones. It’s the first thing you think of when you wake that morning. 

There’s a lot more to it than that, but you rise anyway. 

He’s not here. 

The pathetic, dried-up words have been pounding in your head, dull, since your husband disappeared on the horizon with his troops. Of course he’s not here. He’s King. He has business. 

This leaves you, the Queen, to sit in your castle and ponder how, in two years of marriage, the only improvement you’d made was cobbling the streets your subjects walked upon. 

He’s not here. 

Later in the day, you planned to call upon Lady Essel, and your husband’s son Galahad. Perhaps the boy had cooled his temper since his father left. It’s not his fault he’s only nine. It’s not his fault he’s the eldest child, the heir to Camelot. It’s not your fault either. 

He’s not here. 

Gawain only wed you for access to your father’s coffers, and you had made peace with the fact that you would be decoration. 

It was a political match, until it wasn’t. Until one day, almost a year and a half ago, you’d crossed paths with your King in the courtyard, and he’d gotten the nerve to ask you about the weather. 

Fine day, is it not your Majesty? 

It’s snowing. 

And it would appear, you and your husband would become a “love match”, rare and elusive. Now if only this border dispute would stop. 

You hoped that it wouldn’t escalate, you hoped that the wealthier, more powerful kingdom wouldn’t press its luck, no one needed to die over a miscommunication. You wished for a lot of things. 

He should be here. 

Now this was just silly. You had to get up. You had to go talk to another live person. Moping in your loneliness was a luxury you did not have. Your people needed to see that you were unfazed by the absence of every man of fighting age. 

It’s fine. 

It’s not, you’re unnerved, Essel is unnerved, Galahad was a day away from having hair fall out. The people were surviving winter, unnerved. 

It’s too much. Something has to give - and it does. 

The next hours pass in something of a blur. 

Soldiers on the horizon coming home. 

Freezing wet cold against your skin. 

It doesn’t even matter. 

Not just any soldier - that one’s yours! 

You speculate, as your husband lays in your arms in the bath, long eyelashes closed. You speculate about how the people saw their Queen. 

He’s here. It doesn’t feel real. 

They saw their Queen running amongst her people, knock her husband off his horse, and drag him away to their rooms. Did they know? Did they understand what his being away did to you? 

They couldn’t, could they? 

Gawain groans as you bring your hands back to his hair, working in the soap. 

He’s here. 

You help him dry himself, and pull back the covers, safely depositing what's yours into your bed. You swear he says, “thank you,” but it was so soft, it could have been anything else. 

 He looks at you, moving his long arm, and patting next to him. His dark eyes look pitiful in the fading winter light, you’d give him whatever he wanted. For now, you ljust ay next to him. 

He moves, just a little, to be closer at your side. You’d swaddled him in the same manner you would a baby, when all he really wanted was your skin against his. 

Tomorrow. 

You muse, as Gawain begins to snore. You’d wake him tomorrow and show him how you missed him. 

He’d made you a bangle, when you first started ‘courting’, out of a fallen limb from a favorite tree he shared with you. 

You toy with the bracelet as the city goes quiet. It was everything to you. When you and your husband were dead and buried, would people even know what this silly bangle meant to you? Maybe it would just be firewood, something to get them through long and grueling winters. Maybe they’d toss your bracelet on to feed the flames. 

Would they wonder why it burns so warm?

[abysskeeper]

Exhibit A of amusing, pre-BJ conversation (that I write on company time):

"Nox, promise me to remember the most important rule we set," he murmured, stroking a finger down her cheek.

She paused, blinking up at him. "Don't use teeth?"

"No...well..." He let out a breathy laugh. "That as well, but I am referring to the other, most important rule."

The sides of her mouth twitched upwards for the briefest of moments just before she caught herself and bit her lip. "Have fun and be yourself?" she asked innocently. Her eyes sparkled with humor.

"Nox..."

"Gale."

Her voice dropped into a soft, sultry hum, and he sighed as her fingers caressed up his inner thighs. "Just because I am inexperienced does not mean I am uncertain."

His head rolled back with a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as she slowly, deliberately brushed her palm over his erection while on her way to his waistband. He obliged when she tugged, lifting his hips off the mattress so she could strip him bare.

"It simply means I need practice," Nox shrugged, tossing his small clothes over her shoulder. "Experience...and experimentation," she added, eyeing him with the ravenous gaze of a woman starved.

Gale swallowed roughly when she reached out a hand, delicately tracing one finger around the head of his cock. A shiver shot up his spine, and then another when her gaze flicked up to meet his and she smirked.

"Thrice over at that, as any, proper researcher would know," she teased.

"I should hope--Gods--"

He moaned again when her delicate teasing turned to encircling him, her hand running over his length in slow, gentle strokes. Her hand was cooler than he expected, and he didn't think he would enjoy the shock as much as he did. Anticipation pooled low in his gut, along with an escalating need for more, and his hips jerked up in search of more friction against her touch.

Nox acquiesced, albeit barely, her hand closing around him just a fraction more while her strokes picked up an incremental speed. Pleasurable frustration washed over him, and he grit his teeth against the urge to seek more still from her. Instead, he opened his eyes and met her gaze. She watched him in amusement, yes, though her pupils were blown wide with her desire, rimmed with the loveliest shade of violet he had ever witness, and she studied him with a hint of excited curiosity.

Briefly, through the haze she was causing to permeate his mind, he considered how invigorating it was to witness the effect you had on another for the first time. He remembered how utterly intoxicating it had been to watch her unravel against him repeatedly until she lay spent and completely undone by him at his side. It was a high he kept chasing, one he realized she had yet to fully experience until now.

Perhaps they both need this.

He let out a shuddering breath. "I should hope this experiment occurs well beyond thrice over," Gale tried again, voice rough.

"That depends on you, as I am quite certain I would like it to," she said as her hand settled at the base of his shaft. Her eyes softened when she looked to him again. "And, if it puts you at ease, I am well aware that should such certainty change, I may rescind at any point. Though..."

He groaned, spine straightening and fingers digging into the sheets as she leaned forward. His cock twitched at the contrast of the enveloping wet heat of her breath escaping past her parted lips and the prior coolness of her hand while she stroked him. She hadn't even touched him yet and she already had him teetering on the edge.

When she didn't continue--in any sense--he pulled his eyes open to find her darkened violet gaze on him. She smirked, and he watched the tip of her tongue peek out and trace over her lips, carefully avoiding any contact with him.

"...if this is your response with barely any provocation," she whispered. A breathy moan escaped him as her tongue moved from her lips to circle lightly around his head, following a similar pattern to her finger earlier.

"Nox," Gale breathed. She flattened her tongue against him and dragged a long, slow lick down his length.

"I most assuredly know I will not be rescinding," she declared, pulling back with a satisfactory chuckle. "You're exquisite, darling."

[einsteinsugly]

2007. Kelso and Brooke's house.

Kelso is happily holding a liter of Coca-Cola and some Mentos...

Brooke (entering the room): Not in the house!

Kelso (with a childish pout): But, but...

Cut to, the backyard. Kelso puts two Mentos in the Coca-Cola bottle, and Coca-Cola dramatically shoots up in the air.

Brooke (with a nod): Impressive.

Kelso: Like me in the bedroom?

Brooke nods, and Kelso flings open the sliding glass door, as they both race inside.

[woahjo]

APHRODISIAC! (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist 

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Katsuki gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk. You decide to check in on him. What could go wrong?

Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, dubcon, smut, porn with little to no plot, aphrodisiac quirks, quirkless reader, prohero!katsuki, rough sex, borderline free use, biting, creampie, multiple orgasms (fem!receiving), masturbation, edging (kinda), manhandling, katsuki is dominant but also not idk he's desperate, possessiveness, overstimulation, size kink, scent kink, some light aftercare! woo hoo!, friends to lovers sort of

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: yeah ik this isn't what i typically write but idk where this came from. i had a thought and it spiraled bad and now i have this. there is no deeper message. there is no meaning. i wrote this to make him FUCK and be kinda weird and desperate and pathetic about it. i needed to see him physically overpower us while also so desperate that it makes him look stupid. i feel violent. this bad boy is not going on ao3 lol. anyway, enjoy, heed the warnings.

Katsuki paces around the one bedroom apartment he rents in downtown Musutafu. His skin is tingling. Every nerve he has burns like it's been set on fire, needing some sort of touch to soothe it. His cock aches between his legs, hard and leaking against the side of his thigh. Katsuki grits his teeth, running his hands over his hair and then letting his palms slide down the sides of his exposed biceps. 

Sweat collects on his skin, the kind that comes from desperation or maybe a fever, and he feels it on his palms when he lets them drop to his sides and clenches his fists. Fuck, he can't believe he got hit with a non-fatal quirk and had to be sent home. It's humiliating. What's worse is that it hasn't worn off yet, rendering him completely useless. 

He sits on his couch, his legs spread wide, and leans back against the couch cushions, wincing as he reaches to unbutton his pants. He's never been this sensitive in his life and it almost hurts to grab his cock and pull it from his pants. Katsuki watches it twitch for a moment, rigid between his legs and leaking pre-cum from its angry tip. He doesn't even have to think about anything in particular, he's just turned on. Unbearably so. 

Katsuki wraps his hand around the base of his cock and jerks upward once, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at his own sensitivity. Then, the desperation sets in fully and he squeezes the head of his cock with a wince and a low groan before beginning to slide his hand up and down. He pauses to spit into his palm, desperate for some sort of relief from the tension weaving its way through his body, his hand moving faster and fast over this dick. Katsuki only pauses when he touches his overly sensitive head, swallowing down an audible moan as he moves his hips to desperately fuck his fist. 

He tries not to think of the humiliation in this, instead focusing on chasing a high that seems to get farther and farther. He stays like this for a while, desperately fucking his fist with low groans and whines. His face is completely flushed, sweat beading on his brow and forehead, covering every inch of his skin with a pathetic, glowing sheen. God, he's almost fucking angry. The frustration, the sheer desperation for release, is making it difficult to control his temper and he knots his free hand into the soft pillow beside him, raising it to his face and using it to cover his head so he can be a little louder. 

He's desperately humping his fist when his doorbell rings. At first, it's only once and Katsuki thinks he can ignore it, but then it comes again, five more times and consistently more aggressive. 

"Katsuki?" your voice calls through the wood paneling of his door. "I heard you got hit with a quirk and sent home. Let me in." 

He furrows his eyebrows at the irony of the last person in the world he wants to encounter at a time like this. Pretty, quirkless, you. His long time friend and recent dispatcher at his agency. Someone he secretly wants to fuck even without the aphrodisiac quirk floating through his bloodstream. You really get under his skin. You’re exactly his type, right down to that annoying little attitude of yours that drives Katsuki insane. Of course, he's always respected your friendship a little too much to do anything about it, but tonight, he doesn't think he'll be able to and he sits in silence with his lip caught between his teeth while he fucks his fists and hopes you'll go away. 

"I know you're in there," you call again. "I can see the light on." 

You bang three times on the door and then ring the doorbell again, pushy and insistent the way you always are. A match for his stubborn attitude. 

Katsuki swears and stands up, his hands shaking as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his sweatpants and flips the head up into his waistband with a hiss. 

The crazy thing is, he can literally smell you through the door. The scent of you, that sweet and rounded perfume you wear, wafts under the crack of his apartment door. He pauses outside of it, resisting the temptation to open it, to welcome that smell into his apartment and use you to relieve the aching in his cock and lower belly. 

"Katsuki?" You ask, a little quieter now. 

Jesus fucking christ, don't call his name like that. 

He swings the door open, letting his hand rest on the side of it so that it is positioned above his head. You look taken aback at his appearance, covered in sweat and flushed from the neck up, his chest exposed and heaving. 

"What?" he says, looking you up and down. 

Katsuki bites back the urge to yank you in. Why is it he can literally smell the sweat on your body and every prick of your emotions? It's like he can tell exactly what you're thinking, or maybe it's what he wants you to be thinking. 

"Don't get on my ass about me still technically needing to be at work," you start, stepping forward. "I heard something happened and I just came to check and you look like shi-" 

Katsuki blocks you from coming in with his body. You stumble backwards lightly and raise your eyebrow at him. There's a pause as you register that you've just run into a solid wall of muscle, sweat covered and glistening, while Katsuki eyes you like you're meat on a platter. He knows he's doing it, but he can literally smell every turn of your scent, soft and sweet. And he may be fooling himself... but are you... turned on? 

"Let me in?" you say with a small laugh, side stepping to go around him. He blocks you again, his fingers gripping the door frame so hard that his knuckles are white. 

"Go home," he says quietly, his voice tense. 

"What? No," you furrow your eyebrows at him. "What's the matter with you?" 

You duck under his arm and place your hand momentarily on his chest. Your touch makes him tingle all over and he sucks in a sharp breath. 

"I'm not fucking around," he says. 

"Okay, me neither," you respond with a bit of an attitude. "I expected you to be worse for wear but you look like crap. Like you're... I don't know." 

You trail off a little. 

"Let me help," you say, shaking off whatever thought had come over you. "I'll make you some food." 

"Look, no offense, but I don't think you want to help me with this," he says, a frustrated bite in his voice. Food isn't exactly what he's hungry for. 

"That's too bad," you say slowly, seemingly put off by the desperate air about him and settling into his kitchen. You move to open the fridge.

Katsuki walks up to you quickly, taking your wrist from the door and holding it between the two of you. Cool air hits his exposed chest and arm as the door falls shut again. 

"I'm dead serious. Get the fuck out of here or I'm gonna do something I regret," he hisses through a clenched jaw. Your skin is warm on the pads of his fingers, wrist held flush against his palm. He bites back a genuine shudder. 

Your eyes are wide as you look back at him, glancing between where he's caught your wrist by your head and his eyes. Katsuki's gaze roams over your face, pausing as he hits the top of your blouse where a few buttons remain open. When he returns his eyes to yours, your mouth moves to open before a heady understanding settles over your features. You're so pretty. Everything about you is pretty, so delightful and delicate. Your eyes look glassy and wide. Katsuki has always found them tempting, but today he can't stop himself. 

He leans forward and kisses you, holding your wrist to his chest as his mouth comes messily into contact with yours. You squeak and freeze and it takes all he has to pull away from you. 

"Go home," he says again, his lips tingling. Katsuki feels the color creep onto his cheeks, his hand still holding your wrist. 

You don't say anything, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He swallows thick and feels the saliva drag against his throat. Then, his mouth dries completely, his expression twisting into discomfort as his cock throbs between his legs as the scent of you takes on a sharper turn. He's never felt anything like this before, something animal. 

Katsuki tightens his jaw, staring at you for a moment. Then, he takes a step towards you. You take one back, though he doesn't feel like you're afraid. Rather, you tilt your head down to look at him through your lashes. He lets out a breath through his teeth and walks you back until your ass hits the counter, his free hand coming to gingerly touch your waist. You inhale when he leans in to kiss you again, screwing your eyes shut and reaching to grab at his shoulder to pull him closer. 

Every touch tingles. It burns and he drops your wrist to manhandle your hips. You suck on his bottom lip, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. He ruts his hips against yours, desperate for any sort of friction to relieve the ache, and you gasp a little and let your mouth fall open. Katsuki takes the opportunity to bite down hard on your lip with a low groan, slipping his tongue into your mouth as the pads of his fingers press harshly into you. You whine, eyebrows pulling up. 

Katsuki’s eyes are slightly open, just so that he can look at you. Every aspect of his senses feel heightened and the relief of your mouth far surpasses that of his hand over his throbbing cock only minutes earlier. 

He pants, taking your hips and lifting you onto the counter so that you’re seated, pulling away for just a moment to lift the hem of your shirt and expose your breasts. Katsuki puts his face on the pillowy tops of them, biting and sucking at the exposed skin as his hand teases its way up the skin of your back to unclasp it. He thinks you’re probably looking at him, but if you are, he doesn’t have the mind to care about what sort of behavior he’s exhibiting. He can practically smell how wet you are from just a little touching and if he weren’t so fucking desperate for a little relief, he’d tease you for a few hours just to watch your pussy drool over him. 

The cool air of his apartment hits your exposed nipples. Katsuki takes it upon himself, without even a second thought, to roll the hard bud under his tongue. He feels the way goosebumps rise on your skin, his hands coming to rest over the tops of your thighs. Katsuki bites lightly on your breast and you fucking whine at it, tipping your head back and rooting your hand into the tufts of his blonde hair. 

His cock jumps in his pants and he’s no doubt leaked enough to leave an evident wet spot against the gray of his sweatpants. He stands to his full height, pushing your skirt up and pressing the outline of his cock to your crotch. Heat bleeds through your panties, the kind that makes him feel like he’s going absolutely fucking insane. You gasp, putting your hands on his shoulders and pulling him close again. 

Katsuki’s mouth hits yours messily, breathing hard as he ruts his hips up against your crotch, pulling you forward on the counter so he can feel as much of the pillowy folds of your pussy through the thick fabric as possible. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth, sharp canines digging into the wet flesh of your mouth. He whines— high-pitched, desperate sound—as you position your hips to press your crotch against the head of his cock. His head falls onto your chest, forehead resting against the hollow of your throat. Katsuki humps at you, pulling you against him to match the rhythm of his hips, grinding your clothed cunt over the bulge of his cock. It’s a desperate motion, completely subconscious as he lets the quirk he’s been hit with take the lead.

His fingers dip into the crease of your thigh, fumbling as they reach for the waistband of the panties you’re wearing. Katsuki’s desperation is so palpable that he finds himself panting as he slips his fingers into the sides of your underwear, yanking them down. You gasp at the force of it and he swears he hears a small tear as he pulls them from your cunt, the crotch sticking to the lips of your pussy. 

He leans his hips forward again, sliding his cock between your folds with a deep grunt. His mouth finds your neck and he bites along the side of it, lathing his tongue over your pulse point. It’s like he can taste you. Salt and that stupid perfume, collecting on his tongue as you dig your fingers into his back, his dick rutting restlessly against your clit. At one point, he almost slips in, his eagerness and your wetness making him careless. Katsuki sucks in a breath through his teeth, his whole body on fire. 

The kitchen light shines down on his back and he can see the outline of part of his shadow on your thighs as he stares down at them, guiding the tip of himself to your entrance. He hears you wine when he presses against it and moves his hand down subconsciously to rub at your clit. An attempt to ease the stretch. 

You tip your head back in a moan and Katsuki takes the opportunity to kiss your neck before settling his teeth against your shoulder and biting down harshly on the muscle connecting your neck and arm. You yelp at the sensation and Katsuki shutters at the sound, willing out a choked I’m sorry as he slides into your wetness. His hands push into the delightfully soft flesh of your upper thighs, the fat spilling up around each individual digit as he uses your legs for leverage, sliding you forward even further to better seat you on him. 

Your legs are shaking and he can feel the way your nails dig into his exposed shoulder blades. Your bunch up skirt causes the fat of your tummy to fold over in a way that practically makes Katsuki drool. He urges himself to pause, attempting to come back to his senses as the quirk kicks into high gear. There’s relief in being inside of you, in feeling the flutter of your walls around his thick cock, but it also makes him desperate. Katsuki feels like he’s chasing something that he was desperately and it’s just out of his reach. 

You’re breathing heavily above him, he can see the rise and fall of your chest from where his head hangs down, his hands trembling on the tops of your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes, his vision foggy around the edges as if he were peering through a tube. You’re at the end of it, your eyes glassy and mouth open, returning the look. Your eyebrows are knitted up in pleasure, but you almost seem confused. 

“What are you waiting for?” You breathe out, the first thing you’ve said since he started touching you. 

The tone of your voice is needy, with a delightful whiny lilt that makes him groan out loud. He can barely manage the words that come out next, his brain half mush, and he feels the way his cock jumps inside of you. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth, his breath coming heavy. 

There’s a pause and he feels the distinct sensation of you squeezing down around his cock, like the idea turns you on. 

“Use me,” you respond cautiously, your voice still containing that needy lilt. 

Katsuki’s hips fuck up into you voluntarily and he feels the way his breath catches in his throat at the near desperate sound of your voice.

“Say that again.” 

“Use me, Katsuki,” you respond, choking on your words as he fucks his hips up into you. 

You reach for his face, taking it in your hands and drawing it close until it’s just in front of yours. Then, your palms slide down his shoulders and he screws his eyes shut and fucks into you again, harder this time, causing your body to jolt upwards on the counter. 

He curses under his breath, pushing one leg further to the side and fucking his hips up into you roughly. You’re looking right at him, your expression drawn and pleasure-soaked, sweat collecting on your forehead as your mouth drops open into an o-shape. You punctuate his thrusts with high pitched yelps, squeaking out your pleasure and the deepness of where he’s hitting through choked moans. 

Katsuki’s hands move up your stomach to roughly cup your breasts, his mouth so close to yours that he’s practically breathing in the sounds you make in exchange for his own hurried groans. He kneads at the fat of your chest, rolling your breast under his fingers before taking your nipples and pulling lightly on them. 

He’s aware of just how rough he’s being, just how hard his hips are slapping yours, but he feels like he can’t stop. Katsuki chases a high so fucking desperate that his body is on autopilot, reaching and touching and moaning unabashedly as the room fills with the wet sound of his balls on the backs of your thick thighs. 

You push your chest forward towards him, legs spread wide to make room for the width of his hips between yours as he bullies that perfect sensitive spot inside of you. Katsuki feels the way he makes you flutter. Every shift of your body, every involuntary squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, registers as if he were a part of you. His skin tingles everywhere you touch and the drag of your nails over his shoulder blades makes him want to crawl into the deepest part of you. Even the sound of your voice, drawn and desperate and mildly overwhelmed, feels like a drug to him. Every sense he has seems to be acutely attuned to just how badly he needs to fuck your lights out. 

His hands slink down to your hips, resituating you and pulling you flush against him. Then, he drags his cock all the way out of you and quickly ruts back in, moaning as he does. His pace picks up, manhandling you forward on the counter until he is supporting most of your weight. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as you let him use you like a toy. 

Katsuki chases his high, his stomach seeming to wind tighter and tighter but never finding that perfect snap and release. His movements grow faster, using all of his strength to fuck his hips up into you, barreling his cock against your gummy walls and bullying your sweet spot. He feels the way you tighten down around him, your body tensing and fingers digging crescent moons into the tops of his shoulders. 

“Ka-” you choke out desperately, your voice breaking. “Wait, Katsuki, wait! I’m gonna-” 

You shudder, your thighs squeezing around him as he continues to fuck you. 

“Do it,” he seethes, “just fuckin’ do it.” 

The end of his sentence comes out as more of a whimper as you cry out and squeeze down around him, squirming in his grasp as you begin to twitch with every additional thrust. Your body shakes, legs locking around him and struggling to hold him inside as he fucks you clear through your orgasm and then to the other side. 

Katsuki’s voice breaks, almost whimpering like an animal as he buries himself in your pussy over and over again. He wants to smother you, he wants to completely cover your body and get as close as he possibly can. He’s already so much bigger than you, so much broader, how hard could it be to swallow you completely? 

Katsuki’s hands come up under your ass as he wordlessly lifts you from the counter and moves to the couch on desperate, shaky steps. He lays you down, slipping out of you for a moment, before pressing a hand to the inside of your thigh, spreading your legs, and sinking his cock back into you as he crowds his body over yours. 

“You know what?” He says, not really sure what’s going to come next. His head is so clouded with the quirk that he can’t think straight. “I’ve wanted to do this forever. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so- long-” 

He screws his eyes shut, almost angry with the way he can’t seem to hit that high, teetering on a desperate and near painful edge. 

“Those fuckin’ pencil skirts,” he says, unable to control his words or sharp tone. “The way you wear your hair, that damn look in your eye that constantly makes you seem like you’re beggin’ for it.” 

Katsuki whines, a sharp sound from the back of his throat, as you tighten up around him. He meets your gaze, clouded and watery eyes accented by the delightful furrow in the center of your brow. 

“And then you show up here,” he groans, not even sure of what he’s really saying. “Blouse unbuttoned, looking for trouble. I’m gonna fuck your lights out. ‘Till you can’t even think about fuckin’ anyone else.” 

He leans in close, his mouth right up against yours. 

“This is g’nna make you mine, right?” 

You nod, your movements clumsy, and pull him close to you. 

Katsuki loses all of his sense, burying himself in the feel of your pussy and the way he sinks into you, giving into the desperation of the quirk. He can feel just how deep he’s hitting, the way you suck in sharp, whiny breaths with every inward thrust. Katsuki’s hands grip your waist, pulling your ass up off the couch so that his angle is better. 

His cock seems to drag endlessly against your overstimulated, pillowy, insides and you practically drool around. He feels like a dog slobbering over meat, any semblance of politeness completely gone from both his expression and his movements. This is going to fucking ruin your friendship, but he doesn’t even have half of a mind to think about it, so drawn into the delightful feel of your body and the aching in his cock that only seems to subside slightly with every thrust. 

You try to choke out the word “again” and he feels like he knows what’s coming. Your whole body tenses, legs locking around him as you cream over his cock for the second time. 

This seems to get Katsuki somewhere, the sensation of your pussy clamping down finally giving him some leeway to relief. He hits the edge of an orgasm, leading himself to the finish line. 

The tension in his belly grows, cock twitching inside of your fucked out cunt. His fingers dig into your hips and he collapses forward, rolling his body so that the head of his cock catches perfectly inside of you, massaging and churning you up. You’re moaning, though maybe it’s more adjacent to whining, and Katsuki can hear himself mimicking the sounds, his body leading the way. 

Then finally, on a pathetic and broken whimper, Katsuki cums. His whole body tenses, weight pressing down on you as he buries his face into your neck and lets his voice out beside the hollow of your throat. The relief and pleasure is so intense that Katsuki feels the way every muscle in his body tenses and lets go, filling you up with as much of him as he has to give. 

His hips continue to pathetically rut into you, little choked moans escaping his lips as he uses his own cum as lube for his weak little thrusts. Then, he completely relaxes. 

Katsuki feels the way his skin stops burning, the way the desperation at the back of his throat subsides, how his body rids itself of the quirk as quickly as the arousal came on. He shudders, coming back to himself and raising his head to peer at your expression. 

You look exhausted, hair a mess and face covered in a thick sheen of sweat. You still flutter around his cock, your hands gripping his shoulders as you try and ride through the overstimulation of just having him inside of you. Katsuki furrows his brows, exhaustion creeping into his muscles. He raises his hand and uses it to push stray strands of hair from your face with his palm on your forehead. Then, with a clear mind, he leans forward and kisses you. 

You blink at him for a second, before giving a weak smile, raising your eyebrows and letting your head fall to the side. Katsuki winces when he pulls out of you, sucking in a sharp breath and standing to his full height. He places a hand on his forehead like he’s assessing the situation, staring at your body, still fully clothed with your skirt pushed all the way up your stomach and your blouse missing a button at the top. 

He wordlessly walks to the bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water, walking back over to you and wiping down the exposed parts of your body. You don’t really say anything to him, but you smile quietly while he gingerly wipes you down, your smeared makeup accenting just how much of a mess he’s made. 

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how-” 

“How you wanted this to go?” You say softly, the corners of your lips turning up. 

Katsuki feels the way he flushes, all the way to the tops of his chest. 

“No, it’s not,” he admits, running a hand over his face as he crouches beside you. 

You laugh a little and he furrows his brows at you, frustrated and embarrassed. 

“You’ve got a bit of a possessive streak, huh?” You tease lightly.

“I got hit with some asshole’s fuckin’ quirk and-” he begins explaining himself, something he probably should have done when you showed up at the door. 

“It was good though,” you say, tilting your head at him from where you lay.

Katsuki blinks at you, his expression completely flat. You should really know just how fucking crazy you drive him. Then, he scowls a little, not because he’s upset, but because he’s currently feeling the opposite and that makes him awkward. 

“You’re into that shit?” He says, a bit incredulously. 

You shrug and give him a coy smile. 

[hairmetal666]

"But why is he here all the time," he whines to Robin. She doesn't like him much, but Scoops is empty, and what else is he supposed to do? Not speak to her at all?

"Why do you care what Eddie Munson is doing at the mall."

"I don't care." He scoffs, rolls his eyes. "He's just always here. Doesn't he have anything better to do?"

"Do you?"

"He doesn't work here."

"Haven't seen you doing a lot of work here, Steve."

"You spent forty minutes yesterday drawing on your sneakers."

She shakes her head, but doesn't say anything because he's right and she knows it.

He goes back to staring at Munson, sitting on the edge of the fountain. He's relaxed back, legs spread, looking like he owns the place. The way he's leaning, his t-shirt rides up, showing a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin and the lightest dusting of hair. He doesn't remember his mouth being so dry before.

"You're such an idiot." Robin smacks herself down beside him. "Eddie's a good guy. Is this just because he's the freak and you're King Steve?"

"No!" He says it too loud, a few people in the foodcourt turn to stare. "I'm not that guy anymore. That's all just--" he flaps his hand, can't find the words.

She makes a disbelieving noise, eyes narrow. "I'll never forgive you if you hurt him."

Robin stomps off to the backroom before he can stop her, tell her he doesn't want to hurt Munson.

One of Eddie's friends says something that has Eddie stretching back to hear, pulling his shirt higher, flashing the dark line of a tattoo, and that's too much, that has him slamming his eyes closed, rubbing at his brow but all he can think is--

cold cinder block at his back, hot mouths and fumbling hands and long, deft fingers; desperate, bitten off moans; hands fisted into long curls; the hot, bittersweet taste of him

It was only a handful of times, quick encounters in the locker room, once under the bleachers in the gym. And Steve, he'd never--it didn't mean anything, but it meant everything, and Eddie's been all he can think of for months.

A group of middle school girls comes in, then, and he forgets about Munson as he scoops ice cream and blends milkshakes. The next time he looks to the fountain, Eddie is gone

---

Steve cleans up the remnants of a dropped milkshake at the store entrance, and his shorts are a little too tight, okay, he can feel the way they pull around his hips when he bends too much, but he has to clean the tile before the rush starts and customers complain. There's one spot, though, it's already dried, has to really put his back into it.

The food court is crowded by the time he finishes, bustling with customers. He turns to grab the bucket, and stops dead in his tracks. Munson sits on one of the built-in planters directly behind him. He was staring at Steve's polyester clad ass, but now his eyes travel up Steve's body, getting darker with desire as they go.

He's trapped in place by the force of Eddie's gaze, by the want there. They stare at each other in silence, Steve's blood thumping a vigorous rhythm.

The moment breaks when Robin's voice, calling his name, catches his attention. He turns back to his work without a word, but inside he's reeling.

---

Steve's opening alone, comes out from the back, and there Eddie is, lounging on the fountain rim with a magazine in hand. It's been a couple of days since he's been around, not since the incident. He watches as Munson languidly flips through the pages, seeming not to have a care in the world, and he--

Well, he's never really had to wait around for something he wants.

He stalks over to the fountain, stops when the tips of his sneakers touch the toes of Eddie's boots. And, yeah, he's in his dorky sailor outfit, but Munson didn't seem to mind the other day. Steve thinks maybe he likes it.

"Munson," he says. His hands are on his hips.

Eddie looks up, slow, taking Steve in. He leans back further, crosses his legs at the ankle. "Harrington."

They stare at each other. Steve starts biting his lip. Not as a move--he's nervous, suddenly, that all of this is a waste and Eddie isn't interested--but Munson's gaze hooks on his mouth, lingers, like a warm caress.

Steve's never initiated things between them before, isn't sure if it's working. He takes the chance, though, starts walking away.

He crosses through the seating area, past the counter, into the back, doesn't know for sure if Eddie is following until the door doesn't close right away behind him.

There's a single beat of a second where they watch each other and neither moves, before Eddie is on him, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him into the wall.

"What the fuck is this, Harrington, huh?" They're close enough for their noses to touch. "You ignore me for months and now--"

"You're here all the fucking time," he snaps back. "Sitting in the same spot like you own the place."

"So, I'm not allowed to be at the mall now?" Eddie sneers. "God forbid I'm in sight of the king."

Steve tries to pull away. "That's not what this is, and you know it."

"Then what is it, Stevie? Spell it out for me real slow to make sure I understand." He leans in, a little, and Steve stops breathing.

Eddie's lips brush his, a gentle press that isn't quite a kiss, not yet. His knees go weak, the wall at his back the only thing holding him up, but the kiss doesn't deepen. Instead, Eddie steps back, laughs. "You think I'm this easy, sweetheart? That you can lure me with your little sailor costume and I'll come without a fight?"

"Am I wrong?"

Eddie scoffs, turns his head, and Steve thinks he overplayed it, that his misread everything.

"Fuck you, Harrington." Eddie grabs him, then, hands fisting into his sailor shirt. "Fuck you and this stupid, sexy outfit. Fuck you for knowing this would work on me."

His mouth presses against Steve's throat, and he moans, clinging to Eddie's jacket.

"Listen to you, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs. "Making all those desperate, pathetic sounds for me. Almost like you missed me or something."

"I did." He groans as Eddie's mouth moves along his jaw. "Missed you so much, haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Eddie sinks his teeth into Steve's cheek, and he has to stifle his shout. He's harder than he can remember ever being before, thinks he could come just from the feel of Eddie's teeth in his skin.

"That's not what you told Billy," Eddie says. "When he almost caught us."

"I didn't want him to hurt you," he gasps. "I--I didn't want him to have a reason."

Eddie pulls away, Steve grasping after him. "I can handle Hargrove."

"He hit me in the head with a plate." Steve points to the small scar on his forehead. "That's how I got that concussion last year."

"Oh," Eddie blinks. He cards his fingers through Steve's hair, pulling it out of the way to see the scar better. "Sweetheart. I thought--" he swallows, throat working. "I--I keep coming here to see you. I wanted--"

His hand falls to Steve's neck, drawing him in. For a second, Steve thinks it's another tease, but Eddie does kiss him this time. It's deep, desperate, so thorough he thinks Eddie's memorizing the taste of him. He doesn't want it to ever stop, not for a second.

Outside, someone starts hammering on the counter bell, shouting for service.

They slip apart, Eddie still gently cradling the back of Steve's neck. "Come over tonight?" Eddie's eyes are so dark, wanting, he could drown in them.

"Yes." Because there is no other answer.

He lets Eddie out the back door just as Robin yells from the front, "Harrington! We have a customer! I haven't clocked in yet!"

"Be right there," he yells back, but not fast enough that she doesn't catch a glimpse of Eddie slipping out.

She whirls to him, brow in an angry furrow. "Steve! I told you not to hurt him!"

He can't stop his smile. "Buckley, I promise you, Munson can take care of himself."

[loveinhawkins]

Eddie really can’t afford to be late, but he is anyway; the school year’s slipping away from him again. He nearly falls in his haste to cut across the parking lot—when he curses the sheet of ice beneath his sneakers, it sounds more like he’s cursing himself.

Someone’s holding the front door open for him. Eddie’s torn between hurrying even more or slowing down; he’s gotten used to certain people holding the door only to let it swing shut at the last second. His senior year the first time around was the worst for it: the bruise on his shoulder was as constant as a tattoo.

But the impulse to speed up must win, because whoever’s holding the door makes a motion with one hand, bringing it up to chest height before lowering it, palm tilted slightly up: dude, relax, it’s okay.

And Eddie’s seen that gesture often enough on the basketball court while pretending not to watch the game—spotted it in silent response to a failed throw, or even after an accidental shove from someone on the rival team.

So it’s not really a surprise when he gets close enough to confirm that Steve Harrington is holding the door.

Steve definitely doesn’t need to be; the school secretary is probably plotting his demise because of how long he’s been letting the cold air in.

They don’t exchange any words, but Steve gives a tiny wry smile, like they’re on the same team—although Eddie’s sure that Steve, at least, can afford to be late.

His hair is sticking up at the sides, toast crumbs on his burgundy sweater—Eddie can picture him suddenly, eating hastily as he gets into his car.

And it’s a fleeting, endearingly unpolished image, gone as soon as Eddie’s fingertips touch the door, to be replaced by the buzzing dread of tests and essays; he’s oblivious to the fact that in someplace far colder than this late morning, he’ll tell Steve Harrington that he’s actually a good dude, like the thought’s just occurred to him—thinking all the while oh, I already knew.

[natalievoncatte]

“Okay,” Alex said, “listen, prepare yourself. She’s acting… strange.”

Lena strode next to her, clenching her fists as if she could grip her own cold fury with them. The audacity of Danvers

(Alex)

to call her in like she was some employee after what Kara had done to her, was shocking. She would have told her to fuck right off if not for the desperation in her voice. She almost hung up on her when Alex said it was about Kryptonite, and they needed an expert.

Outside the exam room, Alex directed Lena’s attention to a screen. Some two-bit “villain” (how she hated that word) was on the screen. She wasn’t sure what he was going for with his outfit but he looked like a cross between a cable repairman and a wannabe Ghostbusters with a helmet that reminded her of the cap on a salt shaker. He was thrusting a wand device at Kara, spraying her with a fine pink mist.

Some of the substance had been gathered into a small vial, currently residing in a lead canister. Lena turned the vial in her hands, watching the tiny, powdery crystals flow over each other like sand.

Lena swallowed, hard.

“She’s not on a rampage, so it’s not red kryptonite.”

“It appears to be pink kryptonite,” said Lena.

“Your scientific skills of observation astound me,” said Alex. “Marie Curie would be so proud.”

Lena gave her a flat look.

“Fuck you, Danvers. I haven’t had a chance to say this to your face yet, but fuck you. Fuck all of you, playing your little games mocking me to my face when we were supposed to be friends.”

“We were friends,” said Alex.

“Not friends enough for Kara to tell me the truth.”

“I told her not to,” Alex said, coldly, “and I was right. Maybe I kept at her too long about it, but she ended up keeping the secret because she was afraid you’d flip out and blow up your whole friendship over it, you fucking drama queen.”

Lena screwed the lead canister shut. It looks like it was meant to hold radioactive flour.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Please save her. I’m prepared to deal with your sanctimonious bullshit if you save my sister.”

“I’ll need to work on the sample, but I should examine her first. Is it safe?”

“She would never hurt you.”

Lena rolled her eyes. Alex stared at her flatly.

“You two, Jesus Christ. If you were anyone else I’d just call it out, but fuck it, let’s keep this professional.”

Lena crossed her arms. “Call what out?”

Alex arched a brow. “Should I start with the office full of flowers or the literal billion dollars you spent on her?”

Lena’s nostrils flared and she felt red creeping up her cheeks. “That wasn’t about her, that was about keeping Edge from owning his own media empire. Murdoch is bad enough.”

“It’s a fashion industry magazine,” said Alex, “and Edge could just start his own. The difference is Kara worked at CatCo, where you started working instead of…”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Lena huffed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Alex opened the door. Kara was seated sideways on the exam table, swinging her feet like a bored child. There was a faint pinkish tinge to sparking points on her pale skin and she looked up with a slight pink gloss to the whites of her eyes, visible at a distance.

“Heyyyyyyyyy~”, said Kara.

Lena blinked.

“Kara? How are you feeling?”

Kara stared at her hands. “Why are you here? I thought you hated me now.”

Lena felt a sharp sting of regret deep in her chest, but brushed it off, like crumbs from her sleeve. It was as meaningless as crumbs. Kara’s honeyed words were always to sweeten her lies.

Kara resumed staring at her hands. “Humans call them fingers, but I’ve never seen them fing. Oh,” she giggled, wriggling her fingers, “there they go.”

“Kara?” said Lena.

“Oh, hi, I didn’t see you come in,” said Kara. “Some dude sprayed me with glitter and now I’m all funny.”

Alex leaned over. “We only got her in her by convincing her the Backstreet Boys were waiting inside and she spent three hours singing those stupid songs with Nia before I called you.”

Lena licked her lips. “Ah, I see. Kara?”

“Yeah, babe?”

Lena flinched. Babe? What?

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” said Kara. “Kinda… kinda relaxed but excited. I’m excitalaxed! I made up a new word!”

“Would you excuse us a minute?” said Lena.

“Sure,” said Kara.

Lena stepped out and closed the door after Alex joined her.

“Alex,” said Lena.

“Lena,” said Alex.

“She’s high,” said Lena.

“I know,” Alex sighed.

“That’s incredibly dangerous. If she was just a dumb blonde we could let her sleep it off, but she can bench press an aircraft carrier. What if she gets some inane idea in her head and levels half the city?”

“She isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“Didn’t she throw Cat Grant off a building the last time she was under the influence of something? It was on TV, Alex.”

Alex scowled. “That was different. Also she had it coming.”

Lena’s brows shot up.

“What? She was a bitch to my sister. She made her cry like three times a week. I don’t buy into that hardass girlboss mentor routine, I never liked Kara working for her. It was a relief when you bought the company, I had hopes someone would finally be looking out for her. She’s fragile, Lena.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, turns out that having your planet explode and losing your entire culture, family, and way of life, then losing your foster father, and then having to kill your aunt who is your mother’s twin sister can do a number on you. Might make you a little bit clingy and weird and paranoid about losing everyone you love. Shit, Lena, out of that whole list I just lost my dad and it was not make me a drunk for six years and captain of the varsity slut team. And I’m gay.”

Lena stared at her.

“Why does everyone I know need therapy?”

Kara chose that moment to throw the door open, making them both jump. She was grinning ear to ear.

“I don’t need therapy, I need rum,” said Kara. She turned to Lena and stage whispered, “alien rum that I can get drunk on.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kiddo. Why won’t we go sit down and try to rest.”

Kara snapped her fingers. “I know what we can do! We can go clubbing! Come on, Lena, let’s go clubbing. If I go clubbing with you it’ll make Lena jealous.”

“We are so fucked,” Alex muttered.

Kara started forward, but Lena stepped in her path and pressed a hand to her chest.

She froze, staring open-mouthed at Lena. Lena could feel the muscles flexing under her palm and fingers, the nearly infinite strength pressed against her simple touch and yet yielding to it.

“Kara,” she said, softly, but firmly. “Let’s just go back in the room, okay? You’re intoxicated by the altered Kryptonite you’ve been exposed to and you’re not thinking straight.”

Kara looked her up and down, slowly. Lena felt a hot tingle pass through her and her legs quivered in her slacks. Kara’s eyes had gone dark and her chin dipped slightly and holy shit she was staring directly at Lena’s mouth.

Alex looked at her nervously.

“Lena,” Alex said, in warning.

“She won’t hurt me,” said Lena.

Brainy walked into the lab. “I have good news,” he said. “The half-life of this particular type of Kryptonite is very short, by my calculations it should only last a few… hours…” he trailed off, then added quickly. “I have business elsewhere, excuse me,” and fled the room.

Lena gave Kara a tentative push and the invincible Kryptonian stumbled back. Lena ended up guiding her into the room again and sat her down.

Alex began to follow.

“It’s fine,” said Lena.

“Are you sure?”

“She won’t hurt me. Close the door.”

Kara sat down and stared between her feet, fiddling with her hands.

Lena waited for the door to close and sat down next to her.

“Are you mad at me?” Kara whispered.

“Yes,” Lena murmured. “I’m so angry at you that it makes me want to scream.”

“Oh,” Kara said, her voice small.

Lena sighed. “I’ll never be mad enough to let anything happen to you, Kara.”

“But you’re mad.”

“I’m mad. I let you in, you didn’t do the same for me. I let you see who I am, good and bad, and you held back from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still mad.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighed.

Kara rubbed at her arms, sniffling.

Great, Lena thought, she’s coming down.

“Everybody changes,” said Kara. “Everybody goes away and leaves me. I’m so scared, Lena. I’m so scared of being alone. I was alone forever and ever in my pod and it hurt so much,” she choked out a little sob. “Everyone goes away and I can’t take it. I can’t stand it. I didn’t want you to go away so I lied to make you stay. I’m sorry.”

Lena, haltingly, put an arm around her. Kara leaned her head on Lena’s shoulder.

“Can I make it so you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Curious, Lena thought.

She wasn’t mad at all right now.

Kara began to sob softly, and suddenly, all at once, being mad didn’t make so much sense after all. She still felt it burning in her chest but it had gone from hot coals to dying embers, from raging magma to something bitter and sticky coating her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“I think you can do anything if you try hard enough.”

Lean smoothed back her hair and curled the sleeve of her designer jacket around her hand and used it to dry the tears, and Kara hugged her, tightly but gently in her insistent way.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, darling. Just relax and breathe, I promise it’ll be better soon.”

It was a funny thing, when Kara kissed her. It happened so naturally, so easily, that once it began, Lena was hardly aware how it started. It was not a lustful kiss, though she could feel that was there in the hungry way that Kara’s lips tugged at her own, almost pleading. Nor was it sad. It was hopeful, and it made something flare in her chest.

No, more than that. A crushing blast of warm air snuffed the dying embers of fury in her chest and in their place a new bonfire blazed into being, a sudden explosive joyful warmth that would blaze in her forever until the sun went out and the sky went cold. It was as if Kara had given her some red sun fire.

On instinct she lunged into the embrace and suddenly they were on the table, Kara swinging one leg lazily off the side as Lena straddled and locked lips with her.

"Oh God," Lena blurted, yanking back.

"What's wrong, baby?"

Lena almost fell off onto the floor when Kara called her that. She was sitting on Kara, panting.

"We can't," said Lena. "Kara, please, you're high as a kite."

Kara let out a soft, sad sound. Lena brushed her cheek softly. "It's okay. Just let me lay with you."

Kara shifted so Lena could join her, and they lay facing each other.

"I love you," Kara whispered. "You are my red sun, my scarlet sky, my beacon calling me back from the void."

Lena's breath caught. She tucked in close and kissed Kara on her nose.

"I'm tired," said Kara.

"Go to sleep," Lena whispered. “It'll be okay. I'll still love you tomorrow."

With a contented smile, Kara closed her eyes, looking so peaceful that Lena wanted nothing more than to watch over her.

When Alex came in and laid a blanket over them, she had the most frustrating grin on her face.

Lena decided she'd allow it.

[technically-human]

A commission for @pipwasreal based on their wonderful ficlet so if you want to know what happens next, go read it!

I usually go with more muted colors for backgrounds, but I felt that with all the magic and sudden stuff happening, bright colors would be best! so that was really fun

Oh, Charles...

[brainmuncher]

The emergency

A good number of members within the Justice League have children. Not all of those kids are biological or adopted but they are their kids nonetheless. Some of those kids are even old enough to be adult heroes of their own, but even then they are still their kids. And the other kids tend to take up heroism at a very young age to most people's chagrin. Although as shown by the original child hero, now going by Nightwing, it’s not as easy as telling the kids to stop.

It was learned through intense hardship that smothering the child heroes was just asking for trouble. Despite how much the older heroes wanted to stay close to their kids, it was seen as overbearing and a show of mistrust. They would act out with even less backup in retaliation, which would only bring even more stress.

So to satisfy the need for protection without stepping on any toes, two new emergency meeting signals were introduced.

One was for the kids to send off. Each one was gifted a small device that could be hidden in their person. The device had both a mic and a tracking chip that could be activated when they were in extreme danger. As soon as the device was active a signal would be sent to the league for an emergency distress signal with the details of who sent it. Due to an outcry from the kids, the device could not be activated by the guardian of the child. The mic and locator could only be activated from the device itself. It wasn’t nearly as protective as some of the more worried leaguers would like, but it was at least something. 

The second signal was one that the leaguer with a kid in danger could activate. This signal could be activated with a single code into the communicators that every member owned. If the member who sent out the signal didn’t specify what kid was in danger, every member would receive a generalized notification of the emergency alert for one of the kids. This wasn’t ideal, but it was learned early on that the guardian of the child was often too distressed to make the code more complicated. It was best to leave it simple and answer questions at the emergency meeting.

Which was great in all, until someone who doesn’t have a child involved with heroics in their care sends off a general emergency.

In places all over the globe, an emergency meeting signal message was sent by Hal Jordan, one of the lanterns. He didn’t include what child was in danger in the signal, meaning that it could be any of the underaged heroes. And considering he didn’t have a child in his care, that made multiple members panic.

When was the last time they checked in with the kids in their care? Who was the one he was sending the code for? What happened to the child he had noticed was in danger? Why is he the one that noticed? Where were their kids? Who was in danger?

Because of the nebulous nature of the call, it didn’t take long for multiple heroes to find the nearest transport to the watchtower and tumble in. What they didn’t expect was the absolute haggard appearance of their friend. He was standing in the meeting room looking like the world had been destroyed before his very eyes. The way he sat without even cracking a sarcastic remark made multiple members pause.

“Hal?” Wonder Woman called, her face pinched in concern. “What has happened?”

The aforementioned member looked over who had already arrived before settling on her face. It was at that moment she knew that he was only looking so collected through willpower alone. This wasn’t just any child of the league, this was personal.

“My nephew Danny has been captured,” He began, sending a wave of different emotions circling the room. “I’ve been trying to find where they took him for a week now and I can’t get any leads. I need your help.”

The unsaid questions and emotions were nearly palpable. Multiple members turned to one another or stared with a million questions. Nobody had known that Hal even had a nephew named Danny. Sure he mentioned someone named Jason at times, but he never indicated anything else. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned him or the fact that he’d been apparently searching for a week was strange.

“And why are you only telling us now? Why did you wait so long?” Superman asked, speaking up the question that was on multiple minds.

A fire of anger curled in Hal's eyes. It was fierce and protective. It was a mixture of appalment for being questioned on his decision and fury for the reasons why he had to do it in the first place. He stepped forward towards the center table, slamming his palms down and leaning into it.

“Because any person that goes against the group will be declared an enemy of the United States. I’ve already had my account and housing connected to Green Lantern seized,” He explained with a deceptively calm tone. “I also needed to make sure that they didn’t have any connections with the Justice League. They have their agents everywhere.”

Unsurprisingly, Batman appeared from the gathered heroes from seemingly nowhere. Despite the feud between the two of them, the Bat was completely zeroed in on the situation. While he had a decent amount of distrust in the lantern, mainly because of the parallax incident, he could tell that the man was genuine. And the Bat always did have a blind spot for children.

“Explain,” Was all Batman said, staring Hal down.

The lantern in question looked at him with a grim face. This was it. Now or never.

“They’re called the Ghost Investigation Ward, or GIW for short. They hunt down and either exterminate or experiment on anyone they deem ectocontaminated or a ghost,” Hal started to explain, his hand curling on the table in frustration. “My brother Jack faked his death and ran off to be with another woman. Those fucks deemed my nephew as ectocontaminated and tried to take him from his home. He ran from his family so that they couldn’t be arrested for knowingly harboring an ecto entity. Told me that he remembered my face from a photo his dad tried to hide in the attic and sought me out.”

If the fire in his eyes were any stronger, they would probably become physical and burn down the room. It was undeniable that Hal Jordan was understandably completely pissed off. This situation was terrible from down to the very root.

“I tried to hide him but they somehow found him anyway. Now my civilian name is being heavily monitored and Green Lantern is being hunted down,” He finished his explanation. “If you join me in this, be prepared to lose everything.”

This was so much worse than anyone could’ve predicted.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

He's been at Steve's house a week before he manages to gather up the courage to ask.

He shuffles into the living room, Steve's old slippers on his feet, Steve's old pajamas hanging off him. He'd lost weight in the hospital. And hadn't gained much back yet, still in too much pain to really have an appetite. But this, it needed doing. He needed it done.

"Steve?" He asks, throat clicking, voice scratchy from underuse. Steve looks away from the tv immediately, hits the mute button, eyes wide and on Eddie.

"Hey. You okay?" He asks, turning his whole body on the couch, towards Eddie, giving him his full attention.

Eddie just nods. Slowly. His eyes going unfocused, staring at the floor.

"Eddie?" And Steve's in front of him now, he hadn't even heard him get up.

"Hmm?" He hums in his throat, eyes still feeling foggy.

"Did you need something?" Steve asks, Eddie's eyes focus, the concern in Steve's voice bring him back into his body. He looks at Steve, nods, says,

"I need you to cut my hair." His lip trembles, he digs his teeth in.

"You... what?" Steve's confused. Rightfully so. Eddie swallows around the fire in his throat, tries to explain it to Steve. This thing he can barley figure out himself. Has a half formed idea at best. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, Steve steps a little closer.

"It's just- it keeps- I keep laying on it. And it... pulls. And I'm sleeping and it pulls and I wake up and I can't breathe and it's-" he inhales, sharp and shakey and then Steve is there, his hands on Eddie's shoulders.

"Okay. It's okay. I'll do it. Whatever you want Ed's." He pulls Eddie upstairs, into his bathroom. Stands with him in front of the mirror, scissors in hand.

"Where do you want it?" Steve asks, his eyes meeting Eddie's in the mirror. Eddie takes a deep breath, brings his hand up, winces at the pull on his ribs but keeps going.

"Above my shoulders. But like... I wanna still be able to tuck it behind my ears?" He's not sure why it comes out as a question, but Steve just nods, Eddie sees his lips twitch into the start of a smile before dropping again. He reach up, drags his fingers genlty through Eddie hair.

His stomach sinks, his hair is gross. He hasn't washed it in days. Too tired. Too much pain. Too much effort.

"Sorry my hair's gross." He mumbles, lips barley moving.

"It's not. It's fine." Steve assures him, his voice soft, sections out a small lock of hair, he looks at Eddie in the mirror again.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, he looks sad. Eddie hates it. But also doesn't. Because it means Steve sees him, understands him, and how important his hair is to him.

But it doesn't matter right now. That his hair is a peice of him, a peice of the Eddie he'd built to keep himself safe. A peice of his armor.

"I'm sure. Please." He isn't begging, exactly, but his hands fist in his pajama pants, and it feels like it anyway.

"I'm gonna go just above your shoulder at first okay? And then if you want more off we can do that." Steve waits for Eddie to agree and then starts cutting.

Eddie closes his eyes when the scissors sink through his hair. Keeps them closed as Steve works. He stops a few cuts in and tells Eddie to wait there. Eddie sits on the toilet seat as he waits for Steve to come back.

He brings a radio with him, clicks in one of the tapes Eddie made him, and gets back to work. Eddie's eyes stay closed. He finds himself smiling as he listens to Steve hum behind him. Scrunches his nose when Steve full on sings a few times.

Not because he's bad. He's got a really nice voice actually. Eddie loves listening to him sing. But if he didn't scrunch his face he might to do something else instead, something stupid, with Steve so close.

It only takes a couple songs before Steve's hands are on his shoulders, gentle, reassuring, an anchor.

"Okay. It's done. Or at least. Might be. I can take more off if you need me too." His voice is soft in Eddie's ear, Eddie can feel the heat of his chest on his back he's so close.

He opens his eyes and feels his heart flutter in his chest. His head swimming a little. His hair hadn't been this short since junior year. He can see Steve watching him in the mirror.

"Good?" He asks, dragging his lip into his mouth and letting it go again.

"I think so." Eddie says, feeling a bit dazzed, a bit dizzy. And then Steve fucking reaches up with both hands, tucks Eddie's hair behind his ears genlty, his fingers moving down his neck to rest back on his shoulders.

"I could take another inch. It'd still fit behind your ears." Steve's eyes are moving over his head, like he's doing some complex math equation. Eddie wants to cry. His chest tight.

"Okay. Take it." He says, Steve's eyes move to his in their reflections again.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, reaching up and smoothing his hand over Eddie's hair. Eddie nods.

"Yeah. One more inch." He breathes the words out, like he just needs them gone, out of his mouth. Steve smiles at him, untucks his hair from his ears and starts cutting again.

Eddie watches him this time. Watches the way his tongue sticks out as he concentrates, measuring Eddie's hair between his fingers before he cuts. His tongue peaking out between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration.

Eddie watches him and tries to convince himself he actually wanted it shorter. And maybe he did. But he knows too, that he didn't want Steve to stop touching him. Steve's eyes meet his in the mirror and he smiles again. Eddie looks away. His cheeks burning.

"Okay. You're done Munson." His voice is teasing, it makes Eddie's stomach flutter.

"Thanks. Harrington." He teases back. Too soft. He knows. But he can't help it. His voice is stuck in his throat. Steve snorts as Eddie turns, takes a step toward the door.

"Actually. Can I-" Steve stops, his hand curling around Eddie's bicep, stopping him there. Eddie looks at him. Waiting.

"Can I wash your hair for you?" Steve asks, his voice quiet, Eddie barely hears it over the radio.

"My...?" Is Eddie's articulate reply.

"Please? It'll make you feel better. I- I think." Steve stammers a bit, always so endearing when he does that. Eddie loves when he's flustered.

"I uh... yeah okay. If you want." Eddie shrugs, tries to act normal. Like any of this is normal. And Steve fucking beams at him, that beautiful smile on full display.

"Okay cool. Just uh... here you can sit here while I get this cleaned up and get a towel and I'll be right back." He's talking fast, his hands flailing and jumping around as he talks. Eddie just nods, smiling at him as he watches him toss Eddie's chopped hair into the trash. Watches him take a lock of it and tie it in a knot, tells Eddie he'll put it somewhere safe. So they'll know when it's fully grown out again.

Steve wipes up the counter and disappears, comes back with two towels a few seconds later. Instructs Eddie to sit on the floor. He sets a towel down for him to sit on and lays the other over the side of the tub.

Eddie lets Steve guide him. His hands gentle as he lowers Eddie's head back over the tub, asks if he's comfortable, Eddie hums an affirmation. Steve makes sure the water is warm, not too hot, because Eddie doesn't like hot water. He gets it perfect. And then starts pouring water onto Eddie's hair.

Eddie's not sure where he got the cup. Or if it was already there for some reason. He means to ask but Steve's fingers sink into his hair and his brain short circuits. The shampoo smells amazing. Minty. It tingles against his scalp in the best way as Steve's fingers move in slow circles.

Eddie's eyes fall closed. He's sure he makes some obscene noise but Steve is kind enough not to comment. His fingers working magic in Eddie's hair. He rinses with warm water, the contrast from the cool minty feeling making Eddie shiver.

He hears Steve laugh a quiet laugh as he does and smiles himself. He hears another bottle pop open and closed and then Steve's fingers are back. Working the conditioner into his hair slowly, massaging it into his scalp as well. His hands moving slowly, with a purpose, for what feels like hours. He pulls back eventually, fingers dragging slowly through Eddie's hair as he goes.

"I'm gonna let that sit for about two minutes and then we'll rinse okay? You doin okay? Not in pain are you?" Steve all but whispers in Eddie's ear. The radio is still playing in the background. But Eddie couldn't tell you a single fucking song that had played since Steve started touching him.

"I'm good. Kinda tired. But that might just be your magic fingers." He peaks one eye open, watches as Steve laughs, shakes his head. He closes his eye again and laughs too. Only it wasn't a joke. Not really. Steve's fingers were magic. Just like the rest of him.

Steve hums along to Queen's Radio Ga Ga as they wait, Eddie tapping out the beat on his thigh as Steve hums and sways. The song ends and Steve scoots closer.

"Ready?" He asks, turning the water back on.

"As I'll ever be." Eddie deadpans, scooting back a bit from where he'd slid down.

"You're not gonna try and put products in my hair and blow dry it are you?" Eddie asks as Steve starts pouring water over him, fingers moving quicker now, moving his hair around to get it clean, he snorts again.

"No. Just wanted to get you clean." He says, pouring one last cup of water over his hair and turning the tap off. He grabs at each side of the towel under Eddie's neck and lifts, pulling Eddie up and wrapping his hair in one smooth motion. Eddie's eyes land on him and he can't help it.

"So my hair was gross. I knew it." He sighs, watches Steve's nose crinkle.

"It really wasn't that bad. But you thought it was. So i figured this would help." Steve shrugged, like it was nothing. Eddie bit his lip as Steve patted and scrunched his hair in the towel, being careful not to pull.

He claps his hands down on his thighs and helps Eddie get back on his feet. Pulls him genlty to stand in front of the mirror again and smiles soflty when Eddie takes the towel off his head and drags his own fingers through his hair.

It's short, leveled at his chin, a little above when he tucks it behind his ears. And he feels... better. Lighter. He shoves his hands up into the back of it, taking a deep breathe when his fingers drag over his neck, it makes him shiver.

"Fuck. I'm gonna be cold now." He mutters, chuckling in his throat, he hadn't thought about that.

"I'll keep you warm." Steve's voice is soft, when he speaks. The tape in the deck clicks and goes quiet as they stare at each other in the mirror.

"I just wanted you to feel better. But I'll gladly keep you warm too. Whatever you need Eddie. I- I mean I'm here. For you. Not goin anywhere." He shrugs after he mumbles through his little confession, his eyes on the floor when he turns to Eddie.

"I feel better." Eddie whispers, bites his lip and decides to be brave.

He steps forward, into Steve's space, Steve lifts his head, hazel eyes darting around Eddie's face. Eddie hears his breath stutter when he leans closer, presses his lips to Steve's cheek, firm.

Wanting no doubt in Steve's mind that Eddie means this. Means to kiss him. Means to pull him into a tight hug after. Means to hum happily into Steve's neck when Steve pulls him close, arms wrapping around Eddie's skinny frame and holding him tight.

"I'm not going anywhere either." Eddie breathes into his shoulder, presses another kiss there, into his shirt, like a promise. Steve squeezes him tighter, Eddie thinks he might be crying. His chest fluttering against Eddie's as he breathes shakily.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Eddie asks, lets Steve pull away a bit so he can see him. Eddie was right, there are tears in his eyes, but he's smiling as he looks at Eddie.

"Yeah. Course you can. You can sleep there every night if you want. Forever." Steve says, nuzzles into Eddie touch as he wipes tears away from his flushed cheeks.

"Forever huh?" Eddie teases, kissing acoss Steve's cheeks genlty as he laughs, it's wet, and wobbly, and Eddie is so fucking in love with him already.

"Yeah. Forever. Or however long you want me I guess." He shrugs again, dismissive, as if he really thinks Eddie would ever give him up.

"Forever sounds good to me. Not fucking letting you go now I've got you." Eddie whispers, his hands holding Steve's face, Steve's hands on his wrists, holding him too.

"You're gonna keep me forever?" Steve asks, his lip trembling as he looks at Eddie with hope in his teary eyes.

"Forever and ever, if I can." Eddie nods, and it seems to break Steve. He sighs, grabs at Eddie's pajama shirt and tugs him forward. Their lips crash together, a little rough at first, their teeth clicking until Steve seems to calm and slow down. His lips move genlty against Eddie's, soft and slow, and when he pulls back he's smiling again, his crooked little half smile that Eddie loves so much.

Steve scrunches his hair a few more times and then drags Eddie upstairs, gets them both comfy in his bed. And he holds Eddie as they fall alseep, pressing kisses into his hair and against his temple before sleep takes him.

Eddie wakes up warm. Drapped across Steve's chest as the sun hits them. He feels lips press into his hair, smiles when Steve makes exaggerated kissy noises. But he keeps his eyes closed, nuzzles deeper into Steve as he feels his fingers press into his hair.

Eddie hums as they drag through a few times, nimbly untangling rats or snags as they move. He sinks deeper into Steve, his heart fluttering as Steve's hand moves through his hair genlty, scratching at his scalp as he goes, before settling against the back of his neck, his thumb moving in slow cirles against the newly exposed skin.

Eddie whimpers into Steve's chest and snuggles closer, Steve keeping him warm, just like he promised. Eddie couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

[sgt-tombstone]

Contrary to popular belief, when Soap joined the 141, he didn't attach himself obnoxious and irrevocably to his glowering lieutenant. There was no baby duckling moment, no imprinting from the sociable sergeant, no following Ghost around like a lost puppy

For his first few weeks on base, he was bright and loud in the way of the new kid on the block trying to make friends however he could, but he gravitated mostly towards Gaz, a man equal to him in rank, passion, and mischievousness. He sought out Ghost with the same enthusiasm that he sought out latrine duty or paperwork; a part of everyday military life that's easier to accept and move on than fight against. He didn't go out of his way to avoid Ghost, but he also didn't actively try to gain his attention either

Contrary to popular belief, it was Ghost who attached himself to Soap, not the other way around

Ghost has always stuck to the shadows, taken advantage of the brightness of others to stay hidden, to fly under the radar until he erupts with deadly force, and no one was brighter than Johnny. When Soap walked into a room, no one had the wherewithal to even think to check for anyone behind him; he stole the attention of everyone he came in contact with. He was a blaze of energy and charm and excitement, and Ghost shamelessly used it to his advantage, placing himself behind Johnny like he was deploying a decoy flare, knowing that he could rely on the shadow that Soap never failed to cast with his intensity. It wasn't a fear thing, either; Ghost never cowered in Soap's shadow. At worst, he lurked. At best, prowled. He did what he did best, assisted by an oblivious, brilliant sergeant

And when Soap caught on... Price never knew peace again, because Soap turned the glow up tenfold, intentionally creating pockets of shadow for his lieutenant to hide in, the two of them working in tandem until they didn't even have to speak, until they could move around each other with alarming, exceptional ease

Around base, Ghost took advantage of it for fun, or to get out of paperwork, or to avoid social interaction; he could trust his sergeant to distract anyone from anything for long enough that Ghost could slip away entirely unnoticed, with everyone around them none the wiser

In the field, though... They had never been a more deadly duo. There was risk involved, of course, because intentionally drawing attention to yourself in a firefight is less than ideal, but they trusted each other implicitly. Whenever Soap kicked up dust, Ghost took cover in it, hiding in plain sight, secure in the knowledge that the combination of Soap's diversion and his own trigger finger kept them completely safe. No one ever saw Ghost, not when they were too caught up in the pandemonium that was Johnny MacTavish, and then it was too late, because Ghost had already taken them out

And when Soap turned that wildness on Ghost himself, well... Simon could admit that he used his sergeant's influence to his advantage, but he'd never claim to be entirely immune to it himself...

[actual-changeling]

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

i have a NSFW Gale/Reader thought

hear me out on this one:

You have trouble falling asleep and tend to pick up potions of sleep when you can. A few sips around bedtime knocks you out and helps you be well rested in the morning. You recently finished off a bottle so when you and the gang are looting some crates, you pocket a fresh potion of the creamy lilac concoction.

Fast forward to that night. You stayed up a bit later than you intended, looking over some new scrolls and books you'd picked up that day, and decide you need a little sleep aid. You take a swig of your new potion and settle down in your tent for bed. But sleep doesn't take you. Instead, your breasts start aching. For a few moments you think that maybe your period is coming earlier than thought, but the ache keeps growing deeper, and when you go to feel your tits, you notice that they feel uncomfortably tight...full. And as you squeeze them, you feel dampness against your palms.

Confused, scared, and fighting the first inklings of panic, you grab the potion and stumble out of your tent. Luckily, you're not the only night owl and can see the warm glow of a candle from Gale's tent.

You announce your presence and he welcomes you inside, closing a book of his own and sitting up as you duck into his tent and close the flap for privacy. His pleasant smile immedately falls as he sees your worried face.

You quickly explain about the potion, how it might have been contaminated or perhaps spoiled. Gale takes the bottle and swirls the contents before uncorking it and giving it a sniff. He frowns.

"It uses some similar ingredients to a potion of sleep, so it's viscosity and smell are quite similar...but I believe I know what this is." He looks at you evenly before asking, "Did you take it?"

You nod, and Gale sighs from his nose.

"What sort of symptoms are you experiencing?"

It's a bit embarassing to admit, but you tell him, and he sighs again. You can see that he's not happy with the development and you quickly apologize for the hassle. His face changes then and he waves his hands in front of himself.

"No, no, it's not you, dear. It was an easy mistake to make. It's just that...How do I put this."

He takes in a deep breath and motions for you to sit next to him. You do, and he continues speaking, his voice slow and careful.

"That potion is used for mothers who are having troubles... shall we say, producing. It stimulates the breast tissue and...well, I'm sure you've realized."

Oh gods. You look down at your night shirt, seeing the small wet spots around your nipples. You look back at Gale (just as he looks away--it seems he was staring at your chest as well) and you ask what you should do.

Gale clears his throat. "Massaging the area will help, but to extract everything...you wouldn't happen to know a hungry baby, would you?"

You know he's trying to crack a silly joke, but it only makes tears spring to your eyes. Gale flounders, his hands fluttering around like scared birds before one lands on your thigh.

"Don't despair, dear. I'll...I know it may be a tad unorthodox, but if you'll let me..."

You tell him you don't care what he does, as long as it fixes your problem. You see Gale's jaw flex. He seems to be calculating something in his head before he nods curtly.

"I'll take care of it, don't you worry. Here, lay down for me."

He quickly grabs some pillows and arranges them comfortably on the ground and you lean back, the pillows propping you up in a half-lounging position.

He scoots close to you, his hands going to the buttons of your shirt before he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, silently asking your permission. You can feel your cheeks flush as you nod. He begins unfastening the buttons from the bottom, and with shaking hands, you start from the top, meeting him in the middle. Your shirt falls open, and your breasts are on full display in the candlelight, visibly tight and full, your nipples hard and wet with smeared milk.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, voice a hush in the night air.

You nod, fighting the urge to close your shirt as Gale stares.

"I won't massage them just yet, then. We need to extract some of the, erm, fluid first." He wettens his bottom lip and scoots a bit closer to you. "Do you understand what I need to do?"

It seems that he's just as nervous about this as you are-- you know what he's getting at, but neither of you seem brave enough to say it out loud. Instead, you nod your head and tell him to do whatever he needs to.

He nods and starts lowering his head hesitantly. "I know it's going to feel odd, but it's necessary."

You return the nod and fight back a shiver as you feel the warmth of his breath against your nipple. You look away just as his lips meet the swollen bud and bite your lip to stop any involuntary noises from leaving you. The feeling of his hot lips closing around your nipple and then the velvet wetness of his tongue cupping around it has heat flooding your stomach and cheeks.

He starts with a light suction, your nipple gently pulled into his mouth. You can feel the milk leaving you as he begins suckling, hot spurts that provide an almost instant relief in your aching breast.

You let out a soft sigh and Gale releases your nipple and looks up at you, his cheeks rosy and eyes darker than usual.

"You alright?"

You apologize and ensure him it's fine, telling him that it feels surprisingly good before realizing what you said and stumbling over your words. You flounder and clarify that the relief of the pressure feels good, and he nods his head quickly.

"I knew exactly what you meant." He adjusts himself on the ground, "I'm relieved to hear that it's working...we'll keep going then."

But before he dips back down, you stop him. You realize that he hasn't spat out what he's sucked from you and ask if you all should grab a bowl or something so that he doesn't have to swallow.

"I don't mind," He says, "It's less cumbersome this way." He stutters for a moment before adding, "U-unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course. I'd be happy to--"

You cut him off and tell him it's fine like this. And then, shyly, you ask him what it tastes like.

"It's...sweet. But not overly so." He gestures to your breast, where a pearly drop dangles from the tip of your nipple. "Try it for yourself."

So you do. You swipe the drop onto your finger and suck it into your mouth, surprised at the sweetness, even if that's how Gale had described it. When you look back at Gale, you see a curious heat in his eyes that he quickly masks before bringing his head down once more.

This time, you watch as he latches onto your nipple. The peek of his tongue as he takes it into his mouth makes you clench involuntarily. And then comes that relief again, that lessening of pressure that has you sighing and leaning your head back.

It's almost hypnotic. The feeling of his lips suckling at you, the press of his tongue against your sore nipple, the pain that slowly ebbs away and is quickly being replaced by guilty arousal. You close your eyes and sigh again, hand coming to the back of his head without thinking.

Your eyes fly open and you quickly apologize again. Gale pulls off of your nipple but doesn't lean up, his words breathed hotly against your sensitive breast.

"No need to apologize...please, get comfortable."

You tell him that he should get comfortable too-- you don't know how long this is going to take, and seeing him leaning forward on his knees is making your own want to ache in sympathy. He laughs softly, sheepishly.

"I do admit, it's not entirely comfortable. In that case..."

He moves slowly, carefully between your legs, looking up at you for permission that you grant with an encouraging nod.

Gale lays himself gingerly on top of you, his face level with your breasts. It's how lovers would cuddle, and it brings your heart to your throat.

"There, that's much better," Gale's voice has a slight tremble as he hovers over your untouched breast, "Is it comfortable for you as well?"

You tell him it is.

"Alright..." He takes his hand and gently cups the weight of your breast, "Let's work on this one a bit, shall we?"

He begins sucking at your other nipple, just as tender as the first one. But this time, with him laying against you and your hand returning to his hair, you find yourself letting out a moan despite yourself.

And this time, he doesn't pull away to ask if you're okay--The sound was purely from pleasure, and he seems to know it. Instead, he responds with a slightly stronger suck, his eyes closed and his long lashes on his cheeks. You try not to squirm, the heat between your legs growing to a point that you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. You wonder if he can feel the thump of it against his stomach.

You don't know how long it goes on. The gentle pull of his mouth on you, the feeling of his warm breaths against your skin, his soft hair beneath your fingers...it's all so decadently pleasurable and you lose yourself in the feeling.

He swaps between your breasts, his tongue laving at your nipple before taking it into his mouth. The feeling of it makes you jolt and shudder and moan. His hand continues cupping your other breast, gently kneading it in time with each suckle. You feel a warm trickle of milk from your free nipple and watch as it rolls down the swell of your tit before meeting his hand. He unlatches himself and goes to that breast instead, licking the cooling trail up your skin before taking your nipple once again.

His tongue is becoming greedier with each of your noises, licking your areola, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and his nose pressing into the plushness of your breast. You hold his head firmer against you, legs closing around his body as you fight to not grind against him.

He's fully groping you now, both hands gently squeezing your breasts as his hungry mouth takes turns lavishing both nipples with his attention. His eyes are still closed and his brow is furrowed as he works, panting for air between each switch but never allowing himself to fully catch his breath.

You can feel the flow of your milk drying up. The ache in your breasts has mercifully subsided, leaving them feeling tender and sensitive. But Gale doesn't seem ready to stop-- he sucks harder at them, coaxing out each drop against his tongue.

So you don't stop him. You lean back against the pillows and run your hand over his back, through his hair, letting him nurse from you to his content. And as you watch him, you realize with a cold jolt that he's rutting himself against the ground. It's subtle, almost completely missable, but you can see the way his ass flexes as his toes dig into the ground for purchase.

The revelation finally breaks your control. You moan his name and raise your hips against him, spreading your legs as his teeth dig into your skin.

It's as if he had been waiting for this moment. He's sliding up your body immediately, his hot, panted breaths against your face sweet with your milk.

"Gods, I'm--"

Whatever he's going to say is lost as he takes your mouth, that skilled tongue that has been teasing your nipples all this time now pushing past your lips, that sweetness intensified as he kisses you desperately. His body slots perfectly against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pussy and grinding into it, starved for friction. Even through both sets of your clothes you can feel his member pulsing, and as he dry fucks you he groans into your mouth, his hands hungrily feeling over your body, your face, your breasts.

You cry out as the orgasm that has been building all this time finally breaks within you, and you cling to him as you rut madly against him. Your own passionate ministrations make Gale still, and it isn't until you hear his own throaty groan that you understand why.

Your arched back deflates back into the pillows, and Gale's body follows, as if not wanting to be apart from you. You can feel the twitching of his cock still buried between your legs, uneven jumps and shudders that have him gasping and pulling out of the kiss.

"Gods, I'm...I'm so sorry..." He pants, eyes fluttering open and worry knitting his brow. "That was...inappropriate, to say the least."

You hold the side of his face and reassure him that it's alright. And, you add with a smile, his unorthodox methods have managed to do what you sought to accomplish in the first place.

"I must say, I'm rather tired myself." Gale shares your smile, "Why don't you spend the night, in that case? Besides, it's best for me to be nearby, in case you need more...extracting."

You happily oblige.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Most guardian angels have it easy.

Kevin Lee, on the other hand, is constantly chasing after Howie and working his ass off to try and keep him alive. He still gets headaches from absorbing most of that rebar damage.

Who knew angels could get headaches? That was fun to learn.

After the bridge collapse, once Howie's safe and on the mend again, Kevin sits on top of the 118, legs swinging over the edge as he looks up at the night sky.

"Do you think you could give these guys a break?" he calls out. "Maybe for just a little bit?"

"That's a great question."

Kevin startles at the voice, almost tumbling off the roof.

"Sorry." A guy comes into view, chuckling as he sits down beside him. His hair is weirdly singed and he has no eyebrows at all.

When Kevin squints, he actually thinks he can see a little smoke coming off of him.

"Hey," the guy says, holding out a hand to shake. "Daniel Buckley. Nice to meet you."

"Kevin Lee." He grasps Daniel's hand, jolting at the shock it gives him.

"Sorry," Daniel says, smiling ruefully. "Still taking awhile to shake that."

Right. The lightning strike. Kevin had heard Howie talking about that.

"Yours puts you through it too, huh?"

"The stories I could tell," Daniel laughs.

"Bet you mine are better," Kevin says.

Daniel grins again, eyes glinting with something that would've put a lesser angel off. "I'll take that bet."

[casdeans-pie]

--- "Angel Erogenous Zones" ---

The middle of an Angel's neck, where their Grace can be extracted from - wouldn't that be a vulnerable, sensitive spot?

--------

It hadn’t been Dean's intention to be kissing Cas against his bedroom door, but as soon as it had slammed shut behind them that’s where they’d ended up.

There had been a desperate mix of gripping and pulling to draw each other in – and then suddenly they were on each other. Dean had both his fists full of trench coat, while Cas's hands had started on his shirt collar and slid up to the back of his head.

Dean had a fuzzy, vague realisation (his blood had far more interesting places to go than his brain) that Cas could be completely immovable if he wanted to be, so the satisfying slam of his back against the door was something that he’d let happen.

God, wasn’t that something.

Dean groaned aloud at that thought and Cas made a high breathy sound in response, like being able to make the other feel good left them in a never ending feedback loop of pleasure.

Their angle changed slightly, their bodies one long tight line of heat, as Dean reluctantly pulled his lips away to desperately breathe some air before he passed out.

Cas tilted his head back, baring the column of his throat, as Dean tasted it with his lips and tongue, while he got his breathing back under control. But Cas flinched violently when his mouth touched the skin below his chin.

“Sorry,” Dean said, freezing immediately. Even he could hear how wrecked and rough he sounded. He pulled back and searched Cas’s face – was he making sure he was okay, or looking for signs of regret?

Dean couldn’t help it when he placed a gentle hand on Cas’s cheek and wiped a thumb gently under his eye. They were both shining brightly with an inner light that seemed to swirl through what Dean could see of his irises (though they were mostly dilated pupil). He wanted to feel smug at the effect he’d had, but concern at the flinch he’d definitely felt overrode everything else.

Cas shook his head slightly and let out a long, shaky breath. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think I would react like that.”

“I- uh- I mean, I get it man, this is uh- kinda new territory for us and-” Dean tensed and went to move away, but Cas held him close.

“No, please... Please don’t think it was a reaction to this. To us. There’s a scar,” Cas explained, voice even lower than usual, “from when my Grace was removed and I became human. It never healed.”

Dean felt his whole body relax again in relief and he pressed in closer, just barely resisting the urge to kiss Cas again, to catch sight of the thin white scar straight across his throat. The lowlight of the bedroom caught the edge of the raised line, making it stand out slightly, and Dean felt a deep pang of sympathy. The hand he’d left still resting on Cas’s cheek slid down to his neck and touched the very edge of it carefully.

“Does it hurt?”

“N-No,” Cas said, his breathing speeding up as his eyes slid closed. Blue light escaped from between his eyelashes.

Dean blinked in surprise. Wait...

“Sensitive,” Cas added, “sensitive place for ah-angels.”

Oh.

Dean had slid a finger over the scar gently while Cas had been talking and now he understood his reaction before.

“Sensitive, huh,” Dean repeated.

The moment that his mouth touched the scar he heard Cas gasp.

He paused, giving Cas the opportunity to tell him to stop, but instead a hand returned to the back of his head and fingers dug deep into his short hair. Dean smiled, knowing Cas would be able to feel it, and added a gentle mouthing of teeth. Cas made a noise in the back of his throat that shot a bolt of want down Dean’s spine.

He bit down harder.

A hand slammed over Dean’s eyes that shielded him from a blindingly bright blue light bursting out into the room.

Dean laughed, his chest full of warmth, as he crushed their bodies even closer together to hide his face in Cas’s shoulder.

“Oh, Angel,” Dean whispered, as a tingling electricity accompanied the light and seemed to slide over and under his skin. He had the strangest thought that it felt like silky feathers.

The light finally faded and Cas thumped his head back against the door.

“So, turns out, angel erogenous zones are a thing,” Dean said, his voice rumbling deeply with affection and warmth.

“I’ll teach you mine if you teach me yours,” Cas said breathlessly.

“I can work with that.”