#mushy writes .���� ݁ ˖

[pileofmush]

luffy is for the sad, pathetic, touch-starved bitches. the ones who shiver at the mere brush of skin. who wince whenever their friends go in for hugs, unsure of where to put their arms. the ones who are so, so aware of their proximity to others. so careful not to brush fingers when walking side to side with a peer, or when handing a pencil to a friend, because they’re sure that one affectionate squeeze of the arm could leave their innards a puddle at their feet, creeping toward the nearest drain.

when you meet luffy, you think he’s one to be admired, not touched. you see the way he infects everyone around him with his reckless abandon. hanging off shoulders and dragging people to and fro. his crewmates are used to it. they scoff and wiggle under his weight for show: for there’s a sense of relief when monkey d. luffy has his eyes on you. you can tell in the automatic decompression of their shoulders, in the languid way they turn to him—saplings curving toward the sun. 

you see it, and you envy it. respect it. respect him. but that’s the extent of your thoughts on the matter.

you never considered that he would turn his sights on you. 

but he does. 

he picks you up like you’re something shiny, holds you up to the light and squints. and whatever he finds must be satisfying, because after that, he doesn’t put you down. 

it overwhelms you, at first. he tugs on your cheek at the sight of a frown, like you’re the one made of rubber, and your heart does a funny jig that’s actually not funny at all. he pokes you in the ribcage to grab your attention, and ignores you when you try to tell him that a verbal cue would work just as well. he grabs your hand, instinctively twining your fingers, and pulls you along when you stop in your tracks.

and you feel—you feel like a puddle. be careful your mind warns, or you’ll slip.

but luffy’s there to catch you when you fall.

and that’s what’s so terrible about him, you think. he’s the question and the answer. 

and he’s burrowed himself under your skin. 

how foolish of him to touch you so casually and expect you not to revel in it. not to crave his pokes and his prods more than you crave air. how foolish of him to drape himself over you like a weighted blankie and not expect you to desire him by your side, always, to keep the cold at bay. he’s a fool and you’re a pauper.

but, sometimes, you think he knows what he does to you. he has to. oh, how he’ll laugh when he catches you staring at his hands. bound over until he’s right in front of you, place a thumb under your chin and tilt until your gaze meets his. his eyes are dark, but so, so bright. you want to look away. you don’t. 

everything is so easy for him. it's unnerving. he plops his head in your lap one day with a carefree grin. you still—hold your breath like a child playing hide and seek. he cracks open an eye, like he can read your thoughts. or maybe he can just feel you tremble.

“what’s wrong?”

you rack your brain for an answer he could understand. “what do you want me to do?” you hedge. 

luffy furrows his brows. “whatever you want,” he says.

“no, i mean—where do you want me to touch?” 

he shrugs. “wherever you want.”

and you feel—you feel like you want to run your hands over every inch of his skin until you have a mental map of his body you could navigate through touch alone. you want to put him in your mouth. you want to inhale him like a drug, want him to burn the back of your throat 'til it stings. you want… him. 

you settle for caressing his jawline. tracing the slope of his nose. his eyes flutter shut, and you pause, but he grabs your hand and plants it firmly on his face. and it feels, it feels like you’re the question and he’s the answer. it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re okay with becoming a puddle of a person, for him. 

[syoddeye]

how the 141 scares you. 470 words.

simon only allows you to climb two steps before he flicks off the lights and chases you like a demon all the way up. inevitably catches you at the top, scooping you into his arms, shrieking and giggling, and carries you the rest of the way to bed. drops you like a sack of potatoes, then crawls over you, peppering you in kisses as he shoves your sleep shorts down. that pouty, angry lip of yours doesn't stay for long. your mouth pops into an 'o', and that's that.

john decides on a whim to join you in the shower. it's been a minute. he waits until you're well into your third ballad, singing at the top of your lungs and completely distracted. he decants some wine for after and creeps to the bathroom. strips in the hall and leaves his clothes in a pile. (he's old hand at this.) a thick veil of steam masks him from you, not that you notice the door opening. the music's too loud, and your back is to him. it isn't until he purrs out a hello, darling that you jump, voice pitching mid-lyric. he catches you before you can fall, pulling you into his chest, ignoring your hands hammering on his chest. he makes it up to with a scalp massage and then some.

gaz convinces you to trek out into the country to stargaze. just you two in a meadow in the woods. brings the romance with a thick blanket beneath you and a flask of something to help keep you both warm. you spend the evening pointing out constellations and swapping stories. he tells you how he's gonna marry you. at one point, he pops up to take a leak, then slips into the dark while you're distracted. this isn't funny, kyle. you shout when you realize he's gone. a twig snaps here, a pebble thumps there. you know he's skilled in evasion and stealth, but you don't fully appreciate it until he's on you. hand over your mouth, laughing as the screams turn into curses. kisses you stupid before you can ream him out, then makes you see a whole new set of stars.

johnny lies in wait under the bed after pretending to turn in before you. fake snoring, pillows under the duvet—sets up a whole ruse to fool you. snickers to himself when it works. you tiptoe so sweetly through your nightly routine, then to the bed, eyes glued to your dimmed phone screen. the second you're within reach, he snatches your ankle. while he knew you'd scream, he didn't anticipate you kicking him in the face, full force, with your other foot. you both apologize while you hold frozen peas to his swollen eye.

[haechansunshineboy]

*:・ﾟ✧. *:・ﾟ✧.

*:・ﾟ✧. *:・ﾟ✧.

Haechan’s rings always look so pretty on his fingers. The different intricately designed silver bands on both his left and right hands just look so good against his skin. You’d been daydreaming about holding hands with him (or his fingers trailing down your bare stomach-).

It was becoming a problem, since you were getting incredibly distracted by his hands holding the red solo cup.

He caught your eye from across the crowd, raising his eyebrows to greet you from afar. You wave back at Haechan, watching him start squeezing past people to get to where you were standing.

“Hey.” His voice puts you at ease every time and you reply back with a “hey” as well.

“Wanna get out of here?” Haechan asks you. “We can take a walk together, if you want.”

You nod, smiling at him as he gestures with two fingers for you to follow him out.

-

The two of you walked around the block until you reached a local food chain, opting to sit on the side of the empty parking lot.

The cool wind felt nice against your skin, and you turn your head to face Haechan, who was already looking at you.

You flushed at seeing his gaze on you, his soft smile growing bigger before he started talking.

“Anyway I started watching this new show..”

-

Haechan’s hands rested on his lap, palms facing upwards towards the night sky. Again, your attention was drawn to the rings adorning his hands. The simple silver band on his left index finger, the delicate ring shaped to look like a rounded nail on his ring finger, and your favorite: the pretty braided metal on his right index finger.

“Everything ok?” He asks you, noticing you hadn’t responded to his question about the show.

Feeling bold for once, you muster the courage to drag your index finger over one of the pretty silver rings adorning his knuckle.

“Sorry, I got distracted by your rings.” You mutter. You let the pad of your fingertips brush against his palm as well, feeling how soft his hands were.

“It’s o-ok. My little cousins are always asking if I’m m-married. So annoying.”

You look up at him, taking in the sight of Haechan’s attempt at being nonchalant, his reddening ears giving him away. You smile softly, bringing your attention back to his hands.

“They’re so pretty.”

Haechan lets out a soft breath when you pull your hand away, hoping you didn’t pick it up.

“Y-you know, my chain is also really nice..” He trails off, never taking his eyes off of you.

You beam at him, secretly enjoying seeing this flustered version of Haechan.

*:・ﾟ✧. *:・ﾟ✧.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Evolution of Eliot/Hardison hugs over the years.

And the one time that Eliot really needed a hug:

Leverage S02E08/S03E10/S04E01/S04E07/S04E10/S05E09/Leverage Redemption S01E16/S02E06.

[choccorin]

i firmly believe that rin's the type of boyfriend who loves to kiss your hand ... he loves wrapping his slightly cold and callused hand around soft and warm ones, while you tell the café cashier both of your orders.

he loves interlocking your fingers together and rubbing small circles, sometimes hearts, on the top of your thumb as the two of you walk around the park.

he loves to kiss your knuckles everytime he senses that you feel nervous in public. it's his way of calming you down and telling you that you're not alone and that he's here beside you while he looks at you with the softest and loving eyes.

he loves to interlock your pinkies together as he waits for you to wake up, admiring how the sunlight perfectly hits your features, making you look breathtaking.

he loves taking your hand and giving your ring finger a soft peck, a quiet promise that someday he'll buy the prettiest ring there is and put it on your finger, indicating that he's yours and you're his.

[mediumgayitalian]

Despite his best efforts to be silent, Will wakes up as soon as Nico opens the door.

“Neeks?” he mumbles, squinting at the sliver of light bleeding into the bedroom. Nico hurries to close the door behind him, padding forward to the bed and dropping a kiss onto Will’s hair.

“Yeah, baby.”

Will sighs, curling up, leaning into Nico’s touch. “Good.”

Nico feels his tired eyes follow him as he putters quietly around the room, hanging his sword and his jacket, shucking off his torn jeans, tossing his shirt in a corner somewhere.

“Y’hurt?”

Nico smiles. He loves the heavy drawl of Will’s y’s that he gets when he’s sleepy or passionate, as much as he teases. It always makes him fluttery, makes the hairs on the back of his arms stand up.

“No.”

“Promise?”

Nico digs around until he finds a pair of Will’s flannel pyjama pants, tugging them on and rolling the waistband until he can wear them without tripping. He doesn’t bother with a shirt.

“Yes.”

“C’mere.” The blankets shift and whisper as Will peels them slightly back, lifting his arms around the empty space next to him. “Can practic’ly see ya shiverin’. Y’r g’na turn blue inna min’t.”

Nico can’t stop a giggle. He curls into Will’s hold, pressing a kiss to the sun on his chest and muttering something about cowboys and bull-wranglers. He’s well-used to the playfully stern pinch Will nicks on the curve of his thigh, and snickers more.

“Y’r not funny.”

“Y’r’n’funny,” Nico mocks, exaggerated. He clears his throat, and says with exaggerated deepness: “Y’ain’t from ‘round these here pards, pardner.”

Will pinches him again, but does nothing to hide the curve of his smile as he presses a kiss to Nico’s neck, his bare shoulder.

“M’gonna bite you.”

“Y’would’nt —”

Will does bite him, and Nico smacks him in revenge, although he doesn’t really care. If anything he kind of relishes it.

“Freak,” Will says fondly, knowing exactly what Nico’s thinking. He drags his head up to press a long, lingering kiss to Nico’s cheek. “Sleep. Warm up. Talk in the mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” Nico mocks tiredly, but settles in too, presses a last kiss to Will’s jaw before settling against him, breaths evening out to join him in dreamland.

[myokk]

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

Oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

from my oneshot💘

[forlorn-crows]

𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆!

[click image for better quality. full list ID under the cut.]

it's that time of year once again, for the annual mushy may month of prompts! you'll see some repeats from last year, as well as many new ideas to choose from. any ghost artist/writer is welcome to participate in any capacity, as much or as little as you'd like!

this year, there is one prompt per day. additionally, there is a 'bonus prompts' list that you may use to "swap out" if you don't like the prompt for a given day.

happy creating, and don't forget to tag me so i can see ♥

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙮 ♥

cuteness aggression

late night snacks

massage

wound tending/first aid

animals

"you're blushing"

telling stupid jokes

sex turning into making love

warming them up

quiet nights

papa time (a day to get your favorite papa(s) in on the love!)

first time

"just wanted to hear your voice"

silly baby talk

painting on each other

cooking a special recipe

funny t-shirts

holding hands

confessions

gardening

can't stop laughing

long drives

morning coffee cuddles

acts of friendship

sharing a secret comfort item (i.e. a blanket, a pendant)

"you smell nice"

backstage shenanigans

collecting objects (i.e. rocks, seashells, location magnets)

girls night

by candlelight

looking at/taking pictures

BONUS PROMPS

vacations

gift giving

hide and seek

doing each others' makeup

long distance

coffee shop au

reminiscing

first kiss

jam session (ghost songs or not)

"shut up i'm taking care of you"

special thanks to @wrathofrats @chewbrry @miasmaghoul @coffeeghoulie @divine-misfortune and others for sending me prompts this year ♡

[ghuleh-recs]

Happy Mushy May! Have some dividers!

Feel free to credit me if you use these - even if it's just in the tags. Reblogs are appreciated because there aren't a ton of resources like this outside of those made by the brilliant @gothdaddyissues and I'm hoping writers are able to find them. ♡

That's all for now! I'll probably add some more at some point just check the #dividers tag on my blog.

Tagging @forlorn-crows because they're the (not-so-evil) mastermind behind Mushy May.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 19: Confessions

Aether doesn't know much about fire or water courtship rituals. Ifrit's there to knock some sense into his head.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the divider

this one is a doozy, I wrote this in pretty much one sitting yesterday and it's like four pages? turns out i have a lot of dewther feelings. Contains some (resolved) miscommunication, water/fire hybrid Dew, the first time I've ever written Ifrit, and some of my fire ghoul lore

Aether is, admittedly, not used to other ghouls. Quintessence packs run small, a tight-knit family group at the largest. But this is something else. Ghouls of every element, even some hybrids, all of them mostly cooperating and coexisting as a larger pack than Aether's ever known. He spends a lot of his first few months close to Omega's side, seeking comfort in his fellow quintessence ghoul.

There's one ghoul, however, who's intrigued him from the moment he was pulled from the summoning circle. Quite literally too. There had been hands on his wrists, pulling. One had been Omega, hands that felt familiar even as a stranger. But then the other wrist, fingers almost dainty, barely able to wrap all the way around.

He had looked up, and if the summoning had knocked the breath from his now-corporeal lungs, Aether found it impossible to breathe.

There was a water ghoul standing above him, silver, pin-straight hair falling over his shoulders, almost obscuring the teal gills that line his neck. He's slight, and was staring with wide, bright blue eyes down at him, a hazy lavender coloring his cheeks.

Aether had swallowed hard, tried to shut his mouth because he knew he was staring. But the water ghoul was staring too, and Aether was helped to his feet by the others. Omega had asked his name, draped a purple, starry blanket around his wide shoulders, and with one more glance at the water ghoul, had lead him from the summoning chambers.

He sees him around the pack den, standing alongside a water ghoulette and a fire ghoul who's almost as broad as Aether himself. He learns his name is Dewdrop, that Mist is teaching him bass so he can go along with the Ghost Project to support the third Emeritus brother when they leave on tour again. He watches the way Dew's fingers fly over the fretboard, the way steam curls from his gills when he's stuck on something frustrating. Dew's beautiful, and Aether feels eyes on his back when he's pretending not to stare himself.

They dance around each other for weeks, sharing glances and brushed touches between the den and the practice room, the uniform fittings and Masses.

And then things start to change. Dew actually starts approaching him, asking to practice together, rhythm guitar and bass. Aether's a little too quick to agree, anything to spend a little more time with the little ghoul he's way too infatuated with.

Aether still remembers the first time Dew cornered him after practice, grabbing his hand and unfurling his fingers, intense eye contact as he pressed something hard and smooth into his palm, closing his fingers around it before darting off after Mist. The ghoulette had glanced between the two of them, a smile that was a little too smug and knowing for Aether's taste on her lips.

He looked down into his palm, finding a pretty piece of stone, so dark it's almost black, glittering with quartz all throughout, worn down smooth by water. Aether furrowed his brow, turning the pebble over in his fingers, before taking it back to his room, setting it on a shelf above his desk.

The pebble quickly became part of a collection, various colors and shapes decorating just about every surface in his bedroom. They're all beautiful, and Aether finds himself turning them over in his hands, wondering why Dew's only giving them to him, not sharing them with the rest of the pack.

This continues, even as the Ghost Project sets out to tour. Dew keeps giving him little gifts, pressing them into his hand. The first time they get to stay overnight at a hotel, instead of cramming themselves into tiny bunks on the bus, he and Dew are assigned together. Or maybe, Dew bat his lashes at Terzo and got him to reassign keys. If he did, Dew will never tell. Regardless, they head up the elevator together, bags slung over their shoulders.

Aether slips the keycard into the lock, pushing open the door to a room with two queen beds. Altogether, not a bad hotel room, but he's nearly dead on his feet after that night's Ritual.

"May I make you a nest, Aether?" Dew asks, setting his bag down on the hotel dresser, beginning to rifle through it for a clean set of clothes.

Aether yawns, jaw popping with the force of it. "That sounds great," he says earnestly. "How about I strip my bed and we use both sets of bedding? Make it extra comfortable."

Aether just barely catches the way Dew's eyes light up like neon signs at his words, and the little ghoul nods eagerly. "Go shower, and I'll get it taken care of."

"Thank you, waterlily," Aether says, unable to stop himself from tucking a strand of silver hair behind Dew's finned ear, watching fascinated as that lavender blush spills over the ridge of his nose, the sharp lines of his cheeks.

Aether rushes through his shower, exhaustion bone-deep. He doesn't know how Omega did it for so long. His body aches to flop down into a nest, and he's honestly excited to not have to sleep alone.

He gets out of the shower, roughly toweling off and changing in his haste. Aether steps out of the bathroom, the mirror foggy with steam, and watches curiously as Dew weaves sheets and blankets and pillows together methodically. Eventually, Dew seems satisfied with his work, curling up in the pile of bedding, patting the mattress next to him.

"Come on, big guy, get in here," he demands, but his finned tail is wagging behind him, mussing up the blankets.

He chuckles, climbing into the nest next to Dew, who's quick to curl up against his side, purring like a storm. It's very comfortable, and Aether's happy to have an armful of ghoul, the two of them quickly succumbing to sleep.

The habit keeps, Dew worming his way into Aether's bunk on the bus, insisting they're roomed together for each hotel night.

Dew gets clingier after they start sharing a bed. Aether's not complaining, not by any means, but Dew's always been a little aloof, a stoic little thing. He's close physically, but Aether can feel the way his friend is beginning to drift away mentally, even as they sleep pressed together from torso to tailtip.

It takes a couple of weeks before Ifrit raises an eyebrow as he takes note of their sleeping arrangements, the way Dew's plastered to Aether's side for what feels like every waking moment, every unconscious one too.

He pulls Aether aside backstage one night, and Aether goes willingly. "What's up, big guy?" he asks.

Ifrit scratches at his undercut, his shoulder length hair tied back so he can shove it into the balaclava later tonight. "Aeth. Aether. What do you know about fire ghoul courting rituals?"

Aether's brow furrows hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's a little out of nowhere," he sputters. "I mean, nothing, really. I mean, are you asking?"

Ifrit throws his head back in a laugh. "No, I'm not asking for myself, if that's what you're putting down. Me and Zeph are good, not looking for a third quite yet," he chuckles, clapping Aether's shoulder before his expression turns serious, a rare occurrence for the fire ghoul. "Okay, how about this. What do you know about water ghoul courting?"

"Courting?" He can feel the blush spilling across his cheeks as a face flashes in his mind out of his control. Silver hair, teal fins, bright blue eyes. Aether swallows hard, meeting Ifrit's expectant gaze. "Nothing. I barely met any water ghouls in the Pit, wasn't really in a position to learn that part of their culture."

Ifrit nods to himself, taking a deep breath through his nose. He settles both of his hands on Aether's shoulders, leveling him with a look. "Aether, I'm gonna be blunt and I need you not to freak out on me. Dew thinks you're courting him, and he's trying to court you back."

Aether's heart stops, trying to form words but just sputtering. "I didn't- I'm not- How?"

"He's not just water. He's a fire hybrid. I don't know too much about the water courting, but I'd be willing to bet he's been giving you stones?"

Aether blinks dumbly at him. "Yeah, he has. They're all over my room in the den."

"Yep, that'll be it, I think. But the part I know more about are fire rituals. Did he offer to make you a hearth?"

"Dew's never mentioned anything about a hearth, Frit," Aether says, feeling the warmth of his palms as they hold his shoulders still. "I don't know what that is."

"It's a courting nest, Aeth," Ifrit sighs again. "Did Dew offer to make you a nest?"

He blinks up at Ifrit, realization beginning to dawn on him. "He did."

"And you offered your bedding in response, didn't you?"

"I- I did. I offered to strip the other hotel bed to make a nest with," he says, suddenly finding the skin around his glamoured nails incredibly interesting.

"Aether, listen to me," Ifrit says, tipping Aether's chin up to make him make eye contact. "You need to talk to Dew. Tonight. Clear this all up. He's upset because, to him, you reciprocated his intent and now you're giving him the cold shoulder."

Aether opens his mouth to reply, but then there's a call of a half an hour until places. They glance at each other, nowhere near ready, panic filling both of their eyes. "Talk to him," Ifrit stresses as they part, scrambling to the dressing room.

The Ritual, all things considered, goes fine. Aether knows that Dew knows he's looking at him, sees the glint of blue eyes behind the silver mask that obscures the rest of his features. He can't look away. Aether hits his marks, plays his part, but he's staring at Dew, with everything Ifrit told him swirling though his mind like his quintessence.

They step off stage, the ghouls all filing back to the dressing room, sweaty and exhausted. "Dew," Aether says, just loud enough to be heard. The water ghoul whips back, eyes shining through his mask.

"Aether?"

He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to steel himself. It smells like metal, the mask humid with his breath even through the balaclava. "I need to talk to you. Could we find somewhere quiet?"

Dew blinks, the rest of his expression hidden, but Aether, in tune with these kinds of things, can almost smell the apprehension. "Sure. What about?"

"Just-" Aether stops himself. "Not here, come with me?" He holds out his hand, still so strange looking under human skin. Dew's chest heaves as he breathes, considering, before placing his hand in Aether's.

Aether finds an empty room, dark and quiet, herding Dew inside before shutting the door behind them. He finds the light switch, old fluorescents flickering to life. Aether reaches up, grabbing the chin of his mask and pulling it up and off of his head, shoving his balaclava down.

Dew's quick to follow, and once his face is revealed, Aether gets a good look at the almost nervous expression written there, on the most beautiful ghoul he's ever seen, even soaking wet and ruffled. Locks of silver hair stick to his forehead with sweat, and he aches to reach out to tuck them back in place. "Aether?"

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, stepping heavily into Dew's space, guiding him to stumble quickly backward until his back hits the wall. Dew's expression hardens, but Aether can taste the undercurrent of fear of being cornered by a much bigger ghoul, caged in by his big arms.

"Hey, Dewdrop," he whispers, voice as gentle as he can make it. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Dew's brow furrows, staring up at him. "You didn't know wh- umph!"

He gets cut off by Aether's mouth on his, the bigger ghoul lunging down to catch Dew's lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. The smaller ghoul squawks in surprise, before melting completely into it. His arms come up and wrap around his neck, clinging to him, human nails digging into his shoulders even through the cassock.

They part, vessels aching for air, eyes wide as they stare at each other. Dew starts laughing incredulously, narrow chest heaving. "You're fucking kidding, Aether, thought you were leading me on."

Aether leans in, pressing his forehead to Dew's. "I didn't know you were trying to court me. I didn't know I had accepted a hearth."

"I mean," Dew stammers, that lilac blush flooding his cheeks again. "If you didn't actually want me to court you, you can forget it happened, I can-"

"Dewdrop," Aether whispers, taking the point of his chin carefully in his fingers, making him meet his gaze. "What about the last five minutes says I don't want this?"

He shrugs, still pinned to the wall. Instead of answering, Dew tangles his spindly fingers in his mohawk, pulling him down into another kiss. And Aether is happy to indulge him.

[pileofmush]

In the dead of night, he crawls into your bed. 

Your eyes flutter open, but you already know who it is, for you are intimately familiar with the pad of his feet against the carpet. With the dip of your mattress underneath his weight. With the sense of calm that washes over you whenever he graces you with his presence. And that’s the best way to describe whatever you and the sorcerer have going on. Intimate—and familiar. 

You never know how to categorize it when your friends ask. 

Not friend, nor foe. Maybe both. Or maybe something in between?

There’s a tug of war inside your brain that struggles between wanting to tangle your legs with his under the soft press of your duvet, and wanting to climb atop him, wrap your hands delicately around his neck, and squeeze.

Most nights with him, you do neither. Just lie flat and stare up at the peeling ceiling tile, just barely illuminated by the midnight glow of the moon streaming through your blinds.

Some nights, you do both. Yuuta never seems to mind, either way. Says he just wants to be near you, as he wraps his limbs around you and pulls you to him, snugly. You play dead; go limp in his arms and count the warm puffs of air against the back of your neck like sheep.

It’s not normal, you know.

But it works for the two of you.

It goes like this: Okkotsu Yuuta is a lonely, lonely man, with too much heart and not nearly enough sense. 

It goes like this: You want to crawl into his skin, make home inside his chest.

And that’s really all there is to it. 

Tonight, you sit up and turn on the lamp that sits on your nightstand, casting a muted yellow glow over your surroundings. You blink, rub your eyes, and lift your head in greeting. 

“Hey,” he whispers, black eyes roving over you curiously. He seems alright—whole—though his shoulders sag with an inconceivable weight, and his eyebags speak of many sleepless nights. “What are you still doing up?” Gesturing to the clock on your nightstand that reads 3 am.

You hum. Press your tongue against your teeth. “Waiting for you,” you say, candidly. You understand he's a busy man. That he has responsibilities—'missions', he calls them. But it’s been two weeks since he last visited you. Far too long since the last time. Not long enough. 

At your admission, Yuuta’s mouth melts into a cotton-candy smile. “I missed you, too.”

…

You hadn’t said all that, but you’ll allow it.

Yuuta’s hand slips under the covers, searching for yours, and gives a firm, quick squeeze. He pulls away, reaches behind him and pulls off his navy blue sweater—the soft, cashmere one that you said would look good on him one relaxed day at the mall. The ministrations expose the taut, pale sheen of his skin as the hem of his tee slides up, and you have to breathe deeply to ground yourself.

He folds the sweater in his lap while you push the covers back, then leans over you to set it on your nightstand. Something about him hovering over you flips a primal switch within you, and without thinking you flip it so that it’s him on his back and you leaning above him. Yuuta, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye. Gets settled between your thighs and waits calmly for…

For you to inhale deeply; to breathe him in and try not to choke. His scent is a cloying, sickly sweetness. A poisonous flower, luring you to something sinister. Begging you to taste him and face the consequences.

It’s a sight to behold, his dark hair fanned out against your pillow, his darkening cheeks, and his dark, dark gaze that pins you in place. 

His hands rest on the back of your thighs, flexing assuredly, and your hands rest on his rising and falling chest, then slowly trail up, up, up, to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. You pinch his skin gently between your thumb and forefinger. Feel his pulse jump in his throat. 

He swallows, and you feel the lump of spit travel down his esophagus.

Intimate—and familiar. That’s what you are to Yuuta. Who else can say the same?

Not one. 

Your hands smooth down to his shoulders as you slowly bend to his ear. Goosebumps prickle across his flesh as you whisper, softly, “Text me the next time you’re going to be away this long.”

Yuuta’s shudder is sinful. 

“I won’t,” he croaks, then backtracks. “Take this long again. I promise.”

Your lips twist into a wry grin. “Good.”

ty for reading (๑´`๑)♡ for my lovely anon, rosie <3

[mushyblushyredhead]

I noticed you're doing fics for Helluva Boss, so I wanted to request a fic about a tickle fight between Blitzø and Fizzarolli where Blitzø wants to make things like it was when they were teenagers and starts acting like a little shit to provoke Fizzarolli, and a tickle fights ensues, only to be broken up by Stolas and Asmodeus where they both end chasing their own imp boyfriends.

TickleTober 2024 🎃

Day 2: Chase

Switches!Blitzø & Fizzarolli

Word Count: 1.7k

⚠️ Warning for some language & mild spoilers!

And also kinda AU ending here where everything’s good and nobody’s hearts get broken (iykyk) 🥲

“Hey, thanks for inviting me out tonight,” Fizzarolli smiled at his now present friend, Blitzø.

“Oh, uh, sure thing,” Blitz awkwardly replied. “Anything to get our minds off of…y’know what happened the other day.” It had only been one day since Blitz and Fizz had been captured by the bounty hunter, Striker, and Blitz insisted that he and Fizz needed a day to hangout and catch up now that they seemed to be on good terms.

Although they both got some closure after so long while nearly escaping with their lives, Blitz still felt like it wasn’t enough. After all that, they were just going to part ways and walked off like nothing happened? No, Blitz already lost his best friend so long ago. He didn’t want it to happen again. They deserved to at least hang out and rekindle their friendship once more.

And that’s where they were at; Blitz invited Fizzarolli out to dinner, and they decided to rendezvous back to Fizz’s place to spend the rest of the evening there.

Except, Blitz was starting to feel guilty. And awkward. He was feeling guilty about being awkward for this hangout. Here he was with his best friend that he wished to rekindle with after so many years, and now he didn’t know what to say or do. What was he even supposed to say after all these years? He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or worse, say something that would set Fizz off and remind him exactly why their friendship ended in the first place.

Blitz’s overthinking was clouding his hearing, he wasn’t aware that Fizzarolli was speaking to him. He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt something nudge his shoulder. “Huh? What?”

“I said,” Fizz repeated. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been zoning out this whole time.”

“Oh, heh. No, don’t worry about it. Guess I just drank a little too much tonight,” Blitz lied, forcing a smile.

Fizz could tell Blitz was lying, but he didn’t want to push it. “Oh, okay then.”

Uh-oh. Now it was silent again. Awkward silence.

C’mon, c’mon! Say something! Blitz racked his brain for something to say. Shit! He felt he was never good at this whole sentimental stuff; he was only good at ruining things. There had to be something he could say or do to save their friendship even more. But what? Why was talking to his best friend so hard to do?

He peeked over and saw Fizz fiddling with his prosthetic animatronic arms. Blitz quickly turned his head away as guilt washed over him again. He was never going to forgive himself for causing…that to Fizzarolli. Was that the reason why he couldn’t talk to him anymore? Because he still carried that heavy guilt from all those years ago?

Whatever the reason, Blitz didn’t want it to ruin his friendship any longer. He cleared his throat, getting Fizz’s attention. “So…heh…those robot arms of yours must make you pretty damn good with Oz in bed, huh?”

Fizz scowled, but it quickly melted into a visible smile. “Fuhuhuck Blitz, can you not bring any weird jokes into a normal conversation?”

“Hey, I used to be a crappy clown. It’s my job to crack weird jokes all the time.” Blitz grinned, nudging his friend in the side. “Besides, you seem to have no problem with it since you laughed.”

Fizz yelped, arching away from where Blitz’s elbow hit him. “A-AAH! Watch it with your pointy elbows!”

Blitz cocked his head to the side. He had never heard Fizzarolli make a sound like that before. It took him a solid few seconds before he figured it out. No fucking way…even after all these years! A wicked slow grin spread across his face. He wasn’t feeling guilty or hesitant anymore. He knew exactly how he was going to bond with his friend again. The way he always did when they were teenagers.

“Hey Fiiiiiizz~!” Blitz sing-songed. “You always complain about my jokes being so shitty yet you laugh at every single one!”

“I do not!” Fizz protested.

Perfect. “Do too, watch!” Remember that legless balloon horse I always made as a kid? Well, how did he lose his legs in the first place?” Blitz paused for dramatic effect to deliver his punchline while he sneakily slid his tail behind Fizz. “…Too much horseplay!”

As soon as he said the punchline, Blitz jabbed and wriggled his tail end against Fizz’s side, causing him to emit that same high-pitched yelp.

“Ha! See? You still laugh at my jokes!”

“I wahahasn’t laughing, idiot!” Fizz shot back. He cursed himself for letting a giggle slip out. “Ihihit’s your fucking tahahail!”

Blitz hummed. “Hmm, I guess you’re right. I’ve always been a pain in your side, huh?” Blitz quickly tased Fizz’s side to playfully emphasize his point.

This time, Fizz squeaked and flinched away from the touch. “Blihihihitz!” He couldn’t hold back his giggles now. “S-Stohohop doing thahahat!”

Blitz sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but he didn’t let up and continued to poke Fizz’s side repeatedly. “Look, Fizzarolli, I’m trying to lighten the mood here, crack some jokes, and build our friendship back, and all you wanna do is laugh in my face like whatever I say is the most ridiculous thing!”

“You ahahahare ridiculous, Blihihihitzo!”

Normally, Blitz hated whenever anyone called him by his previous name. But he made an exception for this case; he knew Fizz wasn’t trying to insult him for real, but he still made a dramatic show by pretending to be offended.

“Oh, now you’ve gone too far, Raviolli! You know the ‘o’ is silent in my name now!” Before he could let Fizz answer back, Blitz attacked him for real. He leapt on top of Fizz, and dug his claws against wherever he could reach.

Fizz emitted a funny screech as he was glomped, immediately bursting into loud cackles. “BLIHIHIHITZ! NohohohAAAAA! STAHAHAHAhahap!!”

Blitz pulled his hands back. “Alright, you whiner. I’ll stop.” Fizz breathed a sigh of relief. But he immediately burst out laughing again as Blitz’s wiggling claws went back to his torso.

“WHAAAAHAHAT THE FUHUHUCK, BLIHIHIHIHITZ!!?”

Blitz grinned as wickedly as the Radio Demon. “What? You didn’t say for how long you wanted me to stop!”

“F-FUHUHAHAHACK YOUHOOHOOHOO, YOU CLAHAHAHAHOWN!!”

“Alright, smart ass,” Blitz chuckled evilly. “You wanna make this worse for yourself by calling me names? Because you clearly still have a lot of fight in ya if you can keep sassing me. Luckily…” he cracked his knuckles for dramatic effect. “I know just how to squeeze that sass out of you.”

“Not unless I squeeze it out of you, first!” Fizz shot back, surprising Blitz by throwing him off with his robotic legs. Now, it was Fizz’s turn to snicker like a villain. “You were right, Blitz, these robotic arms of mine do have their advantages for a lot of things!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, uhhh…truce?”

Elsewhere, Asmodeous and Stolas were chatting over tea together. They were relieved that their loved ones were not only safe back home, but there were also finally getting along. It was nice to see the former duo finally rekindling their friendship.

It wasn’t until they started to hear distant screams of protest that made their protective boyfriend instincts kick in, and rush to the scene. When they saw what was happening, there were relived there was no real danger but instead were silently gushing at the scene; Blitz and Fizzarolli engaged in an all-out tickle fight. The two demons were rolling around on the floor, tickling each other silly, and screaming for the other to give up.

“GIHIHIHIVE UHUHUP, BLITZ!!”

“Y-YOU FIHIHIHIHIRST, YOU ROBOHOHOHOT FREAK!!”

“NAAAAHEEHEEHEE—NEVER!!”

Ozzie and Stolas both rolled their eyes fondly at each other. As adorable as the sight was, they knew how stubborn their boyfriends could be. If they didn’t intervene soon, this tickle fight could last for hours.

Luckily, they knew just how to intervene.

Fizz and Blitz halted their tickle attacks when they heard Stolas’ voice. “Oh, Fizzarolli, if you want Blitzy to give in, you’ll have to go for his underarms and tummy!”

Blitz paled and then blushed. “Shut your damn beak, Stolas! You stay out of this!”

Fizz giggled like a gremlin. “HA! Your furry boyfriend called you out!” He immediately stopped laughing when he heard Ozzie say, “And Blitz, if you want Fizzy here to give up, you have to go for his tummy! And especially under his chin; it makes him let out the cutest little squeaks and chirps!”

Now it was Fizzarolli’s turn to blush madly. He stammered, then whined. “Ozzie! Whyyyyy?! Blitz doesn’t need to know that!”

“But now I do! Ohhh this changes everything! Finally, now I can get you back after all these years!”

“Not if I get you first!” Fizz growled, stretching his robotic limbs.

Stolas and Ozzie exchanged looks. They both smirked, silently agreeing.

“Shall we teach them a lesson?” Ozzie grinned.

Stolas chuckled. “Love to. After you, Asmodeus.”

The smaller imps paused their attacks again as they were engulfed in their partners’ shadows. They slowly looked up and gulped, knowing those looks far too well with what it meant.

“Uhh Blitz?”

“Yeah, run.”

The two imps took off running, flustered beyond comprehension at their partners chasing them, knowing what was going to happen as soon as they were caught. And their boyfriends? They couldn’t help but tease and coo how they were going to get them just to fluster them even more. And it worked like a charm.

“Just so you know, this is all your fault!” Fizz exclaimed.

“Hey, it’s your fault, too!” Blitz shot back. “But quit worrying, Fizz. It’s not like our furry boyfriends can even catch up to us!”

The two immediately slammed into Stolas and Asmodeus, Stolas easily portaling them both.

“‘They’ll never even catch up to us’, huh?” Fizz sarcastically remarked.

Blitz stammered nervously. “Stolas, what the hell?! You can’t use your portals, you cheater!”

Stolas hummed. “Since when have you ever cared about fairness in these silly games, Blitzy?” Said imp blushed at that comment. “Now then, where were we, Asmodeus?”

“I believe we were just about to teach these two a lesson about thinking they could outrun us. We always catch up! And you know what happens when we do~!” Ozzie playfully reminded.

Both demons each grabbed and cradled their imp boyfriends in their arms, holding them securely as they squirmed in anticipation. The night was no longer silent as Stolas and Ozzie tickled their boyfriends silly, enjoying the sweet sounds of their screeches and laughter.

THE END <3

Hope you love this, anon! 🫶🏻

[iamthecomet]

𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶 𝔒𝔫𝔢: ℭ𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔄𝔤𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫

Pairing: Raindrop Rating: G Words: 885 Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows Divider by @ghuleh-recs

Rain finds it hard to look at Dew when he’s like this. Hyper focused. Hands full. A little furrow dug in between fair eyebrows. Tongue pinned between his fangs, poking out just enough. Corners of his lips pulling down as he really gets into it. The world dissolving around him. 

It makes Rain want to kiss him. Or strangle him. Both. He should look away. They’re doing the sort of parallel play that they always do after a tour winds down. Instrument maintenance in an otherwise empty practice room. Dew cleaning and restringing guitar after guitar. Making little changes to help him out next time–things that are still fresh on his mind since they’ve only been home a few days. 

Dew’s sitting on the floor, cross legged. Guitar on his lap. Fingers flying over the frets. Headphones on–whatever he’s playing piped into his head alone. Rain gave up on his bass a while ago. It’s restrung, it’s clean. He has other things he could do–practice. Work on the little things he kept fumbling over. Start plucking out new bass lines for the album Papa says they need written write away. But he doesn’t bother.  He can’t imagine anything else he’d rather do than watch Dew. 

Dew’s one crooked fang digs into his lip when he really concentrates. He’s bent over the guitar now, head bobbing. Foot bouncing where it’s trapped beneath one of his skinny thighs. 

Rain loves to watch him play. He doesn’t get to often. Even when they practice it feels like a performance. And Rain has to focus on hitting all his marks, and not falling up the stairs, and not fucking up the song. And Dew–in those cases–isn’t like this. Isn’t small and quiet and himself. He is a persona on stage–most of it true to life, but this feels more genuine. 

And, he’s fucking adorable. The fans will never see him like this–Dew would see it as a weakness. Rain thinks that’s stupid but secretly he’s glad he gets to call this version of Dew his. 

He stands–he can’t help it. Can’t wait anymore. He puts his bass away. Dew doesn’t notice or look up–engrossed in his guitar, in the music. Head swaying, whisps of long golden hair coming loose from the bun at the back of his head to fall over his cheeks. Rain sits down behind him. Brackets Dew with his legs, careful not to bump the guitar as he does. He presses his chest right up against Dew’s chest, hands slipping down to rest at Dew’s waist. Gentle. 

He smells like weed and cinnamon. Rain inhales. Dew leans back against him a little. That’s the only indication Rain gets that Dew knows he’s there at all. That’s ok, Rain doesn’t really want attention. He just wants to watch. 

He hooks his chin over Dew’s shoulder and casts his eyes down. Watches those lithe fingers fly over the frets. Rain can hear the headphones now–can tell he’s practicing Phantom of the Opera solos–a song they’ve never even played live. Leave it to Dew to be the over achiever. Rain turns his head to look at Dew’s profile. Sharp cheekbones. Furrowed brow. A little peek of pink tongue sticking out between his fangs–both of them really digging into that bottom lip now. 

Rain wants to press his thumb to it–pull it free. But that seems–invasive. Distracting.  He nuzzles against him instead, tucking his face into Dew’s neck and shuffling as close as he can, like he wants to crawl into Dew’s skin with him. 

Dew picks up a raspy purr. It’s quiet–but Rain feels it. He’s not even sure Dew knows he’s doing it. Satanas he’s adorable like this. It’s unfair. Criminal. Rain can’t stand it. 

Before he realizes he’s doing it he’s opened his jaw and clamped down on the juncture between Dew’s neck and shoulder. He can’t help it–he doesn’t even know why he’s doing it. He just knows if he doesn’t put Dew in his mouth and rattle him around like a chew toy right now he’s going to lose it. 

Dew jolts.  “What the fuck, dude?” 

Dew stops playing, rips the headphones off, he looks down at Rain. Furrow in his brow gone now–instead his eyebrows are up by his hairline. The puzzled look on his face doesn’t help. Rain bites down a little harder before he gets a hold of himself again. 

“Sorry,” Rain mumbles, unlatching his jaw to talk. He wants to dig in again. Wants to sink his teeth in and carry Dew around in his jaw for the rest of eternity. 

“You bit me,” Dew laughs. He’s looking at Rain like he’s lost his mind–maybe he has. But the way he reaches over to tuck a dark curl behind Rain’s ear makes the water ghouls heart swell. Doesn’t matter if Dew thinks he’s insane, because Dew loves him all the same. 

Rain nuzzles against him again. “You looked cute,” he mumbles.

Dew blinks at him, that little crease in his eyebrow comes back as he works it out in his head. But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stop purring. If anything, he leans more of his weight onto Rain. Rain’s purr kicks up in return. 

Dew sighs. “Just…not so hard next time.” 

Rain huffs out a little laugh, “no promises.”

[decadentworld]

Can you imagine Clipboard Buck writing and looking like he’s super busy and judgemental except what nobody sees is him writing “Evan Kinard” over and over with hearts around and giggling and blushing >w<

[lupeloto]

the prompt "promise" for this week's @galladrabbles is from @shippergirl121fic and so i wrote a tooth-rotting little snippet of their married lives together.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

"Where you goin'?" A half-awake Mickey's raspy voice cuts the silence of the early morning. His skin is bare to the sharp morning-air, sending goosebumps down his shivering body.

"Always kicking it off you," Ian mumbles as he gathers the comforter and drapes it over him. "I'll be back soon. Promise." He runs his hands through Mickey's hair and gently down his cheek, placing a soft kiss to his forehead,

He returns to Mickey shuffling around the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air.

"Got the chocolate cream," he tosses a pink box of pastries on the table, giving Mickey a quick peck on the cheek as he pours Ian a mug.

[moldycantaloupe]

Mushy May Day 25

Sharing a secret comfort item

Pairing; Swiss/Aeon

Cw; Disassociation, non-verbal Aeon

notes; thanks as always to @forlorn-crows for putting together the prompts list!

Aeon was… off, in a way. Swiss observed the quint from across the room, their back turned to him as they got their sleepy time tea ready. Usually during this part of their nighttime routine, their hips would be swaying to a silent song, nearly mumbling to themselves as they worked. A giggle here or there. But this night, they were stone. Quiet. 

He pretended to not have been staring at them when they suddenly turned, a steaming mug cradled in their hands. His suspicions were only proven further, though, with their solemn expression and nearly dead eyes. Had something happened? He wasn’t sure; they were great all day, the shift happened just an hour prior. When their bubbly persona suddenly went quiet. They beckoned Swiss as they began walking back to their shared room, even their tail dragging behind them. Swiss’ twitched in anxiety as he went to follow.

They were quicker than him in all regards, fast shuffling towards the door before they entered. Swiss was ten paces behind, and when he entered himself, they were standing next to the bed, their mug suspended in the air as they tried to deposit it to the bedside table. Swiss closed the door behind him and stalked towards their figure, their breathing shallow but not enough to warrant panic. Autopilot, maybe. Carefully, he took the mug from them and finished setting it down. They did nothing to acknowledge this notion but to move their arm back down their side.

“Hey,” Swiss leaned in to try and meet their eyes, which he was successful in. They stared back, but they weren’t looking. “Hey, bug, you in there?”

Aeon blinked once, twice, before their eyes began to flutter and widen slightly, suddenly aware again. They took in a deep breath before sighing, leaning back into Swiss’ body.

“There you are…” Swiss cooed softly, kissing their shoulder. They still didn’t respond, not vocally at least, but it was a start. “What’s happening?”

Aeon bit their lip and gave a halfhearted shrug.

“Can you talk?” A beat, they opened their mouth before shutting it, and shook their head. “Alright, we can work with that. C’mere.”

Swiss guided them to lay on the bed, on top of the covers, but didn’t join. They stared up at him with those wide eyes, curious and confused.

“Hold on, I think I have something that can, uh…” he waved his hands around as he walked towards his closet, “help.” 

He dug well into the closet until he found what he was looking for, grunting just a bit as he picked up the blanket. He walked back over and sat on the bed with a loud huff, making their mouth twitch in a smile. Another start. 

“This is a weighted blanket Mount gave me ages ago,” Swiss explained as he began to unfold it in his lap, “I used to have problems with, uh, you know,” he chuckled awkwardly, “and he said this could help ‘ground me.’ It helped, a lot, and I think it might help you, too.”

Unceremoniously, he draped the blanket over them, one of the squares hitting them in their chin. They chuffed and poked it away, their eyes watching him intently as he finished laying it all out. He turned off the bedside light before joining them underneath, their arms and legs immediately latching to him.

He waited a couple minutes to gauge their reactions. Their breathing slowly evened back from shallow to deep inhales and exhales. Their eyes were still clouded, a little hazy even, but they seemed to be calm.

“That better?” He whispered. They dug their head underneath the blanket and onto his chest with another chuff and a nod. He smiled and kissed a horn. 

“We do have to talk about this later, okay?” Swiss rubbed their back, and they leaned into his touch. Another beat before they nodded, a bit hesitant. He rested his chin in between their horns and pulled them further into him, a low purr beginning deep in his chest. They nuzzled into it, sighing quietly.

Aeon squeaked, suddenly, barely audible between his purrs and the blanket, but he hummed in consideration.

“Th… thanks.” They practically breathed it out.

“Of course, star.”