#anyways here's a ficlet

[antisociallilbrat]

45 immediately makes me think of Richie getting his comeuppance for being a smarmy bastard. your choice of whoever the partner(s) is(are). or 144 with stenbrough?

Oh yeah baby it's Bichie time 😤 also I will be doing that stenbrough one, just in a separate post.

Thank you Wilbur for indulging in my nonsense

Smut Prompts

Bill and Richie have a very adventurous sex life. It probably has something to do with their eagerness to try new things and their high sex drives. Seriously, when Richie’s with Bill, sometimes he feels insatiable. 

They switch back and forth between who tops and who leads the scene, but those don’t always coincide. Richie has power-bottomed leading a scene once or twice. Today Bill was leading the scene and Bill is always quick and powerful in what he decides. He loves to throw Richie around in the bedroom, loves to leave him with pretty hickies traveling his chest and up his neck, and loves to leave his ass bruised and sore. Bill is hands-on when he’s leading the scene. 

Which Richie was excited about. It’s been a while since he and Bill had even had sex thanks to their busy schedules. This weekend they had planned to do a scene and the night before when they were at dinner with their friends that’s all he could think about. His foot kept trailing up Bill’s leg and he would be lying if he wasn’t hoping they could start last night. But…Bill just came home and went to bed. 

But that’s okay because this morning after a heavy makeout session in bed, and Bill painfully slowly opening him up, he finds himself tied to their four-poster bed, completely at Bill’s mercy. 

He wiggles against the restraints, his hard cock pulsing when he sees how tight the bindings are. There’s a dildo tucked up in him, just brushing against his prostate. Providing a ghost of simulation. 

Bill circles him around the bed, still annoyingly clothed. He runs a feather softly across his chest and Richie shudders. “That’s all you gonna do Big Bill?” he snarks. 

Bill doesn’t say anything but he crawls onto the bed, kneeling in the v of Richie’s legs. He pulls off his shirt and Richie’s mouth runs dry. Bill slowly shucks his pants and underwear off, not saying anything just smirking at Richie’s huffs of annoyance. 

Richie grounds down on the bed, trying to get the dildo deeper to no avail. His cock lays heavy against his stomach and he whimpers as he watches Bill stroke his own instead of Richie’s. 

“Bill what the fuck? Come on!”

“Always so puh-pushy,” It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, “Even going as far as to embuh-barrass me at dinner last night.”

“Oh, you can’t be upset about that!”

Bill ignores him and leans over him, stroking himself a little faster, enjoying watching Richie struggle. 

He’s not ready to start begging but he’s close to it, “Fuck, just touch me already! Just— just do something!” 

Bill chuckles, “Not so fast. We’ve still got the whole day ahead of us.”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[louisferrignojr]

It’s a little past midnight when they stumble through the threshold of Tommy’s house, and Buck’s equal parts drunk and sleepy, the workday’s events taking their toll on him, and the two bottles of wine they shared between them painting his cheeks a pretty pink and sending him into a bit of a daze. All he can think of is stripping down to his underwear and getting under the covers and wrapping himself around his boyfriend like a koala bear on a eucalyptus tree. 

“Did you know koala bears have a pouch too, like kangaroos?” he says as he takes off his shoes at the entryway, kicking them towards the coat stand. “Where the baby lives. In its mother’s tummy.” He pauses for a second before he adds, “Wish I was a baby koala bear.”

Tommy laughs softly. “Okay, big baby, let’s get you to bed,” Tommy’s hands are on his hips, spinning him around and leading him down the corridor to his bedroom.

Buck grins, slips out of his grasp and turns around to face him. “I’ll go to bed if you come with me,” he says, trying to be sexy, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark. He’s really not sober enough to make his voice take on that sultry tone that gets the message across no matter how ridiculous the line.

“Yes, I sleep here, too, Evan,” Tommy’s smiling fondly at him, and Buck can’t help it, he throws his arms around the man’s shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, keeps him close as he stumbles backwards and falls on the mattress, pulling Tommy with him, a surprised gasp breaking their interlocked lips. 

Tommy’s laughing then and pulling out of his grasp, moving off of the bed to start undressing. “How are you still horny when you’re this drunk?”

“I’m always horny when you’re around.”

“Such a smooth talker.” 

“Okay, but wait, wait, Tommy, listen,” Buck pushes up to his elbows, grabs the front of Tommy’s t-shirt in a mistaken effort to pull himself up the rest of the way, only succeeding because Tommy reaches for him with his arms outstretched and helps him sit up. Buck frames his face between his palms as his gaze locks with Tommy’s. “You want − do you want to be my baby-daddy?”

Tommy snorts a laugh, which is not the reaction Buck was hoping for. “You might have to retake Biology 101, Evan,” he says then, and Buck’s face breaks into a grin, relief washing over him. Of course his boyfriend’s only teasing him. Of course it makes his stomach do a flip in response.

“I’m serious,” Buck says then, though he’s still grinning like a loon. “I wanna have your babies.”

“Mm, still not technically possible, honey.” Tommy’s hands are working on the buttons of his shirt while he speaks, having removed his own t-shirt already. 

“Tommy,” Buck whines now, evidently having run out of patience. “I’m serious. I want this.”

Tommy nods, pauses for a minute to cup Buck’s cheek in one hand, the other finding Buck’s to interlace their fingers. “I know,” he says in a gentle tone. “We can talk about it when we’re sober, yeah?” And with that he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Buck’s smiling mouth. “But in the meantime…” he trails off, pulls back to meet Buck in the eye, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth is all Buck needs to catch on to Tommy’s intentions. 

Finally, they’re on the same page, and soon enough, Buck’s horizontal and fully naked, with Tommy lying next to him, kissing him sweetly, one hand tangled in Buck’s hair while the other is wrapped around his cock, jerking him off with slick, rapid motions, each upstroke bringing Buck closer to the edge until he comes all over Tommy’s hand, toes curling and back arching off the mattress as his orgasm washes over him.

Tommy’s still pressing a myriad of soft kisses along his jaw, down his throat and over his collarbone, and Buck’s expression melts into a hazy smile, head sinking further into the pillow − until he feels Tommy shift, moving away, and that won’t do at all.

“Gimme,” Buck stretches out his arms, making grabby-hands motions at Tommy. “I can’t get up. Bring it here to me. Please.” He accentuates the request with his puppy-dog eyes that he knows works like a charm on Tommy, pushing out his pouty lips that he knows Tommy can’t resist. 

“Fucking shit, Buckley,” Tommy leans over to kiss him before he gets to his feet, taking his jeans and briefs off in one quick motion, then proceeds to climb on the mattress. He swings a leg over Buck’s torso and settles down with a hand wrapped around his beautiful hard cock just inches away from Buck’s mouth. “This okay?” 

Buck nods eagerly, arms wrapping around Tommy’s thighs to pull him closer, lifting his head off the pillow and taking him in his mouth. Tommy moans loudly and Buck smiles with Tommy’s dick in his mouth, starts sucking the head of it, lapping at it eagerly with the tip of his tongue, until he suddenly drops his head back on the pillow.

“Just fuck my mouth, Tommy. Please.”

Tommy doesn’t need to be asked twice. He shuffles even closer and guides himself back in, starts with shallow little thrusts into his mouth - because as much as Buck might want to take more of him in, Tommy knows it’ll trigger his gag reflex, at this awkward angle. Buck makes a note to tell him afterwards, how good Tommy is to him, how careful and gentle and patient he’s been from the very beginning, giving Buck another chance that he didn’t really deserve. It sends another rush of emotions flooding through him, and Buck makes a high pitched keening noise at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into the meat of Tommy’s ass hard enough that his nails will surely leave little crescent moon-shaped imprints, but it only makes Tommy moan louder. Buck tries to reach further in between his cheeks to push two fingers against Tommy’s perineum, and just like that, Tommy tips over the edge, spilling into his mouth. 

Buck swallows him down and licks his lips, making sure he gets every last drop, before he says, “That definitely won’t make a baby,” with a cheeky grin on his face.

It makes Tommy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’ve been told.” 

Tommy shakes his head. He climbs off of him and lays down on the bed next to him, snaking an arm underneath Buck’s neck to pull him close to him, fingers under Buck’s chin tipping his head into a soft kiss. 

“I love you.” Tommy says, his expression the very definition of fond. “I’d love to be your baby-daddy, Evan.”

Buck can’t help the grin that splits his face in two. “Yeah?” he asks, and Tommy’s smile mirrors his own.

“Yeah.”

[wormdebut]

WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

@hellion-child you did this. Inspired by this legendary post.

‘It’s not illegal to go to the dog park, just to hear hot dads say Good Girl.’

Rating: M CW: overusage of the term daddy and Eddie just being a horny bastard.

——

“You know, this is fucking insane, right?” Chrissy laughs while Eddie lounges on the park bench.

Yes. He’s aware.

He and Chrissy don’t even have a dog and yet—

“Chris. Look at all of these great pet parents, taking care of these little doggies. Look at em. Wonderful. Stunning, very normal.”

Chrissy levels him with a glare. Being on the wrong side of a Chrissy glare is a scary thing, but alas his dog park visits are worth it.

“No. Look, listen. You’ve got all of these doggy daddies taking their lovely pups out for runs and walks and what not and then daddy wraps up his run and takes the precious ones to this here dog park. Woof.”

It really was worth it to Eddie, alright? There is nothing wrong with going to a public dog park to maybe hear a hot sweaty man coo at his dog.

‘Good Boy’

‘Precious Girl’

Bark bark bark or whatever.

Would Eddie ever talk to any of them? Absolutely the fuck not, but a man could dream.

He was bummed though because none of the hot guys were out, today.

Damn.

He is busy scanning the area to see if he missed anyone, Chrissy yapping on and on about how they could just get a dog when someone slows their run to chat.

“Hi!” She says. This woman is tall, short hair messed up from running, she’s got a bright ass orange jacket on, and she is most certainly Chrissy’s type. Thats not fucking fair at all, now is it?

Chrissy’s complaining tapers off. “Hey.”

They smile at each other, and this is truly unfair, Eddie thinks. This whole dog park thing was for him and yet.

“I hope you don’t mind, but me and my best friend just moved to the area and honestly, I think you’re pretty so—I just thought I would say hi.” She hardly makes eye contact with Eddie. So it’s clear who she’s talking to.

Like recognizes like, he supposes.

He can respect the straight forwardness of it all. Chrissy is just kinda staring at her so he speaks up. “Well, I’m Eddie and this is Chrissy, and I can confidently say that she also thinks you’re pretty.”

Both woman turn to stare and him, Chrissy with big eyes and the other woman with a smirk. She speaks, “Well, it must be my lucky day.” She turns back to Chrissy, “I’m Robin.”

The two get talking and Eddie is happy for his best friend, he really is, but where are all the hot men?

He’s about ready to call it quits when he sees a fucking god, running with a ridiculously stunning dog.

Hot people own hot dogs, he supposes.

This guy is—fuck. He’s sweaty from running, and his hair is fucking gorgeous, even after activities. Thats a green flag. Eddie is just shocked.

This is the dog daddy of all dog daddies. He’s wearing tiny fucking red shorts that expose thighs for days and—

“Jesus fuckin’—see?” Eddie doesn’t even care that he is interrupting the girls conversation cause this guys is—god damn. “He could slap a collar on me and walk me like a dog.”

Chrissy balks. “Eddie. We are in the company of a new friend. Robin doesn’t deserves this.”

Eddie simply shrugs and Robin laughs, “No. I think it’s hilarious which guy caught your eye?”

Oh, he likes Robin. “I like her. Get her number—“ He smiles big at Chrissy, before gesturing towards the fucking Adonis in tiny little running shorts. “Anywhozle. That one, look at him. On my knees in a second.”

He ignores Chrissy’s eye roll, and watches as Robin takes in the guy, before busting out in a laugh. “Oh my god—Steve?”

Oh shit.

“I—do you—“ Abort mission. Abort abort.

“Oh yeah, remember that best friend I was telling you guys about?”

She is still laughing, and Chrissy joins her before handing Robin her phone.

Eddie feels like he just got bamboozled.

“Chrissy, babe, I’ll text you. Eddie? I’ll see what I can do.” She smiles at them both before running over to ‘Steve’ and his—their?— gorgeous dog.

“No wait I—“ Eddie tries but she’s already over with Steve who is listening intently to what Robin has to say.

Oh god, oh no. Oh god.

Chrissy is just laughing softly into her hand, which turns into full laughter quick because Steve turns to look at them, smiles and winks.

[rosyhoneydew]

“I almost didn’t.”

“What?” Tommy asks, rinsing off his toothbrush and turning to look at Evan in the mirror. He looks lost, almost.

Tommy himself is feeling a little thrown. They'd moved to the bathroom to settle down for bed a bit ago; and Evan had filled him in on the freak accident, the trip to the hospital, and how for the rest of the day he'd had a weird, unshakeable feeling.

"I saw the blade going loose. I- I knew it was going to break. And for a second I just... waited."

Tommy frowns.

"Sweetheart, you couldn't have known-"

"I think I did," Evan says. "It's weird. I know there's a million different ways that could've gone, but it was like I thought what if it hits him."

He looks down at where his hands are gripping the sink, his knuckles turning white at the force of it.

"I think I hoped it would."

Tommy reaches slowly for Evan's left hand, and places his on top. He doesn't try to peel Evan's hand away, just gives him the warm pressure of his touch.

"It didn't," Tommy says. "What it comes down to is, you saved his life."

Evan looks over at him, eyes pained like he's hoping to believe him.

"You're not someone who hurts people, Evan. You're a person that hurt people turn to."

Tommy shifts himself to lean against the counter and holds onto Evan's hips.

"Maybe you hesitated, or maybe you remembered to take a beat before jumping in head first? Isn't that what you said Bobby wanted for you? To think fast before you attack the situation."

Evan looks away briefly like he's reassessing the moment.

"Either way" - Tommy leans in to press a kiss at his cheek - "I know who you are. I don't have to have seen it to know what you did was selfless, and good." He brushes Evan's curls back a bit then, and gives his hip a squeeze before heading to bed.

Evan will be in soon, and he'll curl up to Tommy and kiss him deep, holding him tight as he drifts to sleep.

[mamawasatesttube]

all the quiet nights you bear

T | fluff, hurt/comfort | timkon hair washing | 7.6k

Kon has a rough day. Tim is determined to take care of him. After all, he didn't memorize all the variations of Kon's curl routine for nothing, now, did he?

Click!

The lock on the door flicks open as Kon alights on the balcony outside. Grateful for the distraction (typing up reports for his latest R&D-related tinkering is by far the most boring part of his job), Tim swivels around in his desk chair to welcome him home, a greeting on the tip of his tongue—

And pauses.

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be; Bart’s called him a prissy peacock on more than one occasion. Especially about his hair, especially now that he’s been growing it out. He’s got a whole hair care shower routine, and an array of curl creams and oils and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for being extra now and then, but he knows it's not just vanity.

Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. He got too used to being picked apart by vultures behind cameras, years ago, to ever be comfortable with that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in is... concerning.

{ read on ao3! }

[fazedlight]

Irish (soft season 6 ficlet)

Kara knew something was wrong.

Not dangerous wrong. Lena’s heart rate was steady and calm, and there was no one else in the apartment with her. But as Kara flew above the few buildings left to her apartment, she could see how Lena was hunched over, see the stress and sadness in her body. And it made Kara’s heart ache.

Landing in the open window, Kara stepped inside, the small taps alerting Lena to her entrance. “Kara,” Lena said, trying to hide the distress on her face as she rose from the couch, grabbing at VHS tapes spread in front of the TV. “You’re home early.”

“They put out the fire before I got there,” Kara said softly. “The winds weren’t as bad as they thought.”

Lena nodded, hurriedly placing the pile of tapes into a familiar box. Kara had flown the box back to National City herself - one of the many artifacts carried over from Lena’s mother’s home, which Lena inherited at the age of 18. Lena had only gone once or twice as an adult, until the discovery of her magic made her curious to reconnect to what she could of her mother. “Are you okay?” Kara asked.

“I’m fine,” Lena said.

“Lena.” Kara stepped forward, kneeling on the rug, gently taking Lena’s busy hands into her own. “Lena, I’m here.”

Lena paused, leaving the remaining tapes next to the TV, taking a slow breath as she dropped back to sit on the floorboards instead. “I just didn’t expect to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

Lena stared down at the floor, not quite ready to look Kara in the eye. “I was so young. There’s so much I don’t remember.”

Kara took a seat in front of her, still holding Lena’s hands. She waited patiently - silent, and comforting, letting Lena take her time to think or talk as she wished.

“In one of the tapes,” Lena said, her voice a touch deeper than normal, “She sang an Irish lullaby. I haven’t heard it in decades. The melody slammed back into me.”

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Kara said.

“She spoke to me. In Irish. She spoke to me, and I didn’t understand what she was saying,” Lena said, frustrated. “And in the tape, I spoke back, and I didn’t understand what I was saying. It’s all gone.”

And that’s when Kara stiffened, a bolt of lightning running through her as she understood. It was different in her case, of course - she had once thought herself the last to speak a language, carrying a dead culture in her soul. Through sheer luck, she was able to get her father, her mother, her people back - but the feeling of being orphaned, she understood, if in a different way than Lena. “The Luthors don’t speak Irish,” Kara replied.

“Language attrition is common in children who stop speaking their first language before the age of 12,” Lena said softly, in a tone that made Kara realize that Lena must’ve read about this a dozen times before. “I didn’t know what I was losing until it was too late.”

“Lena,” Kara said, leaning forward to give the brunette a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it sounds so silly,” Lena said. “It’s not like I have much need to speak Irish.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t mourn what you’ve lost,” Kara said, thinking back to a million conversations she’d had with Kelly about her own traumas, even if later they were reversed by fate. “You can still be sad about it.”

Lena sighed, melting into Kara’s arms, and Kara felt relieved. They sat, wrapped in each other’s embrace and breathing in the peace of the evening, Kara rubbing gently at Lena’s back until Lena was ready. “Well, I can put the rest of this away,” Lena said, pulling back, her voice steady for the first time that evening. “We can start cooking dinner.”

Kara nodded, watching as Lena gazed back - a bit mournful, a bit sad, but a certain lightness compared to before. “If it helps,” Kara said gently, with one last thought, “I can learn Irish with you? It may not be like before, but sometimes getting some of the pieces back can mean something.”

Lena looked at her for a moment, before smiling. “I’d like that.”

[imaredshirt]

It takes Fiddleford a while to realize it.

It takes years, actually. Which he theorizes could be a side effect of using the memory gun so often - one downside of many, apparently - but it finally hits him one day when he's exploring his new mansion.

He's only been living in the place for a few months at this point. The Northwests left a lot behind but they didn't leave a map, so Fiddleford spends a few hours a day drafting up blueprints of each floor and every room. He's looking through a printout of his current draft and as he's distracted, he doesn't notice that there's a staircase three feet ahead of him.

The fall takes him by surprise. He tumbles down, hitting every carpeted step with a yelp, and when he finally reaches the end, he lands wrong.

Very wrong. He should be permanently injured. He knows it. Landing on your head at his age after a tumble like that - can't be good. No siree.

But he gets to his feet and dusts his knees off and rubs his aching head and he's just fine.

So he sits on the first step and thinks back and realizes with snap of his fingers - he can't die.

Which is not to say that the fall would have killed him or that he's completely invincible, but he thinks back to all the mishaps he's had.

People have hit him with cars (multiple times) and he's always walked away with a spring in his step. Piles of trash and scrap metal have toppled over him in the scrapyard (also multiple times) and he's climbed out from under them without a scratch. He's been eaten by a pterodactyl, electrocuted by multiple inventions, tumbled off a cliff, struck by lightning, attacked by supernatural creatures around Gravity Falls, and has used the memory gun more times than anyone in town.

His arm's not even injured. He just likes how the bandages look.

Stanford would likely be stunned and worried by everything Fiddleford has survived (understandably so) but he would also find it all fascinating.

Fiddleford's not sure he would agree with that. He's worried. But the researcher in him is convinced it has something to do with the Portal Incident, when 1/3 of his body spent all of fifteen seconds inside the portal.

That's when it started, he thinks. It has to be.

But then, he wonders - if the portal has had this effect on him from something that happened years ago, what has it done to the Pines brothers? Stanley, who spent years working on the portal, and Stanford, who spent just as long on the other side?

It just so happens that at that moment, the doorbell rings. Fiddleford throws the massive doors to find the very brothers he's been pondering standing there, still in their travel gear. They've returned from their voyage on the Stan o' War II three months early. He can smell the sea on their coats.

Stanley barges in, pulling Stanford after him, and when Fiddleford shuts the doors, Stanley throws his coat open to reveal the metal end of a broken harpoon head sticking out of his chest, right over his heart.

"Fiddleford," Stanford says as Fiddleford stares, aghast. "We need to use your machinery. We can't exactly walk into a hospital with our very new statuses as, ah, very wanted criminals--"

"We got on the wrong side of the law, what's new about that?" Stanley interrupts. He gestures wildly at the metal sticking out of tender, reddened skin. "Anyway, you think any old doctor is gonna be able to fix this? Ford says you're the only guy who can help, so I'm just gonna get to the point, McGucket - four days ago, some stupid pirate got lucky and hit me. Four days ago! Why aren't I dead?"

Fiddleford pulls out his trust notebook, and as Stanford details the attack and how well Stanley has fared with a metal spear stuck between his ribs and likely puncturing his heart, Fiddleford thinks he knows that the brothers are well aware of the possible cause, but are perhaps too shocked to admit it.

Even months after Weirdmageddon and the dismantling of the awful invention beneath the Mystery Shack, it just seems that messing with an inter-dimensional portal is not without consequences.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[slashmagpie]

“Pearl? Why are you in my house?” 

Pearl blinks up at Bdubs from where she’s sandwiched between the wall and the waterstream, curled up on herself in the narrow space. “Somebody destroyed all the lights in my base and now it’s full of mobs,” she says bitterly.

“It wasn’t me!” Bdubs cries, raising his hands.

“Well, I didn’t think it was you, but the way you just said that’s making me think—”

“No! I’d never! I swear!”

“...I believe you,” she says after a moment, and Bdubs feels himself relax. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t really feel like…” She gestures in the direction of her house.

Bdubs nods. “Oh, sure, for sure,” he says. Then, “Should we invite Joel over? His house got blown up too.”

“Ah, yeah, probably. Good idea, Bdubs.” She fumbles in her pocket for her communicator, eventually fishing it out. The screen is cracked. Her fingers shake as they tap against the glass. 

“Are you okay there, Pearl? You look a little…” Bdubs forces his hands to tremble. 

She glances up at him, face scrunching in confusion, before she lets out a small laugh. “Just the adrenaline, y’know.” She grins. “I’m red. It’s great.” 

“If it was anyone else, I’d think they were being sarcastic. But with you! With you, I’m pretty sure you’re being serious!”

She giggles, hitting send on the message and shoving her communicator away. Bdubs doesn’t feel his own buzz; it must have been a whisper. “You know,” she says after a moment, “I’m a little surprised.”

Bdubs blinks. “Surprised about what?”

“That there’s still three of us.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I’m a little surprised, too! I thought for sure Joel would die today. For sure.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Oh, no, never. But between you and me… that guy’s kind of a loose canon!” 

She snorts. “Throwing stones from glass houses, there, Bdubs?”

“Surely I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.” She pauses, eyes glancing down to where her fingers pick at a stray thread on her hoodie sleeve. “That’s kinda what I mean, though. Joel doesn’t live here, and you’re making friends with half the server, I’m surprised I’m not spending tonight alone.”

“Pearl…”

“What?” She snorts. “I know how these games go, Bdubs. People don’t stay loyal. Not for long, anyway.” She glances up at him, eyes half obscured by her hair. “People like Joel, people like you? I know how this ends.”

And Bdubs—

Well, he can’t pretend he doesn’t know what she means. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Impulse yelling as Bdubs’ arrow had found home in his throat. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Etho backing away when Bdubs had tried to get just a little too close. Can’t pretend he didn’t fight when he promised he’d run. Can’t pretend he hadn’t taken advantage of his broken home. 

…He can’t pretend he doesn’t remember telling Martyn about their plans, or planning to do harm to Etho. Can’t pretend he doesn’t cross his fingers behind his back every time he makes a promise, just in case.

But at the same time, he remembers—searching for Cleo in a castle she’d been too dead to return to, pushing Lizzie to her death for a life he’d never received, taking two hands in his own and vowing to face the end as four instead of two, for once, for once in his life, choosing three and being pulled apart because of it—

Bdubs lets out a breath. “Pearl, hey, no,” he says. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m your weapon.” He gets down to his knees, lowers his head before her, feels her gaze burn into the top of his head.

“Bit late for that,” she says. “I’m my own weapon now, mate. Don’t need you to attack for me anymore.”

“Well, no—but—” He looks up at her. “Pearl. I’m yours. I promise.”

“Right. And you’re Martyn and Etho’s too, huh? We can share.”

“I’m using Martyn!” he protests. “That’s—that’s all it is—I’m usin’ him because he’s the first red and he knows his stuff! And Etho—”

“I don’t mind about Etho,” Pearl interrupts. “Like I said, I know you guys have your little thing going on. I don’t care about that.”

“I set a trap in his base,” Bdubs blurts.

Pearl blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“I set a trap in his base. Tripwire hook.” He grins. “Right outside the bedroom. I—I think I got Grian, in the end? But—could have been Etho. I coulda—could’ve been Etho.” He swallows.

“And you’d have been okay with that?” Pearl asks, smile gone from her face, expression suddenly very serious.

“I—after I set it, I went up to them. Had a chat. Lied the whole time. I coulda—coulda told him. I didn’t.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” she stresses.

She sounds dubious. Bdubs can’t blame her. He feels sick, swallowing back the bile that’s building in his throat.

“I—Pearl.”

“Bdubs?”

“I learned my lesson, Pearl. I learned—don’t put all your eggs in one basket! Because—because either they die, and then you get left alone, or—or it gets you killed, and you die. You gotta—I have two hands. I can be loyal to multiple people. But then I learned—when you do that? People aren’t loyal back. They don’t trust you anymore. Nobody else…” He laughs. “I feel like I’m the only one who can trust people like that anymore!”

“So…” She frowns. “So you’re making friends with everyone so you don’t get betrayed or left alone?”

“Exactly.” 

“And you know none of us are gonna trust you for doing that.”

He swallows again. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re doing it anyway?”

“Well, what else—what else am I supposed to do? I can’t… I can’t go back, Pearl. That’s… I can’t go back. You know how it is.”

“…Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m—I want you to win, Bdubs,” she says. “Out of everyone—I want it to be you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So… You better not make me regret this.”

He blinks at her. “Regret what?”

She bows her head to him. “I’m your weapon,” she says, an echo of his earlier words. “And a bit more of a dangerous one at that.” Her smirk leaks back into her words as she glances up and winks at him. “So use me well, alright, Bdubs? I want you to win this.”

Bdubs’ heart is in his throat. He swallows it back down. It burns.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. 

The door slams open, startling them both out of their skin.

“Hey guys—uh. What are you doing?”

“Oh, for—Judas Priest, Joel, learn to knock!”

“You invited me over! Or, Pearl did—hey Pearl.”

“Hey,” Pearl says. “Come on in! Sleepover at Bdubs’ time.”

“I can’t believe this is the last of our bases left standing. It’s, like, the worst one.”

“Hey!” 

“There’s no space in here!” To punctuate his statement, Joel slumps down against one wall, kicking Bdubs in the ribs as he does so. Bdubs grunts. “See?”

“It’s definitely not the most spacious…” Pearl acquiesces.

“Anyway. What were you guys doing before I came in?”

“Swearing loyalty,” Bdubs says. 

“Oh.” Joel blinks. “Do you need me to do that? Because I’m a Mounder for life. Loyal to the end.”

Bdubs and Pearl glance at each other.

“Somehow I actually believe him,” Bdubs stage-whispers, and Joel squawks in offence as Pearl barks out a laugh.

“No, I think you’re good,” she says. Leaning her head back against the wall, she says, “This is probably our final night.”

The three of them are quiet for a moment.

“Well,” says Joel. “We gotta make it to the end then, don’t we?”

He’s looking at Bdubs. They’re both looking at Bdubs. 

Bdubs nods.

“May the best Mounder win,” he says solemnly.

Joel grins.

[everybodyshusband]

cirrus/dew mutual masturbation because i need to practice writing smut :3 savour cis dewdrop while you can because that is not something i write often sdfhkjsf

blame @divine-misfortune idk

"Oh fuck." Cirrus groans into Dew's mouth as he pets at her clit just right.

"Uh huh," he agrees, brow creasing and mouth dropping open in a silent moan as Cirrus shifts her leg, inviting the fire ghoul to hump against her leg as she drops her hand to fondle his balls.

They've been going at this for what feels like hours now and knowing them, it probably has been. It's hard to say when they started, the time bleeding together as they moved from sleeping, to cuddling, to kissing, to petting, to... Well, this.

Dew whine again as the tip of his cock drags over the delicate lace on the bottom of Cirrus' sleep shorts and she chuckles at his desperation. But her own laugh is quickly cut off by a surprised gasp as Dewdrop choses this moment to shift his fingers down and in. She grips at his bicep and groans as the flex of his muscles match the movement of his fingers inside of her.

Never one to leave her partner's waiting, she too shifts her hand, dragging her fingers from Dew's balls to instead wrap them around his cock once more. He whines as she resumes her gentle stroking, and twists his arm so he can place his thumb on her clit, rubbing it side to side as he pumps his fingers inside her.

Cirrus moans and surges upwards, connecting their mouths once more in a filthy kiss. She rubs her own thumb against the tip of Dew's cock, collecting the beads of pre dripping there and smearing them over the length of it. On the next stroke, they both groan at the slick sound of it. They're both close and they know it. The only trouble is that neither of them are going to get there.

It's never an issue though, especially between the two of them. Both much more familiar with the movement of their own hands rather than those of others. So...

"Hey, can we–"

"Do you wanna–"

They cut each other off and pause staring at one another before scrunching their noses up in laughter.

"Fuck yeah," Dew nods.

"Let's do it."

They're in tune enough with each other and they've done this enough times to know exactly what the other means. They roll off and over one another and position themselves on Cirrus' bed, facing each other and close enough to kiss. Dewdrop does exactly that, leaning across the tiny gap to press their mouths together in a soft kiss.

"Ready?" He asks.

Cirrus nods. "Ready."

They both reach down once again, this time into their own pants and moan in tandem with one another as they begin stroking. Cirrus' fingers flick over her clit lightening quick, in a pace and style that in her experience, only she can perform. From the looks of it, Dew is doing exactly the same with his cock, twisting his hand over the head and squeezing the shaft just the way he likes it.

As the pull of her orgasm begins to grow deep in her navel, Cirrus moans and pulls Dewdrop closer with her free hand. He groans into the kiss, deepening it as much as possible in the position they both find themselves in.

Soon enough, the pull of her orgasm grows, overwhelming Cirrus with it's strength.

"Dew, I– I'm gonna–"

"Fuck," he whines. "Me too, me too."

Their respective paces speed, hands working overtime to push themselves over the edge.

Dew goes first, swearing and grasping at the pillows as he spurts all over his hand, covering the inside of his boxers.

It doesn't take long for Cirrus to follow, shrieking and gasping as her orgasm washes over her. Her legs stiffen and her hand keeps flying over herself, desperate to draw this out for as long as possible.

As they both come down from their respective highs, Dewdrop pulls her back in for another breathless kiss and they stay like that for a good while before breaking away from each other, still panting.

Their moment of bliss is soon broken however, by a knock at the door. "Hey, uhh, are you guys done in there?" Mountain's voice floats through the crack. "Papa said he wants Cirrus for the vocals practice with Lus and Rory."

Cirrus sighs and pulls herself up, already switching out her sleep shorts for something more appropriate for the rest of the day. "I'm on my way, Mount," she calls, glancing back apologetically at Dew, who's still laying on her bed.

The fire ghoul shrugs and smiles. It's fine, he mouths, affectionately gesturing for her to go before she's even later for practice.

She smiles back at him as she leaves blowing him a kiss that he pretends to catch before flopping back onto the bed and pulling the blankets back up over himself and presumably falling back asleep.

[adhd-merlin]

I love that moment during Arthur and Gwen's first picnic when Arthur goes "stay stil!!" and Gwen is like "is it bandits?? :O" and then Arthur lies back on the blanket and says "a wasp :)" with that little self-satisfied smile like. he was just being goofy. 'twas just a silly joke. that's so precious to me do you understand

[parkitaco]

Every morning, Mike swears his alarm goes off earlier.

He groans, rubbing sleep from his eyes and rolling over. Will is still asleep beside him, arms looped loosely around his waist, and Mike winces as he shifts, trying not to wake him. He leans over to slap the off button on the alarm, then spends a long few minutes staring at the glowing red numbers, trying to gather the courage to get up.

This, unfortunately, is the cold reality of being a college student - his weekends are constantly usurped by extra shifts at the diner where he works.

But it also means that he gets to keep this apartment, where he lives with his boyfriend, and it's for this reason that he finally tosses off the covers and sits up.

Or- tries to. Before Mike can clamber out of bed, a pair of sturdy arms wrap firmly around his middle, and he yelps as he tumbles back onto the mattress.

He huffs, trying and failing to repress a smile as Will shoves his face into the space between Mike's shoulder blades. "Will," he hums, staring out at the window where light is streaming in - they'd forgotten to close the blinds - and letting one hand rest over Will's where it's pressed against his stomach. "I have to get up."

There's no response, only a light snuffling, and if Mike were just slightly dumber and didn't know Will quite as well as he did, he'd assume he was asleep. Unfortunately, though, Will happens to be very good at getting what he wants, and this is one of his primary tactics.

"Will," Mike says again, gently tugging at Will's arm in an attempt to pry him off him, and Will's grip on him tightens. "Will, c'mon."

Again, there's no response, but Will's nose digs into his back a little more firmly.

"I know you're awake," Mike tries, wriggling a little in his grip, and Will whines.

"Nuh uh," he mumbles, muffled.

Mike rolls his eyes, craning his neck back to peer over at him as best he can. "Babe, I have to get up."

"Nuh uh," Will says again, as Mike carefully twists around to face him again. His eyes are still closed, but his nose is scrunched up in offense, and when he turns his head into Mike's shoulder he can see that his cheek is flushed and lined with pillow creases. Something warm settles in Mike's chest, and he smiles as he presses a kiss to the top of Will's head.

"I'm gonna be late," he tries, but it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears, and Will grunts noncommittally.

"So be late," he mumbles, evidently giving up on feigning sleep, and curls closer.

"I'll get fired."

"So get fired." Will presses a kiss to his collarbone, and Mike, the weak man that he is, lifts a hand to tangle his fingers in Will's hair. "Then we can stay here forever."

Mike smiles, leaning into Will's warmth a little as his hand dips under Mike's sleep shirt, thumb rubbing placating circles into his hip. It makes Mike's resolve crack just a little more, and he sighs, cupping the back of Will's head with one hand and kissing his head again.

"That would be nice," he allows, and Will hums appreciatively, "until we stopped being able to afford the apartment, and then we'd have to live on the street, and-"

"Okay, Mike," Will grumbles, and his grip on him loosens ever so slightly.

Mike's resolve may be cracking, but he knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he uses Will's brief moment of weakness to wriggle out of his grasp. Will releases an unholy yelp of offense and scrambles for him, fingers skating over Mike's arms, waist, anywhere he can reach, but fails to find purchase. "Sorry, sorry," Mike says, half-laughing as he tumbles out of bed and Will falls back onto the mattress in defeat. "Sorry, I'm sorry, we can hang out later, I swear."

Will stays silent, bottom lip stuck out in a pout and arms folded over the covers. His eyes are open now, wide and brown and sad, and Mike knows it's all for show and can't help but be a little moved by it anyway. For someone that is generally opposed to lying, Will really is excellent at it.

Mike suppresses a smile, giving in and leaning over to kiss him softly. Immediately, Will wraps a hand around the front of Mike's shirt, smiling a little against his lips, and Mike leans away just as he tugs sharply at him, trying to pull him back down onto the bed.

"Nice try," Mike says, prying his fingers off and laughing as Will immediately goes back to pouting.

"I hate you," Will says, and Mike blows him a kiss as he crosses to the dresser and starts rooting around for a fresh t-shirt.

He gets ready quickly, on account of the ten minutes Will had so rudely absorbed, pulling on a t-shirt and jeans before stumbling out to the kitchen to make coffee and throw a piece of bread into the toaster. The kitchen is freezing, on account of it being mid-November and the two of them not being able to afford to keep the apartment constantly heated, and Mike wraps his arms around himself as he waits for the toaster to ding. With every passing second, he wishes more and more that he could take Will up on his offer (demand) to stay in bed, curled up under the warm covers with his even-warmer boyfriend.

It's rare that they get days like this, where the light streaming through the windows feels pleasant rather than blinding and their biggest strife is over one of them having to leave for work or school. It's nice, and normal, and Mike's never particularly subscribed to normalcy but, given the alternative of night terrors and monsters haunting them and those days when it feels like he can't move a muscle, normal sounds pretty great. He'd sell his soul for a lifetime of normal with will.

It's for this reason, mainly, that Mike makes a second cup of coffee, despite the fact that Will is a clingy nuisance who has probably already made Mike late for work, which Mike is actually rather pissed about.

(He's not. He wouldn't have it any other way, especially since there was a time when he didn't think he'd be lucky enough to have something as stupidly good as Will Byers clinging to him and making him late for things.)

When, after wolfing down a piece of slightly-burnt toast and pouring coffee into a mug for Will and a to-go cup for himself, he quietly pokes his head back into the bedroom, Will has already taken over the whole mattress, spread-eagled with his face planted firmly into a pillow. Mike smiles to himself and pads softly across the floor, setting Will's coffee mug down on the nightstand and reaching over to card a gentle hand through Will's hair.

"Mmph," Will groans, shifting just enough to open one eye at Mike.

Mike's smile widens, and he leans over to press a kiss to Will's temple, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Made you coffee," he murmurs, and when Will scrunches his nose at him, "I know, I know, you want to sleep. But- it's there if you want it, that's all."

"Thank you," Will mumbles begrudgingly, but Mike can see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he reaches up to curl his fingers around Mike's wrist. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah," Mike says, a little regretfully, glancing at the clock. "M' sorry."

"S'okay," Will murmurs - the coffee gesture must have made him a little more agreeable. He guides Mike's hand over to his lips and presses a kiss there, right in the center of Mike's palm. "I love you."

Mike smiles, tapping a fingertip against Will's jaw as Will kisses his hand again. "I love you too. I'll see you when I-" he cuts himself with a yelp when, with absolutely zero warning, Will tugs on his arm, hard, sending him tumbling back onto the mattress.

"Oh," Mike sighs, as Will's ironclad grip settles around his waist again, "I am so going to get fired."

---

Mike does not get fired, which is great for his and Will's financial situation but not so great for his personal affliction to doing physical labor. By the time he gets home, after a grueling eight-hour shift and the added half hour of traffic, he's bone tired and half-wishing he'd taken Will up on the whole staying-in-bed-forever thing after all.

He closes the door firmly and leans heavily against it, sighing and letting his eyes fall shut. He takes three deep breaths, then opens his eyes again, dropping his keys and wallet on the counter.

There's a patter of footsteps from down the hall, and Mike smiles a little to himself, glancing up as Will pokes his head around the corner, calling out a bleary "Mike?" before, upon seeing him, breaking out into a blinding smile. "Baby!" he cheers, as Mike laughs and holds out his arms. Will launches himself into them with zero hesitation, colliding with him forcefully and sending Mike stumbling back into the counter.

"Hi," Mike laughs, as Will winds his arms around his neck and begins peppering the side of his face with kisses. "Missed you."

"Mmph," Will replies, which is code for I missed you too, so very much, and pulls away, hopping up onto the kitchen island and beckoning Mike closer.

Mike grins wide and comes to stand between Will's knees, placing one hand on his thigh and the other against the side of his face. "Have you done anything at all today?" he asks, looking him up and down. Will is still in his sleep shirt and a pair of Mike's stolen sweatpants, and his hair is endearingly ruffled, like he'd been napping before Mike got home. Mike is incredibly jealous of this fact, because he'd spent the day serving ungrateful customers and trying and failing to prevent anything from spilling on him, but any negative emotions are undercut by Will, who looks so sweet and flushed and warm that Mike can't really be pressed to complain.

"I did art," Will says proudly, despite the fact that doing art is kind of his resting state.

Mike bumps his nose against Will's, smiling. "Do I get to see?"

"Later," Will says, and kisses him, slow and sure. He tastes like early evening sleep and tea and cigarettes, his hands coming up to cup Mike's face and tilt him into a better angle. Mike hums, soft and appreciative, and Will pulls back with a lazy smile.

"I can't believe I spent all day working my ass off while you sat here and doodled," Mike mumbles, knocking his forehead against Will's.

"I didn't- doodle," Will huffs, breath fanning across Mike's chin, and Mike grins all teeth, pleased at getting him all riled up. "And I've worked plenty of long shifts this week. S' not a competition."

"You're right," Mike agrees, suddenly in a very agreeable mood which may or may not be related to Will's lips, which are very close and very kissable.

It's worth it, too, when said lips stretch into a pleased little smile, and Will rubs a thumb along Mike's cheek, gazing up at him with unfiltered adoration. "'Course I am," he replies, and kisses Mike again before he can argue, not that he would have tried particularly hard to.

It's sweet and saccharine, Will's tongue running slowly over the line of Mike's lip. Mike's hand shifts to grab hold of Will's waist, mostly just to ground him where he's gone a little weak in the knees, because if he melted to the floor over a singular kiss, Will would never let him live it down.

He's pretty sure Will knows anyway, though, because he grins against Mike's mouth and pulls him closer, humming appreciatively. "I love you," he murmurs into the kiss, and- okay, if Mike wasn't feeling dizzy before, he certainly is now.

He disconnects the kiss a little reluctantly, a smile tugging insistently at his lips. He presses it down, tipping his head to one side inquisitively. "I love you too, freak," he says, laughing a little. Will is so- odd, sometimes, so clingy and affectionate and giggly, and it's not a bad thing by any means, but he's not always so bubbly. Not without a reason.

He bumps his nose against Will's again, and Will scrunches said nose at him. You're like a cat, he'd said once. Always- fucking- headbutting me, or something.

It's 'cause I like you, Mike had replied, and Will hadn't been able to think of a comeback for that.

"What's going on?" he asks now, lightly teasing and faintly confused. "Why are you being so- nice?"

Will gives him a look, hooking his arms around Mike's neck and drawing him in for another kiss. "M' always nice to you," he mumbles, still half-kissing him, and Mike's smile wins out as he leans into it a little.

"I just meant," Mike starts, leaning away, only to be immediately cut off by Will kissing him again, quick and sweet, "you're being extra- affectionate, today." His eyes widen, and he pulls back for real, staring up at Will. "Oh God, did you do something bad? Are you trying to butter me up so I won't be pissed? Oh, no, what did you break this time-"

"Nothing!" Will squawks, flicking the side of his face indignantly. "Nothing, oh my God, I just. I don't know." He curls a finger through a lock of Mike's hair and tugs absently at it. "Today's a good day, and I just wanted to take advantage of that."

"Oh," Mike says, a slow smile spreading across his face. Will has a point - last week had had some bad days. They'd gotten into an argument on Monday - the small, inconsequential kind that had been resolved not even one full day later, but fighting with Will in any capacity always makes Mike's skin crawl. Then Will had had a bad day, the kind where he'd woken up screaming too many times the night before and had been overtired and sad all day. The day after that, Mike had had a bad day, the kind where he hadn't been able to move or talk or eat or do much of anything but lay in the dark, and Will had cried three times with worry and had tried not to let Mike see.

But this week has been better. They go in cycles like this sometimes, as lasting childhood trauma will tend to do to people, but it always gets better. Everything is better, with Will around.

"Yeah, okay," Mike whispers, and Will smiles as he drags him back in for another kiss.

[varpusvaras]

*jumps in* Hi!!! 10, a kiss on the jawline with Fox/Bail/Breha pls? May I suggest Bail and Breha giving Fox kisses on the jawline?

You may suggest, and you shall receive!

Fox had not had any idea about intimacy when he had left Kamino.

That wasn’t his fault. Kamino just really didn’t do any kind of education on anything of the sort. It wasn’t deemed important, because they were the soldiers of the Republic, and good soldiers didn’t have the time or the luxury to participate in such activities. Needless distractions, meant for actual people, and therefore, not meant for the clones. 

Of course, Fox had known something. They had a health class that came with everyone having to possess baseline medical skills. They knew how their bodies worked. They knew all the scientific names for every part of themselves. There had just been no information for anything else they could do with their bodies, other than fight and die. There had been rumours, as well, tiny specks that had trickled down from the older clones and finally to them, but all of it had been extremely vague and sounded honestly baffling. Fox had not understood why someone would want to put their mouths on anyone. That had to be unhygienic. 

If they figured out some things their bodies could do by themselves, in the little privacy they got from the Kaminoans and the trainers? Well, nobody really talked about that either. 

Fox ended up figuring it all out very quickly once he started his posting on Coruscant. 

How could he not? It was everywhere. It took Fox pretty much only a week or so to figure out that bodies and attraction could sell absolutely everything, even things that really didn’t make sense to him. Sometimes it really seemed like no matter what was being advertised, there would be a barely clothed person in the ad as well. 

After realising that, it was easy to figure out the rest. Even the putting your mouth on another person-thing. Fox had realised in a rather sudden and frankly, embarrassing, way that he wasn’t as immune to other people’s bodies as he had previously thought. Stone was, and he made fun of the rest of them relentlessly. The bastard. 

Well, it wasn’t like Fox was ever going to…explore any of that. He didn’t have the time, and, even more importantly, he really didn’t want to get out of his armor in front of just about anybody. No, if he ever wanted to do anything with anyone, it needed to be someone he trusted completely like that. Especially because…Fox wasn’t going to say that he was intimidated by it all, but…every time he saw other people having any sort of intimacy, they made it look easy and natural. Like they knew exactly what they were doing during every second of it. That was the one thing Fox just couldn’t figure out how it worked. 

Maybe he would, if he ever got the chance, but…no, he had too much to do already. He wasn’t attracted to anyone specific. Maybe…maybe he was just too late already. 

So he tried to ignore it, and it was going rather well, but then Bail Prestor Organa had to come marching into his life with his gentle eyes and kind smiles and soft words. He just had to, and just like that, Fox was gone. 

With all of that, also came the very intense experience of having wants and it all being targeted towards a specific person.

With all of those wants, came back the realisation that Fox had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

He tried his best to not show any insecurity. He kept his head high and his exterior collected, even when he was constantly sputtering and stumbling on the inside. Thankfully Bail was being gracious by going very slowly. One half of Fox was very glad that Bail had a wife and thus knew about things already, but at the same time, the other half of him was terrified of the same fact. Fox hated being embarrassed, and even more, he hated the sole idea of being embarrassed in front of Bail. 

So, Fox, sitting on the edge of Bail’s desk, gripped the said edge of the desk very hard to keep his breathing in check and his body in place, while Bail had one of his hands on Fox’s back and the other one on his waist, and his lips pressed against Fox’s neck. 

Fox really, really understood the appeal of putting your mouth onto someone else now. By the gods, did he understand it. He gripped the desk even harder, letting the hard wood press into his palms to keep himself from making any sort of noise. 

He was doing really well on it, until Bail moved his lips up, all the way to the corner of Fox’s jaw, and so very gently pressed kisses down along the line of it. Fox hadn’t thought of himself ticklish before, but apparently, he had thought wrong, because a surprised laugh escaped from his mouth, and with it, also a partial moan he had attempted to keep down just a second prior.

Fox didn’t have the time to properly register what he had just done, when he felt Bail’s lips curl up against his skin, and then Bail was pressing another kiss on Fox’s jaw, and another, and another, more and more, along the line. 

Another laugh escaped Fox before he could stop it, his whole body shaking with it, and his lack of resistance gave Bail just more opportunities to kiss him even more. 

“Bail”, Fox managed to choke out between laughs and other noises he did not want to name. “Bail, Bail, stop-” 

Bail did stop. He backed away and straightened up, so he could look Fox properly in the eyes. 

“Yes?” He asked, again, with the soft way he always spoke to Fox with. “Is everything alright?” 

He sounded almost concerned, and Fox had to hurry to answer, before Bail would get stressed, all because Fox was being weird.

“Yes”, Fox blurted out, still just a little breathless. “Yes, everything is okay, I just- I’m sorry.” 

It didn’t work, because Bail just looked even more concerned now than he had been before Fox had started babbling. 

“Sorry for what?” He asked, so earnestly, that Fox, even with the embarrassment aflame inside him, had to answer truthfully. 

“For-” He swallowed, “-being…not good at this.” 

Somehow, Bail managed to look both even more concerned and confused at the same time. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked. “You’re doing just fine.” 

“No, I-” Fox had to look down towards his lap. “I just made it weird by…you know.” 

“By laughing?” Bail asked. Fox nodded. “Fox, I was quite intentionally trying to make you laugh.” 

Fox whipped his head back up. Bail had an odd expression on his face now, though mainly he looked utterly perplexed. 

“What?” He blurted, because, quite frankly, he had no idea what was going on anymore. 

“Quite honestly, I was starting to be a little concerned”, Bail said, “that you were not enjoying this, and were just making yourself do it to please me.” 

“What?” Fox repeated, because now he really had no idea what was going on. “Of course I do! I just- I was just trying to be good.” 

Oh, the way Bail looked at him then, with so much care and affection on his face and in his eyes that it made Fox want to both explode and melt down to a puddle. 

“Fox”, Bail said, the same amount of care and affection in his voice as well, “you are being good. All of this is supposed to be fun to you. The only thing you should be doing right now, is to just enjoy it, and not care about anything else.” 

For some reason, that was the moment it all clicked for Fox. Attractiveness sold. Sex sold. It only made sense that everything he had seen about all of it, had been a product to sell something, even if it was just a false ideal of things. 

“Oh”, he breathed, the strength of the realisation making him a little light-headed. “Oh. Um.” 

Bail, being perfect, like he always was, waited patiently for Fox to gather himself. 

“Can we-” Fox gripped the edge of desk, this time to just ground himself. “Can we start over?” 

Bail smiled at him. 

“Of course”, he said. He leaned a little closer, before stopping momentarily. “Just to make sure. It was all alright to you? What we were doing before?” 

Fox nodded. 

“Yes”, he answered, and with that, Bail leaned back down, his lips finding Fox’s skin again. 

Right at Fox’s jawline. 

Even though Fox knew it was coming this time, he still didn’t manage to quell his laughter in time. This time, though, he didn’t even really try. 

Still.

“Bail.” 

Bail laughed as well. 

“I’m sorry”, he said. “I just had to.” 

Fox huffed, and was just about to say something rather snarky, when Bail’s mouth moved to the side and up, and he nipped the skin right behind Fox’s ear. 

Fox could yet again feel Bail’s grin against his skin as another high-pitched, surprised moan escaped Fox’s mouth. 

—

Fox was starting to think that he was getting rather good at this. 

He was basing this thought in the way Breha looked right then, smiling and outright glowing, her breaths still just calming down. 

“Good?” Fox asked still. 

Breha hummed, catching her breath for another moment before answering. 

“Good”, she said, and giggled lightly as Fox pressed small kisses on her collarbones. She let Fox freely move her around, only sighing contently as he laid down and tucked her close to his side. Her bare body was soft and warm against Fox’s own, and Fox could really only marvel at it all. 

How he had gotten here, how he had gotten so lucky, Fox still couldn’t quite understand. 

He must’ve fallen deeper into his thoughts than he realised, because he only snapped out of it when Breha moved. 

“I thought, back when I met Bail, that I couldn’t possibly get any happier than I already was”, she said, as she pushed herself up on her elbows, and lightly rested her head on top of Fox’s chest. “Somehow, though, the Galaxy deemed me worthy enough for you as well.” 

Fox snorted a little. 

“Between you and me, I should be the one saying that”, he said. “You, on the other hand, are easily the most worthy person of all the happiness there is.” 

Breha sighed, still fondly. 

“Well, look at it this way”, she said, lifting her head up again, “aren’t we lucky, that we found happiness together?” 

She looked at him with bright eyes, her voice so full of love, that Fox’s voice caught somewhere inside his throat. 

There it was again. Yes, weren’t they so lucky? Somehow, somehow, Fox had found happiness, and at the same time, managed to be the reason for someone else to be happy as well? That shouldn’t have been how it worked. Fox was made to be expendable, someone not important enough to be taught more about life, someone whose search for happiness was deemed detrimental and needless before he even had gotten the opportunity to begin his search- 

His thoughts were broken up again by soft, warm lips pressing against his jaw. Fox blinked, and then a laugh was already making its way out of him, as Breha braced herself more against the bed for better leverage, and moved her mouth up Fox’s jawline, peppering him with soft, sweet kisses. 

Fox tapped her on her back. 

“Breha.” 

“Sorry”, she said, leaning her face back down on Fox’s chest. “Bail told me about it, and I had to try it.” 

“Of course he did.” Breha laughed at his exasperated tone. 

“I love it when you laugh”, she said. “I love it when you are happy. I love you.” 

She looked up at him and smiled. Fox smiled back. 

“I love you too”, he said, and wrapped his arms around Breha as she wrapped herself around him.

[enjoythesilentworld]

this is something i started for kinktober but never managed to pick up again. here it is in all its 800 words of exposition glory ❤️👹

Simon sends Wille a gift, right before they're meant to appear at a royal gala. (cw: nsfw, sex toys)

Simon: There’s something at the door for you.

Wille looked down at the text, still scrubbing the towel through his wet hair, confused. A moment later, there was a knock. Some palace person he’d never seen before stood in the hallway with a small, nondescript package and a tight look on their face. He figured they were new and therefore taken aback by seeing the Ex- Crown Prince standing in front of them, wrapped in a robe.

With a nod, he accepted the package and retreated back into his old bedroom. The tape had already been disturbed on the package, and Wilhelm rolled his eyes. Yet another reason to be glad he’d stepped down, the blatant invasion of privacy.

Wille: How did you even do that? I didn’t know I could get actual packages here.

S: Ingenuity.

He opened the box and found another, smaller box inside. The package fell from his hands onto the bed, and he scrambled to grab his phone again.

W: Simon. Simon, this is a butt plug.

S: That it is. Well done baby.

W: Why did you… Fuck

S: There should be a little remote, too. Do you see it?

There was indeed a little remote. At least three settings on the toy, which could be controlled from a short distance. From, say, across a room. Wille’s fingers and toes tingled, and he flushed red across his chest. His cock twitched under the plush robe, which had already fallen slightly open as he fidgeted where he sat on the side of the bed, staring at the purple toy.

W: Yes.

S: I’d like you to wear it for me tonight. Can you do that for me, baby?

W: Yes.

S: Want to watch you squirm all night in your chair. Want you all stretched out and wet for me.

Want you to have to try to keep a straight face all through the gala, knowing I could bend you over and fuck you at any moment.

W: fuvk

S: Want you to be good for me. Can you be good for me tonight, my love?

W: Yes Yes yesyes Simon Ill be si good f or you I’ll be so so goodf

Wille was only half looking at his phone, eyes reading over and over the words sent from Simon, while the other half of him tore through the small suitcase he’d brought, searching for the lube.

At this moment, he didn’t totally hate that he still occasionally had to attend royal galas. Simon knew he hated them — he hated them himself, too — so Simon, the angel he was, always found a way to make them more enjoyable for Wille. There were plenty of rooms in this godforsaken castle that they’d already defiled, but usually it was under no threat of being found.

This, though? The thought of doing this in a room full of people? The thought of no one knowing their former Crown Prince was filled up, biting his lip and clenching around a purple butt plug while some diplomat droned on about one thing or another, while Simon sat beside him and whispered filthy things in his ear…

S: I’ll be there a bit late. You, however, are meant to show face in twenty minutes, no? Better get going, Wille.

W: m going

The first finger slipped inside, and Wille didn’t even bother to muffle the filthy moan that fell from his lips. He was already so hard, practically aching, just from the idea of what Simon was going to do to him tonight. The only thing that made him frown slightly was that Simon wasn’t there to see him. Wasn’t there to see how good he was being, bent over a ridiculously expensive chaise lounge, fingering himself, preparing himself for Simon.

S: Three fingers. Gentle. Don’t you dare come.

W: I wont Want to be good

S: You’re already being so good, love.

Wille moaned loudly at the text, slipping a third finger in a little too soon, just wanting to feel the burn, wanting the toy inside him already. He could practically hear Simon saying those words aloud to him, could feel his breath ghosting across his ear. So good, Wille, he’d say. So good for me.

He’d had enough, he was tired of waiting, and hastily wiped his fingers on the crumpled robe, and grabbed the toy.

It was fucking perfect. The stretch was fucking perfect, and when it settled fully in him, the tip of it brushed against his prostate when he shifted just right. His arms collapsed under him, and he rested there for a moment, breaths coming heavily, face pressed against scratchy fabric. He imagined Simon walking in right now. Imagined him finding Wille, bent over for him, the end of the pretty toy sticking out of his hole.

Simon wasn’t going to walk in, though. Wille was alone here, for now, cock hanging heavy between his legs. He was going to be hard all night, he was sure of it, and he ached to touch it now, just for one second. But, he wanted to be good, didn’t want to disappoint Simon, even if Simon wasn’t here to see it. 

S: And Wille?

W: yes?

S: Bring the remote with you.

[rudnitskaia]

White Chrysanths for the Swallow

Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.

But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.

In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.

It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…

“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”

The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.

“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.

The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.

“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.

Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.

“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”

Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.

“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”

“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”

“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”

“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”

“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”

“Who?”

“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”

“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”

Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.

His silence was more frightening.

Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.

But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.