#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."

[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)

[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.

[quintessenceofdust88]

(cause apparently I'm all about Tommy getting desperate Evan Buckley calls today)

Tommy is just waking up when he hears his phone vibrating on his nightstand. He was sleeping off a 48-hour shift and he's not quite sure of himself when he wakes up, so he picks it up without checking the caller ID.

"Go for Kinard" Tommy says, his voice hoarse with sleep, and the only answer he gets is a sob, but it doesn't matter. He'd recognize that voice anywhere in the world. "Evan?!" Tommy's so surprised that he forgets he promised himself to not use that name again, for both of their sakes.

"T-Tommy, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know who else to call, I..."

"What's wrong?" Tommy asks, already halfway out of bad. He's never seen Evan sobbing; crying a little over an emotional movie, maybe, but not like this.

"S-someone took M-Maddie. She was kidnapped" He manages to say, and Tommy's stomach drops.

"What?! How could this happen?!" He's been connected to the grapevine enough to know Maddie's pregnant, and he can't even imagine what both Evan and Howie are going through right now.

"I don't know the details, Athena told me to stay out of it and let the police handle it, and I'm trying, but..." Another heart wrenching sob can be heard, and Tommy's heart feels like it's being squeezed. He hates hearing the man he loves (yes, he's at least smart enough to admit that to himself) sounding so broken. "I need you, Tommy"

Well.

Tommy was strong enough to deny something to Evan Buckley once. He can't do it again, not now.

"I'm on my way"

[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.” 

[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.

[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.

[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.

[nyoomerr]

thinking about your fic on here with god of a small town binghe again ... very good

anon i will let you in on a little secret and it is that i have been going CRAZY with how much i want to write more of that au !! i've just had to finish up my other projects first... now that my FTH fic is fully written, i just have to finish my work for the binggeyuan zine, and then i can finally return to the god/spiteful cleric au 😌😌

i'll probably also finally take the time to clean up some of my favorite ficlets to put them on ao3... not really expanding on them as much as i'd like to for the cleric!sy fic but giving 'em a lil polish. so far i was thinking of the one with alpha-who-nests bingge and the one where they both try to atticwife each other.. any others y'all would want to see cleaned up and put on ao3? 👀

[everybodyshusband]

kinktober ; day five, lingerie ❤︎ dew/aurora

contains: t4t, ballet/human au, there's a character called dewdrop in the nutcracker and i couldn't not take the opportunity, ballet costumes count as lingerie if you're horny enough

approx. 1.4k words. ghostober prompt list compiled by @kroas-adtam and a BIG thank you to @wrathofrats for helping me figure out how to start this nuisance of a fic <3 she also made the pretty dividers i'm using !!

Sweat pours off of Dew’s forehead as he finally runs offstage to retreat behind the curtain. His legs ache, skin too hot beneath his tights and feet well on their way to cramping in his pointe shoes. He grabs for the water he keeps sidestage and gulps down as much of it as he can in the few seconds he has before the director inevitably accuses him of blocking the wings. He always feels like this after these intense performances, his costume all of the sudden becoming a little too restricting, a film of his sweat film clinging to his skin which he’s sure will make him cringe once he’s rested enough to be able to breathe evenly again.

Most nights Dew finds his grin falling off of his face the moment he steps offstage, but tonight, he finds as he runs through the wings, is an exception. Tonight, he and Aurora have been assigned the same dressing room and have already made their plans for how to fill in their time before bows.

He smiles as he passes row upon row of costumes all set out for backstage quick changes as he makes his way down the wide corridor, his gait clunky and duck-footed as he attempts to walk comfortably in his point shoes. The Nutcracker costumes have always been some of his favourites and the Dewdrop one he’s wearing is no exception—and yes, he’s well aware of the irony of his character’s name. The bodice is a pale peach with pink boning running down the length of it, and Dew can feel the boning contract and expand as he continues to breathe heavily. Small beads that look like droplets of water are littered all over the top  of the bodice in two delicate rows. The least annoying part of the thing, his favourite, is the flowing tulle skirt. It’s the same peachy pink as the top with ruffles coming to form a V at his pelvis. It accentuates his waist perfectly, fanning out as he dances across the stage to make sure he looks graceful in his leaps and twirls. It floats as he turns, layers of fabric breathing an air of weightlessness into him. The whole thing is tied off with a bundle of small flowers sitting on the right side of his hip and framed by even more ruffles. He looks pretty, as delicate as the flower his role commands him to be.

Pushing open the door to his and Aurora’s dressing room reveals that he’s the first one of the pair to arrive. It makes sense, she’s one of the flowers that dances with him during his big scene, but she’s still got one more dance to be a part of before she’s free for the night. Luckily for the sake of Dew’s boredom, she should be done and on her way to their dressing room soon.

With a wheezed out sigh, he waddles over to his vanity and immediately collapses onto his chair. He pats his hand across the bench with one hand to blindly feel for his inhaler while he hastily undoes the laces of his pointe shoes. He finds it and is able to take an awkward one handed puff from it, but not before he feels a slip of paper on the bench that he hadn’t spotted upon walking in. Dew knows that he definitely didn’t put it there, so the only other culprit is Aurora and that hypothesis is proven true as soon as Dew has pulled his shoes off and is able to have a read.

dewy, it reads, barely legible in pink, sparkly ink and what Dew hopes for Aurora’s sake is her messiest handwriting.

you’ve been working so hard all week to rehearse offstage, even though you know you get enough practice of your variation every night onstage. i just know you’re gonna kill it tonight. don’t you dare take your costume off before i get there, i’m gonna help you relax.

love, rora xx

Dew raises an eyebrow at the note. While most of what Aurora says in her note is true—he definitely has been dutifully practising his Dewdrop variation at every chance he can since they opened The Nutcracker at the beginning of the week—but other parts… Well, he has his doubts. Primarily, he’s not entirely sure that whatever Aurora plans to do to derail their card game plans for the rest of the evening will consist of getting him to relax, at least not in the traditional sense.

His suspicions are almost immediately confirmed the moment Aurora steps into the dressing room, flicking the lock on the door with a mischievous grin on her face. “Hiya, Dewy,” she smiles, sounding infuriatingly put-together despite having just come off the stage. Her pointe shoes are already off of her feet, tied loosely at the laces and hanging from her hand, bumping against the tiered pink tulle of her skirt.

Dew only gets as far as opening his mouth to reply before Aurora has crossed the room and pressed him up against his vanity, her lips on his, moaning softly. Her chest heaves as she kisses him, one hand on his waist, the other supporting herself against the counter. “Did so well out there tonight, Dewy,” she mumbles against his lips. “Looked so pretty flitting about out there. Could barely focus on my own steps, was too busy watching yours.”

Dew feels his cheeks heat up with a fierce blush and elects to shut Aurora up by surging forward and recapturing their lips together with enough force that they both let out a noise somewhere in between a protest and a moan. They stay like that for a while, until Aurora eventually loses patience and spins Dew around, forcing him to brace himself against the vanity.

He meets her eye in the mirror, chest heaving and cunt clenching around nothing as she grins at him, something almost predatorial in her reflection. There’s a short pause before Aurora speaks again.

“...You’ve got spare tights for the other performances, right?”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Dew replies, wholly confused. “Why–? Fuck!” He interrupts himself as Aurora drops to her knees and pulls the crotch of his leotard to the side, using her nails to tear into his tights, ripping a hole that exposes him entirely. “Rory!”

“What? I checked you had spares…” Dew can hear the smile in her voice and catches a glimpse of his own expression of endearment in the mirror. That expression quickly morphs into something else as Aurora digs her hands into ass to hold him in place as she licks a stripe over his cunt, humming happily as she tastes how wet he is under her tongue.

His eyes squeeze shut as his mouth drops open, gasping out a quiet moan as one of Aurora’s hands sneaks around his front to flick at his clit. “Shit, Rory,” he sighs.

She giggles against his cunt, the vibrations from her laugh pulling yet another moan out of Dew as she continues to lap at him eagerly. He whines as she pulls off to speak. “Oh, by the way,” she starts. “I invited Rain and Cirrus over once they’re done with the Pas de Deux, which should be in…” He sees her head tilt to the side in the mirror as she glances at the clock and stage screen on the wall of their dressing room. “In maybe less than five minutes. You can cum that fast, right?”

A minute ago, Dewdrop’s answer would have been a steadfast and resounding no, but now that Aurora’s diving back in—seemingly determined to eat him out with as much vigour as she usually devours her after-show hamburger and chips—he thinks his answer might have changed. Although as he thinks about it, even if he can’t manage to reach orgasm before Rain and Cirrus arrive, it’s nothing they haven’t seen before, and he knows they’ll certainly be willing to lend a helping hand. But whatever happens in a few minutes is still up to chance. For now, all Dew has to do is close his eyes and enjoy that thing Aurora does with her tongue that she’s so good at. He lets his head tip forward as he moans once again, more than content to let Aurora have her way with him until the final bows.

this is the version of the dewdrop costume i've been envisioning for this by the way !! it's the NYCB costume :)

also because i'm a little insane about ballet, this is the link to the performance i watched over and over again while writing this lmao

[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."