#ficlet ish

[obikinwhore]

“I never knew my biological father,” she tells Luke. Leia glances at his too-blue eyes and has to look away, his goodness blinds if you look at him too long. "But I know that he wasn't good."

"What makes you say that? If he's your father then he must have been." The laughter in this voice dies swiftly when she doesn't join in as she usually would. She hates that she did that, that she sucked the light out of him with the starving darkness that encompasses her now.

"I know because there's times I feel strange. Hungry and restless and angry. So very angry like there's poison boiling underneath my skin. It feels like a part of me, like I must have been born with it".

Or of it, she doesn’t say.

Luke softly touches her hand where she didn't notice her bloodless knuckles or her nails cutting into her palms. "My real mother and father were never like that you know? They were calm and understanding. My biological mother, what I remember of her, was kind. Sad."

She looks up at Luke through tears and into the beaming blue of his eyes. His handsome features full of sympathy and it's hard to tell if the tears are burning her eyes or if staring at Luke straight on is.

"You're not a bad person Leia. What the empire has done, what they continue to do? They're the ones that are evil. You're not wrong to be angry with them." He pulls her into a hug and it's a relief to close her eyes and sit in the darkness and his embrace. "We will defeat them Leia, don't lose hope. We'll get justice and free everyone."

But she knows that she doesn't just want freedom from the empire, she wants revenge. She wants them to choke, to scream, to beg her for mercy. The truth of it makes her feel her father even more, like the squeeze of a phantom hand on her shoulder. 

[artiststarme]

Steve could always see the dead, since his grandma died when he was six and his papa when he was seven. He’d have conversations with them at the side of his pool about his day until the breeze swept them away. He’d always liked the dead more than the living, not that people would understand if he’d told them.

He’d sometimes go out and sit in his pool chairs to talk to Barb, the girl that hated him alive and even more now that she’d died. She never blamed him though. She’d rant and she’d rave about the injustice of it all but unlike Nancy, she never blamed him for her death. She just let him listen to her dreams and hopes that would never occur.

After Vecna and their last encounter with the Upside Down, Steve would talk to Eddie. They’d lay side by side in his bed surrounded by plaid and talk about what could’ve been. Big metal tours, traveling, dreams being made, guys, girls, even the kids on occasion. They’d even talk about what they could’ve been, once upon a time. But when night turned to day, Eddie would fade away and Steve would be left all alone again.

He might be able to see both alive and dead but through it all, he was alone.

[howtobecomeadragon]

Nancy and Jonathan eventually have a kid. Mike and Will have been together for years by now and haven't ever really thought about kids until now. But all of a sudden, Mike is an uncle. A very proud, enthusiastic, and fun uncle, as it turns out.

Will watches Mike with little baby Byers-Wheeler and a feeling crashes into him like a massive wave. Will watches Mike rock their nephew to sleep, use baby talk, and bring home baby clothes to gift to Nancy and Jonathan. Will notices that Mike picks out a lot of dinosaur and space themed clothing. Mike pulls out a few toys that he'd held onto all these years, the ones with sentimental value, and he brings them over to Nancy and Jonathan's, putting the toys in the baby's toy chest.

Mike starts to encourage Will to hold the baby more when they visit their siblings, begging Jonathan to take pictures with his camera. He keeps asking Will, "Isn't he cute? I remember when Holly was this small. He's adorable, isn’t he? Do you think he looks like me at all, with the Wheeler genes?" Will thinks to himself that Mike has never been more adorable.

One night in bed before he and Mike turn out the lights, about a month after Nancy had the baby, Will supposes it wouldn't hurt to just ask.

"Mike, do you want to look into having a kid together?"

Mike's answer comes out faster than his mouth seems to be able to form the words, like he'd been waiting hours or days or weeks for Will to ask: "Yes. Yeah, let's do that. I want to have a baby with you."

[blushweddinggowns]

Idea expanded, overtly adorable and protective Kas Eddie with established relationship Steddie.

Steve is obviously devastated when they find Dustin and Eddie. But he refuses to leave his body there, despite how horrifying and time-consuming it is to take his boyfriends dead body back up to the surface. And Steve just spirals, reduced to a crying mess that can barely do anything but sleep most days. And Eddie's body is sent to the morgue.

Where he wakes up at. He wakes up in a cold cabinet, horrified and confused. And what woke him up was the noise. The wet, squelching noises of his body knitting itself back together. But it's not just fixing itself. It's changing. And adding things that Eddie doesn't understand. But it fucking hurts.

And Eddie starts to freak the fuck out. He manages to kick open the cold locker he's in and he's still freaking out. Because now he realizes he's in a morgue. But he's not dead damn it. But he's different. And confused and scared and all he wants is Steve.

So he goes to him. And that's how Steve almost dies of a heart attack when a naked freezing should be dead Eddie taps on his window at three am. But he let's him in, of course he lets him in. He's so happy to see him he doesn't even question how huh maybe letting in your dead boyfriend who now has black veins, wings, a tail, and upside down looking scars is not a good idea.

But common sense doesn't matter because all Eddie does is hug him and cry. And it takes a while for both of them to calm down. But when they do Steve starts asking questions, none of which Eddie can answer. But it doesn't matter because he's here. And he's different and weird, but he's still him.

But he is different. Stronger, scarier, with teeth that can sharpen and nails that can morph into claws. And he's also more...touchy. And protective. And is glued to Steve's side, doing weird shit like smelling and licking him in random places, and nibbling on the back of his neck. And it takes Steve a minute to realize that he can freaking purr now. Not that Steve's complaining. He'd live in Eddie's lap forever if it meant he got to be with him.

Steve doesn't tell anyone at first because he's afraid someone might rightfully make the point that being in love with a maybe demon was not a good call. But the Party finds out anyway when they realize he's no longer sobbing every ten seconds. Everyone takes it well enough, even if they have to get used to Eddie involuntarily growling at them whenever they got close to Steve. But they figure it out. And now they have someone who isn't Eleven who can kill upside down monsters with ease which is a plus.

Even if he does this weird thing where he drops nearly every demon corpse he gets his hands on at Steve's feet for praise, always purring like the hybrid monster cutie he is when Steve tells him how good he is at protecting all of them and thanks him with a kiss, the bitter taste of black demon blood in Eddie's mouth be dammed.

[iamthecomet]

comet ffkdjf lpleASE aether and mountain helping rain through his first heat and he's all shaky and wet plEASE can you elaborate

So I know you sent me this like more than six months ago, but I was thinking about it again and uhhhhhhh. 2.2k words based on this post about Rain's first heat topside. Wet boy Rain. Anal Fingering. Double Penetration. Heat stuff. Rain and the Big Boys. This one's got it ALL.

Rain’s pretty sure he’s dying. Between the fevered haze in his brain, and the ache in all of his muscles, and the incessant lurching of his lower belly he’s sure this is the end. Some awful sickness he caught from one of the humans that is going to end him. 

The moon tells him otherwise. Tugging on him like he is the tide. An ebb and flow of desire lit deep in his body, at the base of his aching spine. It can’t actually be his heat can it? In the pit they didn’t feel like this. There was a pleasant ache, an insistence. But maybe he’s closer to the moon here, or maybe earth is just different. No water ghouls to contend with. No fight for dominance. With survival needs off the table, Rain can really feel it. 

Can feel the way need thrums through his entire body. The pain of it. It's debilitating. It’s miserable. It’s wonderful. He feels like he’s been lit on fire from the inside, like he will burn if he doesn’t do something about it. 

He wakes up like this, shivery and hard and hot. He wants to stay curled into a ball in his bed. Wants to wish this away. He'd be lying if he said he didn't try. He isn’t sure what to do. Go ask for help? Embarrassing. Impossible.

 He rolls onto his back, uncurling aching muscles. Raising his arms over his head something in his spine popping solidly as he does. The relief of that is quickly overshadowed. As sleep bleeds out of him, everything else increases. He throbs against his boxers. 

He slips a hand down to touch himself, fingers slipping under the waistband and finding himself wet. The curls at the base of his cock already damp. Shaft slick with pre. He gives himself one stroke, two, and he’s gone. Toes curling, body bowing. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip to try to keep from crying out and fails. Gasping through it as he paints the inside of his boxers and his hands and stays hard. No relief to be found. 

“Fuck.” 

Need tugs at him, pulls him from his bed. He’s clear enough to know he isn’t thinking clearly, but not enough to care. He throws on a shirt, changes his boxers, pulls on some sweatpants. He’s hoping for the illusion of normalcy. 

It’s early, so he’s not surprised to find no relief at Cirrus or Cumulus’ doors. Dew’s is locked, and when he knocks and presses his ear to the wood all he hears is a grumble as Dew rolls over and ignores him. 

He has to reek of his heat, he knows it. But the sun isn’t even up yet. He stumbles blindly down the hall, toward the next set of doors. He doesn’t get there–he runs directly into Mountain instead. Stumbling face first into his chest, grappling for a hold as he teeters off balance. 

Mountain catches him, steadies him with hands on his biceps and Rain looks him at him. Dazed, hazy. Drunk already on the smell of evergreen and his own need. 

“Mount, you coming?” Aether calls from somewhere behind Rain, around the corner. 

Mountain looks down at Rain, the moment stretching as the scent of Rain’s heat hits and Mountain’s pupils dilate before Rain’s eyes. 

Mountain doesn’t answer Aether, instead his fingers tighten on Rain’s bicep. He inhales deep. 

“Oh, Rain–”

“Help me,” Rain whispers, pleads. Even the touch of Mountain’s hands on his arms is torture. Too much. Too sensitive. 

“Hey, Mount–oh.” 

Aether’s closer now. Rain can hear him, footsteps echoing through the hall. Feels him before he even really gets close. He smells ozone. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end like the moment just before a lightning strike. 

“He wants help,” Mountain says, finally raising his eyes from Rain’s face to look over his head at Aether. 

Aether’s hands slip onto Rain’s waist, finger squeezing, and then Aether’s crowding him against Mountain. His chest pressed right up against Rain’s back.  Head dipping down so the tip of his nose presses into Rain’s mused curls.  Aether inhales and Rain feels his stomach drop, his knees threaten to go with it, buckling and shaking. But he couldn’t fall even if he tried–not wedged between them like this. 

His cock kicks against Mountain’s hip. He knows Mountain feels it. 

“Please.”  Rain turns just in time to see the grin that splits Aether's face, sly, devious. Rain's stomach swoops. "How could we say no when you ask so nicely?"

⛧

Rain doesn’t remember the trip back to his room. Doesn’t remember Aether or Mountain stripping him, not really. He remembers hands, touch. Aether’s hands skimming up over his thighs. Mountain’s fingers curling around his throat, pulling him to lay against his chest, head tucked under Mountain’s jaw. His hips bracketed by Mountain’s knees. The hard line of Mountains’ cock against his spine. 

Everything snaps back into focus when Aether gets his mouth on him. Settled on his belly between Rains’s spread legs. Suckling the tip of his cock into his mouth. Tongue pressing down on the sensitive spot beneath the head.  Aether pulls off to trace the vein on the underside with his tongue and Rain bucks in Mountain’s grip. Keening. Desperate. 

“Is he wet?” Mountain asks, Rain feels the rumble of the words against his back. 

“Soaked,” Aether answers, pushing Rain’s legs further apart, spreading him wide and dipping lower to press his tongue against his clenching hole. Sucking on the rim until Rain thrashes. Desperate. 

He’d like to ask for something. To cum maybe, or just for more, but he can’t access that part of his brain. Not with Mountain’s fingers hovering over his pulse. His other hand tweeks at a dusky nipple and Rain can only feel. 

Aether presses his tongue into Rain, laps at him, firms up the muscle and really tastes him. Groaning as he does.

“Touch him, Aeth.” 

Rain half expects to be tortured. For them to drag this out, to make him beg for it, but Aether’s hand comes up without hesitation and wraps around his cock, wet with spit and pre. He pulls back, lips slick, and replaces his tongue with a finger. Pressing into the third knuckle and petting upward and Rain swears he goes blind. 

His orgasm lights him up, burns him alive. He paints his stomach, Aether’s hand. He throbs with it, feels relief for a matter of seconds, enough to take one deep breath of fresh morning air before clarity flees again. 

“God damn it,” Rain grits out, frustrated. Aether slips another finger inside, he spreads him open a little more. 

“You’re alright, Raincloud,” Mountain promises, kissing his temple, smoothing sweaty hair away from his face. “We have you.” 

“Fuck me,” Rain manages. “Someone. Both of you. I don’t care just–please.” 

“Be patient.” Aether chides. “Don’t want to hurt you.” 

Rain is beyond caring. Well past patience. He needs it. Needs to be full. Needs to feel nothing but the slide of a cock, needs to be split open. 

Aether sinks another finger in, three now, and Rain sags against Mountain. Turning his head to mouth at the earth ghouls collarbone as Aether works him open. It takes too long. But Rain can’t do much except lean into it, rock his hips against Aether’s hand. He tips his head up and Mountain kisses him. Possessive. All tongue and teeth and the taste of juniper. 

All Rain can think about is being filled. Knotted. Changed.  He wants to hear the wounded noise Aether makes when he pops his knot. Wants to cum on Mountain's cock. He needs it. He feels like he'll die without it. 

“Soon, Raincloud,” Mountain coos in his ear, resting a heavy hand over his pounding heart. Rain would be mortified for accidentally saying all of that out loud if he could think well enough. He feels the way his cheeks flush, hot like the rest of him. But the shame never actually comes. He’s too far gone, too desperate. 

Mountain shushes him, a sweet sound in his ear followed by the catch of teeth along the edge and only then does Rain realize he’s still talking. Babbling broken nonsense as Aether fingers him and Mountain rolls a painfully hard nipple between his fingers. 

Aether kisses the inside of his thigh, mouths at his balls. Rain isn’t sure he exists anymore. He is only these points of contact. Only the unbearable need to feel. He is only where he merges with Aether and Mountain. Nothing else. 

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines as Aether slips another finger inside. Four now, crowded together, pressing deep. 

“Need to be patient if you’re gonna take us both, Rainy.” Aether mumbles, lips against Rain’s thigh. 

Clarity slices through him, if only for a second. Both of them. He goes rigid, tips his head back to look at Mountain, still holding him tight, something soft to land on as he falls over and over through waves of his heat. 

“Both?” he whispers. 

“Mmhmm,” Mountain hums. He bends down to capture Rain in another claiming kiss, a direct opposition to Mountain’s calm demeanor. 

Mountain pulls back but holds Rain’s face close, their horns nuzzled together. “Fastest way to break your heat.” 

Rain swallows, Aether crooks his fingers just so and Rain’s eyes roll up, flutter closed, he sags in Mountain’s hold. 

“Don’t you want it?” Aether asks. “Don’t you want us both?” 

Rain’s nodding before Aether’s even done speaking. Yes. Of course he does. Both of them. As soon as he thinks it, it all makes sense. Puzzle pieces clicking together. Of course that’s what he needs. Two knots. Right now. 

Aether pulls his fingers from Rain’s body. Rain opens his eyes just in time to see how shiny with slick they are, dripping with it. Aether reaches down between them and slicks his own cock up with the mess. 

Then Rain’s being moved, hauled up along Mountain’s body until he’s fully in his lap, legs splayed over his hips. Head bumping back against the headboard. Mountain hooks his chin over Rain’s shoulder and looks down as Aether presses his fingers back against Rain’s hole to gather more slick. Rain feels himself clench around nothing. 

“Pretty,” Aether muses, meeting Rain’s gaze as he takes it upon himself to slick Mountain’s cock too. Taking Mountain’s cock in a tight fist and stroking. Mountain hisses, he turns his head to mouth at Rain’s jaw, breath stuttering out over Rain’s oversensitive skin. 

Rain hears how wet it sounds, all because of him. 

“Gonna take us both, baby?” Mountain asks, breathless already and Rain nods fervently. 

It all happens fast after that–or maybe Rain is just too fucked up to process the steps. His heat addled brain can only think of one thing, and then all of a sudden, he’s getting it. Aether helping to lift him up as Mountain presses his cock against Rain’s hole. Rain doesn’t so much drop down on it as he is pushed. Aether and Mountain’s hands guiding him in a slow slide. 

Rain’s body lights up in relief. Finally. Finally. He’s full. Everything slotting into place. He rolls his hips and Mountain groans, guiding him in a slow easy grind that puts Mountain’s cock right where Rain needs it most. Rain could sob with it. Pleasure finally unspooling at the base of his spine in a way that feels real. 

And then, he’s being pushed back, laid back down on Mountain’s chest. Mountains arms curling around his waist to hold him there. And Aether’s pressing in too. The fat head of his cock popping in alongside Mountain’s. Leaning forward, bracketing Rain between his big forearms, their foreheads coming together as he presses deep. Folding Rain further in half, pushing his thighs further open with the bulk of his body. He snugs up between Mountain’s legs until he’s as deep as he can go. Both of them wedged inside of him until he’s full. Changed. Complete. 

They’re all still for a few breaths. Aether tilting his head to kiss Rain softly, tongue dragging over the seam of his lips until he can lick inside. Rain welcomes him, opens himself to all of this. Let’s Aether lick the whimpers from his mouth as he squirms and clenches around both of them. Desperate for friction. Body still screaming to be knotted, heat roaring up in him again the longer they stay stagnant. 

Then they both start to move in opposite directions, a counter rhythm and Rain’s brain goes silent for the first time in hours. 

Rain keens.  He tries to rock back on them, to meet them where they fuck into him quickly gaining speed as they find their rhythm. But Mountain stops him with a firm grip on his hips. Stilling him with ease that makes Rain’s stomach clench. Rain stops, sags, allows himself to melt into Mountain and Aether, into the easy glide of their cocks in and out of him. Rain whimpers, eyes rolling back, falling closed. 

“That’s it,”  Mountain says, voice tense. “Relax, Raincloud. We’ve got you.” 

“Lie back and take it,” Aether adds, affection coloring his words even as his thrusts turn toward rough. “Let us take care of you.” 

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Fuck’s your problem, Hagan?”

Billy cocks his head to the side with disinterest, eyes glazed over and red as he transparently sizes Tommy up. Lets his eyes wrack up and down his figure like he always seems to do when he’s around. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

Tommy huffs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his letterman, glancing briefly over at Munson on the other side of the campfire. Lounging in the dirt with his hair strewn messily across Steve’s lap.

“Yeah,” Eddie lilts. Shifts restlessly, stretching out like a bored cat until a hand cards into his hair. “This is kind of a private kickback.”

What he says earns a chuckle from Billy, but Steve is stone-faced. Staring up at Tommy with an unreadable expression that makes his skin start to crawl.

Just a ways behind the trio, the waves lap softly at the gravelly shore. Otherwise out of sight in the inky black darkness just beyond the reach of the light from the fire.

Tommy shifts his weight on his feet. Stares back at Steve.

They both know how fucked up this is. Granted, maybe Steve doesn’t see it as the flagrant mockery that it is, but instead an instance of moving on.

Beside Steve, Billy leans close. Pressed right up against him, like he’s trying to assume Steve’s perspective. To see what he sees. Think what he thinks.

Steve simply sighs.

“No idea what his problem is,” he says.

Tommy clenches his fists.

“Lover’s Lake?” he hisses.

On the ground, Steve rolls his eyes. Shoves his shoulder into Billy’s and stays leaned against him.

“He’s mad ‘cause this used to be our spot,” Steve murmurs.

This gets a rise out of Billy, who whistles as he loops an arm around Steve’s neck. Not yet connecting the full picture.

“Jealous, freckles?”

“Oh, he is,” Eddie chortles.

The two share a giggle, meanwhile Steve holds his stare.

There are words sitting on the air. Heavy and dark, billowing like the smoke between them. Steve was never very good at playing nice once he got a few puffs in.

Being under the influence makes him a real bitch.

“You should leave,” Steve says.

Plain and simple. The other two quiet down enough to turn their listening ears on, both looking up at Tommy with amusement, and it makes his skin burn with anger at the lack of understanding.

Tommy nods at Hargrove.

“I get him,” he says. Then gestures to Munson. “But this is a new low for you, isn’t it? I mean, you only keep him around for the free weed, right? That’s cold, even for you.”

Steve glares, removing his hand from Eddie’s hair and smoothing it down to rest over his collarbone.

“Funny,” Steve lilts.

“Shouldn’t you just take him about back and put him down? It’d be decent of you.”

“Oh, like I put you down?”

Tommy chuckles. Leans forward ever so slightly. Lowers his voice.

“Dead dogs don’t come crawling back.”

There’s nothing but the crackling from the fire and the distant sounds of the shore for a moment. Two moments.

Steve’s expression softens.

“Go home, Tommy.”

Now, there are no giggles, no smiles. Munson has a vacant look in his eye, and Billy braces himself to stand up. Ever ready to enforce Steve’s will at the drop of a hat.

Understanding.

Tommy holds his palms up in mock surrender, stepping back and spreading a smirk.

“I’ll go. Seems like you have loads to talk about.”

He can feel the burn of Steve’s glare on the back of his head after he turns to walk away, retreating into the darkness of the treeline.

Even after getting the last word, he knows that nothing he can say will cause enough upset to restore things to how they were. Can never subvert Steve enough to sow genuine disdain.

There are murmurs around the fire, soft-spoken words and kisses shared in the warmth. Gentle caresses and reassurances. Explanations.

They are a king, his knight, and his jester. Held up, safe and cozy within the sturdy walls of a castle, after all.

And Tommy is cold. Shivering as he treks back to his truck parked out by the road, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes misty with bitterness.

Knowing he never had a place at all.

-

Loosely inspired by this post by @plistommy :0)

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Next Uncle’s Day rolls around and Roy doesn’t mention it to Jamie, of course, because Roy’s not in charge of planning this party, is he, all he has to do is show up and act excited about whatever colourful gifts will be inflicted upon him this year. Only, once he’s sat in his sister’s kitchen Jamie isn’t there and he keeps on not being there and when Roy finally breaks and asks Phoebe when he’s showing up Phoebe looks a bit confused and says you didn’t seem that happy to have him here last year so I didn’t ask him this time and Roy has no fucking idea what to say to that because it’s really fucking stupid to be sad over someone who’s absolutely NOT your best friend failing to show for a made-up holiday, and this whole thing isn’t REALLY about Roy anyway, it’s about Phoebe, so um.

Roy gets it together and nods and mutters yeah, all right, but it’d be fine though, you know, if you wanted to invite him next year

and no sooner has he spoken than THE DOOR FROM THE OTHER ROOM SWINGS OPEN AND JAMIE STRUTS INSIDE, grinning in TRIUMPH, like ha! you lasted all of half an hour before you started asking about me, I fudging knew you wanted me here, you grumpy old man

and Roy stares and stares and turns to Phoebe in utter betrayal but she just shrugs serenely, Jamie said it’d be fun to surprise you and anyway it wasn’t very nice of you to say he wasn’t your best friend last year, Uncle Roy

He said I wasn’t his either! Roy CANNOT believe this is happening to him.

Calm down, Uncle Roy, or you’ll have a heart attack before you can open my gift, Jamie says, smiling broadly and sounding so very, very smug.

His eyes are soft, though. The gift is very thoughtful. Roy will not admit it, but it makes a good time even better, having him there.

Roy’s sister just watches the entire thing unfold, thinking that nothing in Roy’s life has ever vexed and delighted him quite as much as Jamie Tartt does, and it’s all sorts of deeply amusing and very sweet.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re drunk,” the villain said, voice tinted with surprise.

The hero hiccuped.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No—wait, why are you here?”

The villain laughed.

“Someone told me a party was going on, and that I should crash it. I didn’t expect it to be yours.”

The hero blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears.

“Not really mine any more. So if you had any reservations about crashing…”

The villain arched a brow, and sat down on the slightly damp grass across from the hero.

“Are you saying you want me to crash your party?���

“Not my party.”

The villain tugged out a piece of grass.

“Why isn’t it your party anymore.”

“It just isn’t,” the hero said around a sob.

The villain studied them, too observant, too seeing.

“Does this have anything to do with you being drunk?”

The hero hiccuped again. “No.”

The villain hummed.

“I thought you had a problem with alcohol. Because of your—“

The hero stuck their hand out, pressing a finger to the villain’s lips.

“Can we not?”

The villain had the audacity to smile.

“Stop smiling.”

The villain obliged.

“Did you…did you want to get drunk?”

The hero didn’t answer, and the villain stiffened. Their eye caught on the empty solo cup, abandoned on the grass beside them.

“Please—and I mean this in every sense of the word—tell me that those ‘friends’ of yours did not spike your drink.”

The hero shrugged, noncommittally.

“They just wanted me to relax. Have fun. It isn’t their fault.”

When they looked up again, the villain was seething.

“They drugged you.”

“That sounds so bad—“

“Did you give consent?” The villain’s face was carved from stone.

“I—they wanted me to relax.”

“That’s a no.” The villain grabbed the hero’s chin. “If it isn’t an enthusiastic yes, it’s a no.”

The hero moved their head from the villain’s hand.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

The hero looked back at the villain. The villain sighed.

“You’re even more stubborn when you’re drunk.”

Ridiculously, the hero smiled.

A moment later, the villain held out their hand.

“Come on. Let’s go get you some better friends—these ones are trash.”

The hero blinked uncertainly. They shot a glance back at the house, humming with music, and laughter, and light. The hero doubted their friends—their ex friends—had even noticed they were gone.

They took the villain’s hand.

“As long as they aren’t douchebags.”

The villain laughed. God, they had a nice laugh, and led the hero away, down the street, and kept holding their hand the whole time.

The only friend the hero ended up making that night was the villain.

And in the end, they were the only friend that mattered.

[miasmaghoul]

miasma i have been yearning for mean rain and the most well-behaved mountain you have ever seen. (he's on his knees.) will you indulge me? )

oh man rain's real mean you guys :(

(cw for slapping, spitting, a little blood, piss and rough oral. all consensual, dont worry, mountain is SUPER into it)

It's an ache Mountain can't describe that brings him here.

On his knees in Rain's room, fully dressed with his legs spread as far at they can go. He keeps his arms folded together at the small of his back and his eyes forward, watching dust motes float through the beam of silvery light pouring from an open window. The sun had been up when he first knelt, but Rain's space was meant for moonlight.

Mountain doesn't know how long he's been here, truth be told, and it doesn't matter. That ache demands he stays put regardless, forces him to stay still and silent. It makes him wait for something he can't put words to. Makes him yearn, makes him itch in a place he can't quite scratch. It makes him want.

And so, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

When the door finally creaks open, he thinks it's the holiest of hymns.

Rain slips into the room with a fluid grace Mountain could never hope to replicate. He moves like water, his lithe frame draped in the gauzy fabric of a flowy white top he'd no doubt stolen from Cirrus. It suits him just as much as the skin-tight black pants he's paired with it, as stark a contrast as his dark, loose curls are against his pale skin. Bathed in moonlight, he looks like something out of a dream.

Mountain would worship him always, if he could get away with it. Would lay himself bare for Rain to observe, to inspect. He'd endure agony, ecstacy and everything in between if it meant earning Rain's touch, his attention. If it meant pleasing him however Rain saw fit. He'd give anything, give everything.

Rain closes the door, and does not acknowledge him.

The ache grows.

Mountain doesn't move. Doesn't dare to so much as breathe too loudly, lest Rain become irritated and shove him out the door. He can't risk it, not with the singular sort of need that's been eating at him all day. He listens, though. Tracks Rain's careful footsteps as he makes his way across the room. He's in no rush, ever casual as he clicks on a bedside lamp and rifles through a drawer.

Mountain's cock stirs in the confines of his jeans. He's gone from soft to hard and back again more times than he can count during his endless wait. If he glanced down, there would probably be a stain on the light denim. He couldn't help it, but he knows Rain won't approve.

Hell, that's half the reason he wore these particular jeans.

"How long have you been here?"

The words cut through the silence like a razor, smooth and sharp. Mountain shivers with them, hungry ears finally blessed with the first hint of what he's been craving. He shrugs, eyes still locked on the bedroom door. He can practically hear Rain's eyebrows scooting upwards.

"You don't know?"

Mountain shakes his head. If he had to say, it would be something between five hours and a hundred years. He'd wait a thousand, if Rain asked him to.

Behind him, Rain hums. It's a pondering sound, as though he's wondering whether or not Mountain is worth his precious time. It makes his stomach hurt. He wants to beg Rain to let him stay, wants to plead with him to soothe the ache in his gut. Wants to grovel at his feet until Rain sees fit to relieve him of his need.

But Rain hasn't given permission to speak, so he doesn't.

Again, Mountain waits. Stoic at a statue despite the stiffness in his jeans, the stabbing pain in his knees and the tension in his back. Everything hurts.

He hopes Rain makes it worse.

It's ages before Rain moves again, before his boots thud against the hardwood and the other ghoul reappears in front of him. Mountain keeps his gaze resolutely forward, his eyeline even with Rain's torso. The fabric of his top sways in a nonexistent breeze, more than a few of its buttons popped to expose the creamy skin of his chest. It's speckled with bites and bruises, evidence of what, exactly, he'd been busy doing while Mountain waited his turn.

"Have you been just like this?" His tone gives nothing away. If anything, Rain sounds...bored. "On your knees for me?"

Again, Mountain nods. Rain hums once more, that same sound of almost dismissive contemplation. He brings both hands up, idly twists one of his rings, and the rustle of his shirt brings with it the scent of the lake on a summer evening. It's accompanied by a waft of spiced woodsmoke, and Mountain knows exactly who had been busy fucking up Rain's perfect skin.

"Are you growling?"

Mountain mutes himself immediately - he hadn't even realized he'd started. He didn't mean to, he swears it, but even if he were allowed to speak he knows Rain wouldn't want to hear it. He chews on the inside of his cheek and hopes his remorse is evident in the way his shoulders sag just a hair.

"Let me guess," Rain lilts, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of auburn hair by Mountain's ear. Even the ghost of his touch is electric. "You need me."

He makes it sound like a taunt, and Mountain's stomach burns. He nods again, slow and deliberate. Squares his shoulders again before Rain can chide him for his posture. The other ghoul huffs out a sigh.

"How pathetic," he chides, and oh does it sting. "Sitting here for hours when you could have been making yourself useful."

Long fingers cup his jaw and Mountain lets his gaze be guided upward. He finds Rain watching him with mirthless cerulean eyes, his mouth set in a hard line. Mountain gulps even as his cock throbs, and before he can stop himself,

"I'm sorry -"

He hears the slap before he feels it, a sharp backhand that makes his head spin and his chest tight. The sting hits soon enough and Mountain bites his lip, hoping to draw blood that he can offer in penance. Rain grips his chin in that same cruel hand, guides him back, and Mountain can already feel the fuzz creeping into the edges of his mind with the look on his stunning face.

"Lucifer, you're pathetic," Rain scoffs, dragging his other hand through his own stylishly disheveled curls. "And here I thought you were going to be good for me."

I will, Mountain wants to scream. I'll be good, I'll be so good, please -

"I suppose I'll just have to put you in your place."

Mountain can't help the way his eyes slip shut at the merciless tilt to Rain's voice. The one he only uses when he can tell exactly what sort of cruelty Mountain craves, when he wants to belittle and shame. It settles heavy in his gut, makes him just dizzy enough that Rain has to give him a little shake to bring him back.

"Eyes on me," he orders, and it's an easy command to obey. Mountain may be edging towards hazy, but focusing on Rain keeps him grounded enough to maintain his pose. The hand on his jaw threads into his hair instead, grips a nice handful. "Show me your tongue."

Mountain does - of course he does - despite how dry his mouth feels. He opens wide and lets that pink appendage hang down over his chin. Rain's hum carries more weight now, the slightest hint of approval enough to make Mountain throb. Rain yanks him back by the hair, makes him suck air through his nose, and leans over him, eyes sparkling.

"You look thirsty."

Mountain can't hold back the groan that bubbles up in his chest when Rain spits directly onto his tongue.

"Don't you dare swallow," Rain threatens before Mountain can so much as move his tongue. He wasn't going to. He knows better.

It's tempting anyway.

He curls his tongue instead, makes a nice little home for Rain's generous gift. Rain releases his head with a derisive snicker, standing back with his arms crossed.

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much," he admonishes, eyes squarely fixed on the wet spot Mountain can feel on his thigh. Less than an inch from the head of his sore, ignored cock.

He's so hard. Always is, for this. Rain probably won't even let him cum, if experience tells him anything - or maybe he'll make him cum over and over until he's empty and weeping. Either way, the suffering is what matters.

Mountain twitches when the toe of Rain's boot presses into his thigh, a hair's breadth from his throbbing length, and it's work not to swallow the mess on his tongue.

"Someone's excited," he taunts, nudging the swollen ridge of the head less than gently. Mountain gives a fervent nod. "You were messy before I even walked in, weren't you?"

He applies more pressure and Mountain pitches forward just enough to accidentally drool Rain's spit onto his own shirt.

Oh shit.

Rain's next slap is expected, and somehow all the worse for it. Same cheek, same hand. It cracks through the room with a sick echo, and Mountain tastes iron.

"Useless," Rain sneers, unceremoniously shoving two fingers into Mountain's mouth to wrench out a gag. When he pulls them back they're tinted pink, and watching Rain lick up his blood and saliva makes every inch of him sing. "All you're good for is making messes, isn't it?"

Mountain sniffles, eyes wet at the corners, and nods. Rain rolls his eyes.

"Use your words," he says as though Mountain is very stupid. His cock spits against his thigh.

"S-sorry Rain, I didn't -"

"Sorry who?"

Mountain shudders.

"I'm s-sorry, Sir," he breathes, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to make a mess, I -"

"Liar," Rain interrupts, and Mountain gives him a bewildered look. "I know you came here because you want to be a wet, filthy mess."

Mountain can't stop staring up at him. He doesn't want to.

"In fact," Rain croons, reaching for his belt, "I think you want me to make you one."

His intention is clear as crystal, and the moment it settles into Mountain's skin he bites his tongue. He swallows thickly, trying his best not to sway as he watches Rain slip his belt from its loops and toss it aside. Silently, Mountain hopes Rain plans to use it on him later. He grips his own arms tight behind his back while the other ghoul unzips, every inch of him twitchy and quivering in anticipation.

"What do you say?" Rain asks, low and sultry over the splash of his own piss.

Rain's only half hard when he pulls himself out, maybe less, but it doesn't matter - any time he gets to see Rain's cock is a blessing, as far as Mountain is concerned. Rain gives himself a few languid strokes, pushes and pulls his foreskin the way he knows Mountain likes best. Makes him drool. He fattens up so quick, gets nice and stiff right where Mountain can see but can't touch. Anyone else would want to stay soft for this, but Rain?

Well, there are advantages to being a water ghoul.

Rain cants his hips just enough to slap the head against Mountain's cheek once, twice, three times. Enough to leak a little bead of pre and leave a sticky spot behind.

"Say please," he commands. Mountain feels so very dizzy.

"Please," he manages to slur, barely a whisper. Rain snorts.

"Say it properly," he smears the tip over Mountain's lips just because he can, and Mountain's eyes roll back at the scent of him.

"Please, Sir," he breathes, staring up with heavy lidded eyes, "please...please get me wet. Get me messy."

Rain offers an unkind smirk, milks out one more bead of pre that slides onto Mountain's lip. He doesn't lick it up. Hasn't been told he's allowed. Rain pulls back, takes a deep breath, and aims.

"Whore."

The first drops hit Mountain's knee, impossibly hot, and then a perfect golden arc hits him square in the chest. It forces a wave of the deepest sort of shame through him, makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up. Mountain gasps when it really starts to soak in, and he can feel real tears gathering in his lashes when Rain smiles down at him.

"Th-thank you, Sir," Mountain gasps, fighting every muscle in his core that's trying to make him pitch forward. "Thank you."

Rain hums, pleased, directing the stream wherever he likes until Mountain's shirt is well and truly drenched. He feels like he's burning from the inside out, like his brain is leaking out onto his thigh and soaking into stained denim. He's panting by the time Rain's done, watching in a daze as he pushes out the last few squirts, lets it dribble out to speckle Mountain's thighs.

"Open," he orders, and like the good boy he is, Mountain does.

Rain shoves his still-leaking cock down his throat with no hesitation, and Mountain chokes on it just enough for the tears caught in his lashes to track down his cheeks. Rain purrs, smearing them all over with mean thumbs.

"Gonna put this mouth to good use," he drawls, "and you're gonna take it."

The way he says it is completely at odds with the punishing pace he sets. Brutal thrusts that stab at the back of Mountain's throat, sure to leave a bruise. Every one answers the call of that singular ache, and in no time at all he's floating. Lost in the gross, wet sound of Rain taking his pleasure and the slap of his balls against his chin.

Maybe later Rain will sit on his face and he can well and truly drown.

Mountain hopes he does.

[atths--twice]

Saw this on Twitter and had to write a little something. ❤️

Their car began to overheat at mile marker 203, barely making it to the service station.

He sighed as he took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves while she called for another rental car.

“They said about thirty minutes,” she told him, hanging up as she joined him.

“Great,” he said with another sigh. “It’s blazing out, no wonder the car overheated.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, fanning herself and looking around. “Least we made it here and we’re not stuck on the side of the road.”

“Hmm,’” he hummed, as he also looked around. “Look at that.” He pointed to a dirt field with bases laid out to create a small baseball diamond. “Come on.”

“But the car…”

“Thirty minutes you said,” he told her, grinning as he started to walk toward the field. “We got time.”

She nodded, taking his offered hand to step over the path of half tires that had been set up as a barrier between the parking lot and the loose gravel walkway. He squeezed it as he let go and they continued to the field.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head as he looked at the dirty and stained up bases. “This takes me back.”

“You play a lot as a kid?” she asked, looking around with a small smile.

“Not really on a team as my folks couldn’t afford it, but neighborhood pick up games? Hell yeah.”

He spied a ball in the grass at the edge of the dirt lot and he smiled. Picking it up, he stared at it and then smelled it, his eyes closing. God, it smelled like summer and bologna sandwiches, warm sunshine and the tired feeling you got from riding your bike from morning till night.

It smelled like childhood.

“You ever play baseball as a kid?” he asked, smelling it again.

“Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “I was a pretty fast runner.”

“Smell that,” he said, holding the ball out to her. “What does it make you think of?”

She took a small sniff and hummed.

“Running through sprinklers. Eating sticky, melting popsicles. Riding my bike through the neighborhood and stopping by people’s houses without calling ahead.”

“Exactly. Like childhood,” he said with a grin and she nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna have a catch?” he asked, popping the ball off of his forearm and catching it in his hands.

She stared at him and then looked down at her attire. He anticipated hearing a no and was taken by surprise when she nodded as she began to unbutton her blazer.

“Let’s see what you got,” she said, dropping her blazer outside the diamond without a care that it would get dirty. He grinned and stepped toward the pitcher's mound, rolling the ball around in his hand.

She stood at home plate, awaiting his throw. When he let it go, she caught it easily, tossing it right back to him. She smiled and he smiled back, throwing the ball once again.

By the time the replacement rental car pulled into the station, they were both hot and sweaty, but smiling from ear to ear. He tossed the ball up one more time as she collected her blazer.

“Thanks,” he whispered, setting it onto the middle of home plate and walking over to join her.

Their luggage and other personal items transferred to the new car, they got in and turned the air conditioning up to high.

Leaving the rental agent behind to figure out what to do with the broken car, they waved and made their way to the driveway of the parking lot.

They both glanced at the empty lot just as a group of kids rode up on their bikes. All of them dropped their bikes, shouting and laughing as they took out baseball bats and more balls from backpacks or even pockets. Two teams were quickly formed and they began a game, the ball making contact with the bat with a loud crack! and then cheering.

“Nothing replaces that feeling,” he said softly, turning on his blinker to turn left and leave the dirt lot in the rearview mirror.

She covered his hand with hers briefly and he smiled as he nodded.

Well, almost nothing, he thought, glancing at this new partner of his, wondering when it would be a good time to tell her he was falling head over heels for her.

“Let’s find a place to eat,” she said, turning the vent to blow the cool air more directly onto her. “I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he agreed, smiling with a nod, the memory of her happy laughter, as he ran the bases with his hands over his head in mock celebration, echoing in his head. “How about burgers and shakes?”

“Yes!” she agreed. “Something chocolate and deliciously cold.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, stepping on the gas as her laughter rang out once again.

[robobrainrot]

What’s Past is Prologue

An Earthspark Post-S1, Pre-S2 summary fic

If you were left unsatisfied by the jarring time gap and tone shift between S1 and S2, here's a mini fic to help fill the void. I'm going to write out the full version on Ao3. But this is the short and sweet summary~

It had been a month since The Battle of Witwicky. The Maltos are still picking up the pieces, both literally and figuratively. While they succeeded in their goal of defeating Mandroid, saving all Transformers on Earth, and quite possibly, the world as a whole, some things were left shattered. Most notably, Quintus Prime’s Emberstone. The pieces were scattered across the globe and, for a moment, Team Prime feared they would be lost forever.

However, Quintus Prime would never leave his chosen stranded. Prime Power or not, the kids did not give up hope. The shards of the Emberstone dispersed, but they were not lost forever. Starting right in their backyard, The Maltos found their first shard in the cow pasture… With the help of Fluffy-Ears, of course. Less than a week later, another was found by Breakdown while racing across the countryside with Bumblebee.

At first, the alliance between Autobots and Decepticons had been tense. Both sides were anxious that the other might sell them out or deceive them. But with the help of the newly declared “Malto-bots,” tensions eased. It was hard not to enjoy their company. It had been centuries since any of them had interacted with bots so young. It was refreshing to have such young and enthusiastic faces around.

Every day, the Maltos searched for more ways to find the missing shards. Some they stumbled across accidentally. Some ended up in museums- dazzling archeologists. Schloder and Optimus Prime had to be the ones to get those. Nightshade created a way of scanning for the shards, but their device’s range was limited so the scouting parties had to travel the world to identify possible locations. Did someone say road trip? The Trine were quick to point out that they were much better suited for the job thanks to the help of Skywarp’s powers.

Starscream had to admit, he was fascinated by these ancient Cybertronian artifacts. His volunteering to help the Maltos was not entirely altruistic. It was an opportunity to show off the superiority of himself and his fellow Seekers and gain knowledge about these strange crystal shards. That’s what he told himself at least. The fact that he often hoovered around the Malto residents when Hashtag was around, and Megatron was not, was purely so he could gather intel.

As for the Malto-bots, they enjoyed the month of relative peace. While not all the Decepticons were eager to become ‘friends’, the ones that stuck around would do their best to teach the kids something while they were there.

Breakdown was the first. Never one to turn down a chance to show off, he was happy to oblige Thrash when he asked for racing tips. He showed the young bot a few flashy new moves, including one that Robby insisted was called “The Akira Slide.” Breakdown maintained that it was a Stunticon specialty, and certainly not inspired by a cartoon.

Swindle tried to teach the kids how to override security locks at the junkyard, but was quickly shut down by Elita-One. He complained to Hardtop about what a wasted opportunity it was for three days straight.

Skullcrusher, Grimlock, and Jawbreaker formed a special alliance that Jawbreaker dubbed “The Beastie Boys.” They spent their down time sparing and seeing who could leave the biggest dent in scrap metal pieces.

Soundwave and his casseticons taught Hashtag how to utilize her radio to scramble comm frequencies. In return, she taught them about the wonders of the internet. This was a terrible decision, as Frenzy quickly became engrossed by internet subcultures. Soundwave had to step in with what Mo would call his “Mad Dad Voice.” On the bright side, the discovery of Kandi culture led to a group friendship bracelet making party.

Even Shockwave took some time to mentor the bots. Well. Realistically it was just Nightshade in the lab, but The Great Shockwave was cool enough that the other Maltos pretended to pay attention for half of his science monolouge.

The Decepticons started creating their own home base in between Emberstone shard scouting missions. Led by Starscream, with Shockwave as his Second, they found a suitable location far enough away from the former-GHOST base, but not so far away that it would be impossible to reach the Terrans if needed.

This was one area that walked the line of the treaty. The Decepticons were entitled to make a home on Earth. Optimus Prime respected their wishes on this matter. He instructed the other Autobots and Maltos to stay out as well. If there was going to be a chance at lasting peace, they needed to build trust. Many of the Decepticons had been imprisoned by GHOST for years. They deserved a safe space without surveillance as much as anyone. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, and Prime would sooner go offline than go back on that principle.

There was still much they didn’t know. With every new answer about the emberstones came more questions. Between chaos and confusion, there was also stillness and affection. For these precious moments, both Autobots, Decepticons and Maltobots could enjoy the time of respite.

However, nothing really lasts forever.

[artiststarme]

His whole life, Steve had been waiting for a reason. The fight with Byers hadn’t been enough nor had the loss of Tommy and Carol. Nancy’s cheating and the humiliation he felt almost did it but not quite. The first run in with the Upside Down, the second, the beating from hell, not getting into college, disappointing his parents, the Russians, losing Hopper, none of it was enough.

But losing Max and Eddie was. It felt like Steve had lost his tether. His new friend, his potential for more, was gone. Max, the random girl that had grown to be the snarky little sister he’d always needed, was gone. After that, his ever-there backup plan started feeling a little bit less like a backup. As soon as the Buckley parents decided to move away with a reluctant Robin in tow, Steve was done.

He slunk away from everyone, hiding from their gazes and escaping in their grief. He didn’t need their scrutiny or worse, their fake concern. He didn’t have any affairs to put in order, no one would notice anything amiss anyways. Steve always existed in the background, until he didn’t. He slipped under the water of his pool one night and for once, he didn’t feel turmoil. Even as his lungs ran out of air and every cell in his body screamed for air, Steve only felt calm. And soon, he felt nothing at all.

[howtobecomeadragon]

i wonder how it'll feel for will to pick out a house as an adult. if he'll wonder about escape routes. wondering if he wants a first floor bedroom to be able to escape out the window easily or if it'll make him feel too vulnerable to intruders. if he needs a back exit instead of just a front door bc ofc, what if something is coming in that front door, what if the lock is moving on its own again. can he feel safe with a shed in the backyard? he doesn't want to go in there, not even at the open house with mike by his side. is it silly if that’s a deal breaker? mike says they can tear it down but there's still a squirm of anxiety in will's gut. this house is drafty and too cold, that house has a fireplace with a poker that makes will touch the scar on his side through his shirt. this one doesn't have a bathtub and they need that just in case. this one has too much of an open layout and will remembers a wall being the only thing between him and mike and jonathan and a bullet from a gun.

but also. mike points out that that room in that one house has really good lighting for painting. there's a big enough yard to build a fort or a castle or a tree house, big enough for them, fun enough for kids. mike leans in and whispers in will's ear, "cozy basement, huh?" will has a shiver at that. this house doesn't have a fence and will states, "well, we need a fence for a dog." mike offers to build one if will really loves this house. one house has just enough bedrooms, for guests or for kids.

maybe it takes a while but maybe they'll eventually find one that's just right.

[iamthecomet]

hear me out: dew lost his gills when he transitioned to fire but his neck is still very sensitive where the gills were

You're so right and forgive me if I lose my mind about it a little.

Some Dewther "gill" fucking filth under the cut.

It's an accidental discovery. Aether reaching up to trace his fingers over those silvery scars on his neck. Still fresh. Dew, staring up at him, vulnerable--afraid to let himself be explored like this. Body feeling somewhere between home and completely new. He keeps his hands at his sides, fists clenched, nails digging cresents into his palms. It's hard to be seen like this--touched like this. He's never been good with intimacy. Aether's reverent, devoted. Eyes big and wide as he touches Dew. Feather light, barely there, over every inch of warm skin Dew will let him. Watching as Dew's skinny chest heaves with each stuttering breath. Panic mixed with arousal. Aether has him naked--unable to hide. He dips his fingers into the hollow of Dew's throat and watches as Dew's cock twitches against his thigh. Dew stays as still as he can, would do anything to keep Aether like this. Despite the strange twist of anxiety he gets from letting himself be seen, it's the way Aether looks at him that fixes it. Like he is everything. Like there is something in him worth marveling at. The first touch of Aether's fingers on his scars is like lightening through his skin. A jolt. For a minute it's like he still has gills. That same alarm bell sensitivity of fingers aren't supposed to go here. Dew lets out a whine and Aether pulls his hand back. "Sorry. I didn't--do they hurt?" "Do it again," Dew whispers. Silence hangs, Aether blinks at him, fingers uncurling. "Please?" "I don't want to hurt you."

"Doesn't hurt," Dew promises. "Please, Aeth." Aether reaches out, drags the calloused pad of his index finger over the middle scar and Dew hisses. Eyes slamming shut, cock kicking to life. Almost fully hard now, twitching between his legs as Aether pets. Dew arches, tips his head to the side to give Aether better access. "More." He'd thought he lost this. This electrical current feeling. The brutal sensitivity of his gills that never fails to turn him to goo. It was an unfortuante side-effect of a transition that he needed--that he wanted. But to have it back? He shudders as Aether adds two more fingers, petting over each silver scar. A methodic back and forth motion that makes Dew groan. His cock spits pre into his happy trail. He thinks that if Aether decided to curl his whole hand around his throat, to press the pads of his fingers to the scars on both sides, if Aether was to squeeze--just a little--Dew could cum. He can't ask for it though--doesn't know how. Words are fleeting. All he knows how to do is unclench his fists and get his hands on himself. One to cup his balls, the other to polish the sticky head of his cock. "That good?" Aether teases. He starts to pull his fingers away and Dew's eyes snap open. He shakes his head. Pulling at his cock frantically, lips falling open. "Nononono don't--you gotta--fuck, Aeth--don't stop, please don't stop." Aether grins at him, bending forward to block Dew's view of anything but him. He kisses him, sweetly, on that pouting lower lip. "Never," Aether promises. Dew doesn't realize his mistake until after he cums, painting his belly and knuckles in creamy white. And Aether doesn't stop, fingers still dragging over. He fits his hand around Dew's throat, splaying his fingers across the scars on both sides. Dew's eyes fly open, he twitches. Overstimulation rocketing through him.

"Wait--Aeth--too much--" Aether leans down to kiss his sweaty forehead, his smile turns predatory. "You told me not to stop."

[heartsandmuses]

steve rogers/tony stark. rated g. magazine spread + 300 word article. vaguely inspired by red, white, & royal blue.

for the @tstarksbingospectacular // square: "stark tower"

article written out under the cut!

[Ever since the terrifying and unexpected Battle of New York, questions have arisen about the team dynamics of the newly-formed Avengers. Despite leadership under America's sweetheart, Steve Rogers, reports have suggested that the team isn't cooperating with each other nearly as well off the battlefield as on.

Sources attending Saturday's charity fundraiser, hosted at Stark Tower, have revealed that tensions were high between teammates Iron Man and Captain America, resulting in a disastrous argument that threatened the rest of the evening's festivities as well as their chances of collecting enough funds to cover the post-Battle clean-up and repairs to the city.

Multiple witnesses stated that interactions between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark had been marked with hostility for the duration of the event, culminating in the pair eventually getting physical with each other and knocking over the $10,000 custom cake designed and ordered by Ms. Pepper Potts to celebrate the Avengers' victory over the Chitauri.

This is certainly not the first time that Stark has caused a scene at a black-tie event, and while his drunk and disorderly antics are, at this point, expected, it is surprising to note that Rogers had allegedly contributed as much to the fight himself. America's golden boy was seen pushing and shoving Stark moments before they both tumbled into the buffet table. Not only was the celebratory cake ruined, but two bottles of champagne, a chocolate fountain, and multiple platters of hors d'oeuvres had fallen alongside them.

As Rogers is the only Avenger to have officially moved into Stark Tower as of yet, their clashing personalities are bound to make living arrangements interesting. It is unclear, however, what the future of the team will look like, especially with Rogers and Stark reportedly disagreeing on leadership styles, but one thing seems certain: if they are ever going to win another battle, they first need to stop fighting each other.]

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.”