#is it even a ficlet at this point?

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao) #but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

[silverskye13]

random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."

i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.

"You didn't answer my summons."

Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.

"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."

Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.

Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.

Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.

[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]

"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.

"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."

Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.

[Good.]

"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.

"I'm a fighter."

Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.

"So?"

"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."

Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"

It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.

[Like ash on a burn.]

"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.

"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.

"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."

"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"

"A crusade well fought I'm sure."

"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."

"Right. And you're fighting because--"

"Because I'm protecting Tango."

"-because it's for his own good?"

Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.

"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"

"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."

"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."

"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."

"No, you came here looking for a fight."

"I didn't."

"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."

"I didn't come here for a fight."

"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."

"Shut up."

"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"

"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.

Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.

"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"

"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."

"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."

Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.

"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."

"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."

Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.

"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"

Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.

"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.

"I'm unarmed."

"That doesn't matter."

Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.

"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."

He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.

"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"

There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.

A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.

"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.

"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.

"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."

Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"

"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."

"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."

Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.

[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]

"Helsknight? The door is locked."

"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.

#rns ficlets #helsknight #welsknight #tanguish (kinda) #this one feels very dense and dramatic #i feel like wels actively seeks out hels when he feels guilty / bad / self loathing #its like a compulsion: punishing yourself because you did wrong #even though its ultimately unproductive #also something something helsknight making some kind of point about how #instilling terror in something to confirm your bias that its dangerous #is more even than the terrified thing causing harm #case and point i scared you into drawing your sword on an unarmed man #i dont know im tired and that was a really badass phrase to just drop on me anon #*evil not even alskdjfjf im going to bed

[artiststarme]

The only real sport Eddie could ever get behind was baseball. He could understand the meaning of the running and the bases, loved the junk food around the arena, and loved hearing the roars of the fans fighting for a common goal. He had memories of going to Hoosiers games with Wayne, baseball caps on their heads, ratty gloves on their heads, and a beer (or coke) against their chests.

It had been a long time since he’d accompanied Wayne to a game that wasn’t on TV. But as soon as Steve uncovered his interest in America’s favorite pastime, it was only a matter of time before a new tradition started.

Now, going to a ball game wasn’t anywhere near as interesting as the last session of a good campaign or being immersed in the metal scene at an amazing concert. But seeing Steve’s smiling face beaming when one of the players hit a double, watching his whoop for joy as all bases scored, and hearing his screams of amusing horror when the red made a bad call made Eddie’s day.

And the best part of every game was holding Steve’s hands under a cap of their laps and sneaking kisses amongst the excitement of the surrounding fans when a player scored a point to the board. As they sneak a fleeting glimpse of love amongst the chaos of the last game of the season, Eddie can hardly imagine being anywhere else.

#steddie off to the ball game! #Steve is just happy that Eddie likes one sport even though he calls points ‘goals’ #Wayne absolutely took him to baseball games #have you seen how many baseball caps he had in his trailer #dude is a fan #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet

[crystallinemoonlight]

sometimes i'll think about how, at the start of episode four, pete offers to help porsche guess who he might have kissed at the pier the night before, and i imagine a crackfic where porsche goes on a quest to find out who it was by kissing his colleagues one by one - starting with pete of course that man was ready to sacrifice himself for the cause when porsche had questions about casual hookups later in the episode, offering himself up without hesitation

he visits them one by one; pol is confused... but intrigued, it's like one of tankhun's series! arm already knows it wasn't him but insists they check it anyway... just to be sure, right? you never know. ken says he'll break his face if he tries anything (very suspicious, porsche makes sure to highlight his name). big doesn't know whether to be angry or confused, he wasn't even there??? no he and ken didn't sneak in halfway through because of a secret crush, this isn't one of tankhun's series! tankhun asks what they're doing and if he can join but porsche isn't about to open that can of worms.

maybe at some point kinn catches on and realizes porsche doesn't remember but is rating the others based on if they kiss better or worse than the ~mystery person~, which is giving him an ego boost up until porsche declares that one of his friends is actually a better kisser and therefore can't possibly have been involved (said friend is very confused about why khun kinn is giving him death glares for the rest of the week)

you can even throw in some chan or vegas or anyone else if you want to, just go crazy with it, i think that'd be really funny especially if porsche just casually blasts vegas after they make out for a solid minute saying "no you're good but the other guy was just less desperate you feel me, sorry bro".

#it just sounds so funny in my head #crack 100 feel free to add whatever you want #i just wonder what porsche told pete when they were guessing who it could be?? #apo always says mile's lips are soft and his teeth are very clean so maybe that #i feel vegas would be the type of guy who wants to double triple check and just will not stop #and itd be so funny if porsche goes along just not even realizing whats happening; he just wants to figure out who he kissed #ESPECIALLY BC HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW KINNS GAY YET. HE DOESN'T KNOW. HE HAS NO GAYDAR. NONE #''vegas is such a nice guy he really wanted me to be sure in case it was him. hes so secure abt his sexuality'' #<- porsche assuming vegas is straight #double points if he never even considers the fact it might have been kinn at the pier. it just never occurs to him #kpts #kinnporsche #porsche kp #kinn kp #vegasporsche #peteporsche #kp the series #kpts ficlet #kinnporsche the series

[adhd-merlin]

Arthur’s skin is still warm from the bath, the tips of his hair still damp, and he smells faintly of lavender.

“Is Queen Mithian still as beautiful as they say?” Gwen asks Arthur.

She’s lying with her head pillowed on Arthur’s shoulder while his fingertips brush against her temple and her hair — more an absent-minded motion than an actual caress.

Arthur’s fingers stop. He kisses the top of her head. “Never as beautiful as my queen.”

Gwen pokes him lightly in the chest with her finger. “That's not an answer.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” she says, truthfully.

There was a time when Arthur could’ve chosen Mithian instead of Gwen, had he wanted — and he didn’t. (Didn’t choose her, and didn't want her, although he might have wanted to want her, and came close to convincing himself that he did). She’s only curious to hear how Arthur felt about meeting the woman he almost married again, after so long.

“I suppose she is. Beautiful,” Arthur answers after a pause. “If everyone’s comments are any indication. I can no longer tell. You’ve ruined me for any other woman.”

Gwen smiles. “You flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Arthur says. “Your beauty outshines anyone else’s. And it’s not even near the top of the list of your qualities.”

He says things like that, sometimes — he even means them. Monumental things, uttered with complete casualness, not because he thinks them insignificant but as if he were just stating facts. Something he would be stupid to deny or to resist.

In the early days of their courtship, Gwen used to find it terrifying. She’s since grown used to it. Mostly.

“But I wasn’t there to outshine anyone,” she teases him.

She’s being playful, perhaps a bit giddy from the wine. She expects Arthur to reply in the same vein — to heap more compliments on her until they reach the height of ridiculousness, or to make a silly joke — but his tone shifts.

He takes Gwen’s hand and places it over his chest, covering it with his. “You are always with me,” he says, solemnly.

And their hands aren’t quite in the right place, because Gwen’s head is in the way, but she understands his meaning all the same — my heart. The term of endearment he sometimes uses for her, when feeling especially sentimental.

#well excuse me for thinking arthur would act like a complete simp around his wife. that's canon. #this is from an arwen smut chapter. I'm not even linking to it. #for the 2 (?) people who cared yes I will write that last vignette at some point #I'm stuck on a merlin x sefa ficlet that doesn't want to be written #it might never see the light of day but I'd like it to happen #pray for me. although I think no one but me cares #it is now my mission to make merlin x sefa appealing to at least 1 other person #and I believe I can do it through the power of my mediocre writing #merlin fanfiction

[zmediaoutlet]

TV on but muted. News but nothing interesting. Winter weather. Traffic. Not a lot of coverage in small-market Kansas about what might be going on with the sister of God and the devil on the loose. Dean’s been sitting in the oldie bucket chair by the table with his feet up on Sam’s bed for an hour, watching. Ever since Sam drove them out here, away from the bunker in case Lucifer came back from his banishing with a vengeance, wearing their friend’s fake smile and willing to kill either of them to make a point. No coverage of that, either. Dean doesn’t know how they’d manage that from Topeka. Special report: Satan Kidnaps Hapless Angel, News at 11. Avoid Possession: Just Say No.

“You gonna eat?” Sam says. Neutral.

Dean swallows again. “It’ll keep,” he says, and takes a drink instead.

Sam eats. He picks up Dean’s cold burrito and stashes it in the minifridge. The bathroom, then, and Dean listens to him piss through the door and listens to the sink running and then listens to him brushing his teeth. The sounds of nearly every decent night in his whole life. Normal. What he should be focusing on, instead of how his head is back in the bunker with Castiel-but-not-Castiel grinning at him all wrong and he couldn’t do anything about it, and how his head is decades in the past and leagues under the sea where those people were so desperate and brave and he couldn’t do anything about it, and how there’s this rip in the fabric of the world and light’s pouring away into it and the dark’s right there, holding a hand and waiting for him to take it, and he can’t do anything about that, either. It’s getting old.

Beer’s empty. Sam comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands on his hips. “Gonna turn this off,” he says, and doesn’t wait for Dean’s say-so before the TV goes dark. Dark outside too, the room dim. “Want another?”

Dean shakes his head. Sam sits on the side of the bed, next to where Dean’s got his feet propped. Tugs off his boots and tosses them toward his bag, peels off his flannel. Braces his hands on the edge of the bed and takes a deep breath. Blood on the v-collar of his undershirt. Dean doesn’t know when that happened. Add it to the list.

Sam curls a hand around the back of Dean’s calf. Squeezes, and lets his thumb drift over the side of Dean’s knee, and looks Dean in the face. Takes Dean two full seconds to get it. He snorts, kind of. “Not exactly…” he starts, but doesn’t have an endgame.

“So,” Sam says. Neutral again. He hooks his hand under Dean’s knee and lifts his leg off the bed, then pulls the bucket chair closer, the casters squeaking across the shitty carpet and Dean ending up a hell of a lot closer, all of a sudden, their knees bumping and Sam still holding his leg, still looking him in the face. All over his face, eyes and lips and places Dean can’t imagine are interesting.

Whatever he sees he seems to take as invitation, because he gets his other hand on Dean’s jaw and thumbs his chin, touches his lower lip, tugs. Dean closes his eyes and is tugged. Is kissed. Slow, close-mouthed. Again, with Sam’s hand sliding over his thigh. Again, with his mouth pressed open, mint—and he turns his head, breathes out, the back of his head exploding. Fire underwater.

“Tell me later,” Sam says, quiet, very close. He smells like soap. “Fucked up day. I want it to end better.”

Blood on his t-shirt. Dean finds his shoulder, blind, slides a hand up the back of his neck into his hair. His throat aches and he should say something but whatever there is wells pointless and then dies. Sam’s lips touch behind his ear, low on the side of his throat. He tips his head, hurting until Sam breathes out hot there, making this brief deep sound as he does, and then Dean’s body turns over, slow and cautious as babying a beater into a new gear. Sam’s hand slides up under his shirt, skimming up his belly, warm following it. A life-raft. He opens his eyes and there’s Sam’s body, whole and there, familiar, his. Sam gripping his shoulders hard and then holding his face in both hands. Eyes on his face, waiting. Dean nods and Sam takes this stuttered breath in and then he pulls and Dean lurches from the chair, meets Sam where he is, crawls over the top of him as Sam falls back on the bed, finds the grooves they’ve known for years, painstakingly carved out of the world they’re bound to. Silent running, safe in the dark.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 232 #and now i have seriously written the vessel dry lol #not even sure the point's getting across here #but an hour is my limit on these particular schnitzengruben

[blorbocedes]

for my darling @effervescentdragon

Everyone's abuzz with what Sebastian is going to announce at Suzuka.

"Seriously, why do they all think it's going to be bees?" Sebastian questions, bewildered, learning how to scroll his Instagram comments.

"Darling, you did make that your whole 'thing.' Retire to have children save the bees and all." Christian replies noncommittal, busy firing the intern who brought Sebastian cucumbers and ranch instead of distilled vinegar as a dip.

"It's not a 'thing.' I care about bees. Bees produce --" Sebastian huffs, reciting all the world saving facts Christian's heard before and tuning it out into comfortable German accented white noise. "Why would I plant beehives in Suzuka now? It's going to enter monsoon season. There's hardly any flowers around to pollinate either. Makes no sense."

"Everyone knows you do what you want. You'd find a way." Christian runs an affectionate hand over Sebastian's hair, grateful he's taken that sodding headband off. That was a whole thing too. Sebastian still leans into the touch like he did when he was his driver, a decade ago, and closes his eyes. Sebastian absentmindedly dips his cucumber in truly monstrous amounts of vinegar.

Bee enthusiast fans were disappointed when Sebastian went on stage for Suzuka's media day and announced his project in collaboration with Redbull. Other fans had been die-hard convinced it was returning back to F1, in the championship winning Redbull no less, after the interview with Brundle where Sebastian refused to rule out he would ever return to racing.

It turns out -- Sebastian is joining Redbull for a children's charity foundation. It isn't until the very end when Sebastian says he hopes to leave behind a better world for the future, and equal opportunities for all children -- and then almost shyly, sheepishly smiling while patting his stomach -- including my own.

The crowd explodes in cheers.

Sebastian Vettel is pregnant!

The announcements end with Christian Horner coming on stage to conclude how excited he is with this new partnership with Sebastian, how he never truly left, the importance of the charity, how he is also looking forward to the baby bull, with his arm casually around Sebastian side fingers grazing his bump -- staring fondly at his pregnancy glowing face. This time, horror dawns on long time Vettel fans in understanding who were desperate to have him return to racing.

Sebastian Vettel is pregnant with Christian Horner's Baby!

#christian/seb #f1 rpf #this is not crack this is what's happening at Suzuka. if you even care #thank you to the anon who pointed out the monsoon part #my ficlets

[zerozeroren]

As soon as Tony realises that physical touch is acceptable and welcome, and gets comfortable with it, it's just PDA all around

And still not dating, mind you, nope, not at all, not in the slightest (according to them)

#my art stuff #attitudes #sophie brannt #sophie #tony #tony leventini #sophietony #my ocs #I remember when I once sent Ume a ficlet where they talk through Sophie's trauma and she was like wtf they're not even together yet and - > #they're in each other's space so much and constantly doing all the smalltouching like my characters are married and they don't do that! #and I was like: yeah that's the point :D they're two lonely touchy-feelies who finally found each other #just you wait and see what they're like when they're a couple

[stevebabey]

The drip in the roof of the trailer is what wakes Steve.

A steady plink! of water meeting wood somewhere above them. It always leaks a little in the trailer after it rains, like a gentle metronome of fat raindrops sneaking inside the cracks. While it used to annoy him, Steve just finds it soothing now.

The curtains Eddie had poorly shut the night before are askew just an inch, letting through a sliver of sunlight. A beam sneaks through, makes the room glow, walls painted golden. Steve revels in it and it’s warmth; lets out a yawn and stretches like a big cat, giving a soft groan as he does.

His elbow knocks into Eddie’s side as he does and Steve feels the familiar rush in his chest, fond affection filling every vein— and he loves it.

He loves that momentarily forgetfulness born from his sleepiness, where he forgets that he gets to wake up with someone by his side. Wake up next to Eddie, no less.

Steve loves it, adores it, because really what it means is he gets to remember it every morning.

He gets to roll closer and poke Eddie gently on the cheek, a small smidge of him just wanting to check if he’s real. If this, this love, is real and his. Eddie lets out a groggy groan, buries his face further in the pillow. Steve grins. Yep, he’s real.

Eddie makes another groggy noise and this time pulls his face out of his pillow slowly. He looks like a disgruntled cat, hair still stuck to his cheek, some small patch of drool left on the pillow. Eddie makes a soft ‘hmph!’ and one hand reaches up, wiping across his face lazily. His eyes peek open.

And as much as Steve loves his own secret moment in the morning, it’s blown out of the water by this every time — the moment Eddie sees him. Brown eyes see him and Eddie just softens. Like butter in the sun. Sinks further into his pillow and smiles, sleepy and wonderful.

Normally, they both let sleep comes and go, drifting across the sheets in half-hearted cuddles that Steve melts for every time. Today, Eddie’s smile grows into a happy grin. Then his hands are stretching out and he’s making small grabby hands across the sheets, urging his boyfriend over.

“C’mere,” he says, hands finding Steve’s side and pulling him, soft. “Gimme.”

Steve grins, heart flip-flopping. Goes without any resistance, shifting to snuggle up to Eddie, tucking up and under his chin as Eddie’s does his best to scoop him up in his arms. It’s warm. Eddie’s pulse is a small comfort to Steve as he rests his head upon Eddie’s chest, hands curled around his middle, thumbing at soft scar tissue. Thump-thump-thump, Eddie’s heart says, and Steve can somehow easily read the love in it; his stomach turns again, in a dizzy elated way.

“Mm, birthday boy,” Eddie hums, but he’s still so sleepy that birthday sounds more like birfday. Steve feels his heart jump in surprise — a moment in which he’s baffled Eddie knows. That Eddie remembers. The last couple birthdays… well, he hadn’t been friends with Robin til after his birthday in ‘85 and then, well, with everything in ‘86… It’s been awhile since someone has remembered is all.

He doesn’t mean to sound as surprised he does when he murmurs, “You remembered?”

Eddie hums again, a sweet loving noise. His arms around Steve tighten and Steve feels his heart keen when his lips brush across Steve’s temple. A gentle kiss is pressed there. It feels like everything he needs — this quiet small moment of wonder, a tiny moment of tenderness, just for Steve. He presses his own kiss back, lips against Eddie’s collarbone.

“S’look,” Eddie continues, dragging his arm off Steve to point somewhere on the wall. Steve follows his gaze and then— there it is, on Eddie’s calendar. Circled in red is April 29th. It’s covered in sloppy hearts, so much there’s no room for any word other than ‘Steve!!’ in the middle; his birthday. Marked so Eddie would remember, wouldn’t even dare the chance to forget it.

Eddie drops his arm, returning it to where it was, hooked over Steve’s side so his hand can run soothing soft touches down his back. He sighs again, another sleepy noise, and Steve could probably cry.

“Precious birthday boy, mm,” Eddie mumbles lovingly. “Lovely precious birthday boy,” he warbles on, voice gooey enough that Steve know he means it. Actually thinks that— that he’s precious, and lovely, and everything more. “What d’ya wanna do t’day?”

Steve tightens his cuddle and whispers, “Just this.”

He can feel Eddie’s grin, in response, and then there’s another kiss to his head. Just this. It’s the complete truth.

#me and steve are like that spider-man meme #pointing at each other #BIRFDAY TWINS!!! #so ofc… havé some steddie loveliness <3 #MWAH #it’s not even technically the 29th for like half of u guys #DONT CARE!!! #have it #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #this is indeed just a wee ficlet #steddie fic #morning cuddles 🥹🥹 when is it MY TURN #as ALWAYS!!! #gay ppl in my phone…. this one is for u

[ladycrimsonandblack]

drumbeat

He hears the drums in Impel Down first, weak from poison and dying, but he pays them no mind because Bon-chan is there and he needs no other rescue.

He hears them again when he drops from the sky, but Ace is kneeling and chained and about to be executed, so the drumbeat slowly fades into the background as he advances across the battlefield.

The weird golden guy crashes a fist against him, and the drums get so loud that they muffle the rest of the battle, but then the fist is gone and Ace is there and free, so Luffy runs and forgets about them completely.

Then Ace turns back. And all Luffy can hear is drums, beating da-dum, da-dum, da-dum through his blood.

Everything is slow and funny. Luffy is kneeling on the ground, and the angry magma guy is coming closer and closer and closer and Ace is screaming and –

Everything is so slow and everyone moves as if through molasses – hmm, yummy, should tell Sanji to make some later – and Luffy can see where Ace is going and he can see where he will end up and Luffy doesn’t –

Magma guy is really close now, and Jimbei is far away, and Ace is here and he will –

Luffy doesn’t like it. Luffy should do something about it.

Except he can’t. Except he’s too slow and too weak and his crew is far away so they can’t even help him by doing what he can’t do. Except that Ace will protect him either way, because Ace doesn’t think he’s important. Except that the magma guy is strong and Luffy is weak and tired and about to fall asleep and –

Ace steps in front of Luffy.

Da-dum, goes Luffy’s heart and everything is suddenly clear and bright and wonderful. Da-dum, and Luffy’s arm moves when he tells it to, moves funny and quick and Luffy can finally do something. Da-dum, and Luffy pushes Ace aside and Ace bounces against the ground like Luffy always does and the magma fist reaches Luffy.

Luffy can hear Ace screaming, but it doesn’t hurt, not really, because Luffy bends and smushes his body together and the fist goes through but does not hurt anything and Luffy is laughing, loud and free.

Everyone stops and stares, and that’s funny too. Luffy laughs harder, shishishi echoing in the silence.

And then the seagull-hat guy goes white and shouts, “Forget about Firefist! Stop Strawhat! Stop Strawhat Luffy right now!” And then a lot of people are running towards Luffy, and the magma guy starts moving again, and Luffy is free but Luffy is also tired and he doesn’t know how long this is going to last.

It’s still funny, though, when he bends backwards, and the magma guy’s fist flies over his head, and when Luffy kicks him in the leg and his leg bends like rubber too, even though he’s magma. And then the other Marines come, but they come with swords because guns don’t work on Luffy and they slash and slash and slash, but their swords suddenly bounce against each other, and flop to the ground when Luffy touches them as if they’re no longer metal, and melt together when Luffy ties two of them in a bow and then slingshots it with his bazooka at the nearest group of Marines.

And then Ace is there, crying and shouting, but moving against Luffy’s back exactly like when they were little and Luffy doesn’t even need to look to know where he is. And then Jimbei comes, enraged and snarling, barreling through the Marines as fast as he can, falling into place in a gap that Ace and Luffy always leave between them, even after all these years. Luffy doesn’t say anything, because Jimbei is helping and he’s glad but –

And the magma guy comes again, but Ace tugs him away and Jimbei guards his back and more and more people come over, pirates and Marines and Revolutionaries, and then they’re running towards the sea and Luffy laughs. He takes Jimbei and Ace by their hands and they go faster and faster, bouncing against the springy stone as people dive out of their way, and Ace is shouting and Jimbei talking, but Luffy laughs and laughs and laughs.

They reach the ships and then they’re free.

Luffy keeps on laughing.

#one piece #this looks so choppy #but i really wanted to do luffy's pov and i wanted to make gear five weird #bc it is weird and strange and kind of horrifying when you look at it from the outside #(like i'll literally never forget luffy just casually deforming kaidou's body) #and luffy is also exhausted at this point and i don't think that the euphoria of the gear five would make his thought process make any sense #i also wanted to describe gear five more #but as i said this is luffy's pov #and he'd never actually pay any attention to his looks or describe himself #even if he does look weird #gear five #spoilers #op spoilers #my writing #ficlet

[cerise-on-top]

I was on Tik Tok and a video appeared of a woman getting ready (makeup, clothes, etc.) to wait for her police wife, I thought of this scenario with Alejandro. Could you do a oneshot like this?

Hey there! Please don't request oneshots or fics or something like that from me, I usually only write those when I'm inspired ^^; I made an exception this time, but please keep that in mind!

Waiting for Alejandro

Among those gentle dreams of twosomeness, where the lovely was the ordinary and loneliness was as far away as the end of the universe, you prayed. With your eyes closed, with your mind showing you beautiful, vivid dreams of your loved one caressing you, giving you the love you yearned for, you murmured along words of love. The gods would be benevolent enough to let you experience that happiness just once more. Where the wars would never end, where the fights were eternal, you hoped for a small respite from it all, granting such to a lone, tired soldier. A warm hand on his cheek, a smile you almost forgot in your wake, tender words exchanged. The pain of being alone was forgotten for just another moment, tearing your heart open any other time. But alas, a dream was as fleeting as a petal drifting through the wind.

Birdsong, louder than what you were used to, tore you from your peaceful slumber, the light shining through the window. It was not bright, but it almost blinded you. And even on this morning, as the birds sang about their love for one another, as they joined one another into an aria of affection, you felt the lightness of your bed. Even this morning, Alejandro had not yet joined you. You turned to his side, images of him slumbering away flickering in front of you. Your safe haven, your sanctuary of rest, was incomplete without him. Taking his pillow into your arms, you closed your eyes. His scent had faded entirely by now. As it was, nothing remained aside from blurry memories. Had you taken him for granted this entire time? Had you not been a good enough partner? Would he even return? Pangs of insecurity gnawed at your heart. Everything was going to be alright, Alejandro was alright. He was going to return soon.

And on your nightstand laid your phone. In your sadness, it seemed less appealing than usual. And yet, somehow, this morning, you felt more drawn to it than usual. Anxiety coursed through you. A simple “I’m coming home tonight” would ease any and all insecurities you had, but the disappointment of not seeing any messages would be too great. Taking it off the charger, you held it in your phone for a moment, running your finger along its case. Curiosity was a strong drive for many, but for you it held more sadness than anything. How long has it been since you had last seen Alejandro? Too long, but today likely wouldn’t change anything. Devoid of any contentment, you sighed. Maybe you should go back to sleep, delude yourself within those dreams of love. He was to return, for you would fight a seven nation army by yourself and boast an empty victory otherwise.

Another few minutes passed, sitting hunched over your phone without ever turning it on. You didn’t know the time, it didn’t matter. It was nothing you needed to know for the time being. An answer to your prayer came in something you didn’t want to see: Your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up and displaying a message.

I will be home in one and a half hours, wait for me 🥰

The sender was Alejandro.

Without batting an eye, you unlocked your phone, hovering your fingers over the virtual keyboard. You wanted to respond, you needed to, but your mind went blank. What were you to say when your mind wouldn’t respond, but your heart sang a little tune? Dancing in its cage, soon to be freed from its shackles. On its stage, it grew warm underneath all the lights. There was naught but a single person as its audience, but the cheers were as wholesome as they were genuine. It beat, it danced in hope. One and a half hours. All this time you were alone, you grew tired, exhausted even. Jumping up from your bed, you made haste towards your closet, picking out some lovely clothes. Alejandro had always loved seeing you in these, complimenting you every time. Today was a day unlike any other. It was special to you in so many ways, you hoped you could make it a day unlike many others for Alejandro as well.

The time spent in the bathroom was not marked by its brevity. Your hygiene made for the base of it all, combing your hair and brushing your teeth so you could feel clean. Although you would have loved to indulge in this little ritual, there was relatively little time. Between rushing to put on your fancy clothes and applying your makeup, you messed up quite a few times. Your speed could have rivaled that of professionals. Even as you poked your eye a few times, even as you applied more makeup than what was likely needed and you had to scrape off little bits. Looking in the mirror, your heart sank. What have you done to yourself? The precipitance caused you to look questionable at most. Alejandro deserved better than that. It was a special day, one to be celebrated. You could under no circumstances afford to look the way you did.

This time with more leisure, you applied everything yet again. Although you may have looked far from perfection, Aphrodite would have been proud of you either way. Rushing to look at your phone, you looked at the time. Ten minutes and the text would have been one and a half hours old.

You stepped outside. The warm sun hit your face and you looked around. No one yet. For as much as every fiber of your being wished for the time to fly by, for those ten minutes to be skipped, you tried to submit to your patience. You had waited for months, surely you could wait another few minutes.

And yet, those ten minutes didn’t seem to pass. If pain and suffering could turn seconds into minutes, then this little waiting game of yours had been turned into hours. Even as you took in the sun’s warm rays, closing your eyes while remembering all those times Alejandro complained about your vitamin D deficiency, as he forced you outside to soak up the warmth, the time didn’t seem to pass. With a sigh you leaned onto the rails.

Thanks for the ride, amigos!

The door to a car was forcefully closed shut and you opened your eyes. Indeed, there he was in all his glory, waving to those who had driven him home. The waiting had paid off. However, you had no control over yourself as you slowly moved towards him. As if on instinct, as if a moth drawn to flame, as if a child seeking its mother’s affection, you sped up, running right at him. Your heart beat loud and heavy in your ears, it was almost unbearable. However, he, too, seemed to have taken notice of you, standing still as he awaited your embrace.

Stumbling and tumbling about, you eventually reached him, wrapping your arms tightly around him. If he was smoke in the air, then you were the jar he was being captured with. You never wanted to let him go again, simply reveling in his touch instead. Alejandro seemed to reciprocate as he wrapped his arms around you as well, laughing as he did so.

“Someone’s very eager to see me today, eh? Good to see you too.”

“I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

The grip he had on you was somewhat tight, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And for a moment, he was no longer a fighter, holding the one he loved the most. The wars were over for the time being, he could finally focus on something equally as important. And for a moment, the world was at peace. However, in order to protect such properly, he had to let go of you eventually, holding onto your shoulder for a moment longer still.

“Look at you, all dolled up just for me. You look stunning today, mi amor.”

“Thank you, I wanted this day to be special for the both of us.”

Taking on his role of a warrior yet again, he put his arm around you, shielding you from any and all harm there may be. Even in the comfort of his own home, Alejandro couldn’t help but fight whenever needed. It was his calling, his raison d’être. Even during the most peaceful times, threats of war always lingered. His walls were high still, only lowering them so you could get inside his heart and paint it with your love. Walking you towards your shared home, he hummed a little tune.

“I’m so glad to finally be home again. Now I can spend my time with you and relax a little bit.”

“Shit, I didn’t cook anything, though. I’m so sorry, Alejandro.”

He laughed yet again. That melodious, loud laughter you came to adore over the years you spent with him. After opening the door, he gave you a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Don’t worry too much about it, we can always just order some takeout.”

#cod #cod x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #this is the 100th request I've written for CoD #and overall I've written 118 things for the fandom #that's so much I have never written this much before. not even for my previous fandoms #this took so long to write even if it may not seem like much and I'm not even satisfied with it #could be worse but it could also be a lot better #writing headcanons is much easier and takes a lot less time as well which is why I usually just stick to those #also me not really taking requests for anything but HCs goes for anyone #the Farah one was an exception since I had a vision that I really wanted to write #but it's rare for me to be inspired enough to want to write a ficlet or something like that #but I really need to get better at writing dialogue. I've always sucked at it #practice makes perfect I suppose but I really gotta find something longer to write at some point #I do have one idea but I'm not sure if I should write it

[theflyingfeeling]

I wanna see jealous Aleksi punish Olli with that vibrator wand 😏

me too, anon, but all I have to offer is this little something:

~

"Oof," Olli huffed when he crawled next to Aleksi in his bunk. Aleksi barely had time to scoot closer to the back wall in time as to not get squished under Olli's body. On any other night, he may not have minded Olli crashing on top of him – he might have even enjoyed feeling Olli's bodyweight on him – but tonight he wasn't in the mood for whatever Olli had in mind when his face had first appeared from behind Aleksi's bunk curtain, some moments after their bandmates had stopped tossing and turning in their respective tour beds.

"Ah, fuck," Olli winced when he tried to make himself more comfortable in the tight space next to Aleksi.

"What's wrong? Heartbroken that the girls from the bar didn't warm up to your dad jokes?"

Sourly Aleksi thought back to a few hours ago, grabbing beers at the local club before they'd have to get back on the road. He knew it was just part of Olli's natural charm, the one he himself had fallen for in the first place, but it didn't mean he'd still find it easy to watch Olli make a whole party of young ladies giggle when he had stopped to entertain them, laughing off how they had mistaken him for a waiter.

It seemed Aleksi's unreasonable snark flew right past Olli as he rubbed his thigh with discomfort written on his face.

"I think I sprain my thigh on stage."

The genuine uneasiness in Olli's voice made Aleksi's face soften in a heartbeat; he himself had experienced a stage injury or two himself while on tour, and with the limited treatment that was available when they were on the road, he knew Olli may have a long night ahead.

"D'you want me to massage it?"

"Yes please." Olli's big eyes glistened in the dark. Aleksi couldn't quite see it, but he could hear the pout in Olli's voice.

"I'll get the wand," Aleksi sighed and climbed over his boyfriend on his way out of the bunk. The miserable pout and the wet puppy eyes quickly changed to an eager smile and a hopeful twinkle, and judging by how rough Aleksi was with his efforts, Olli didn't seem to be in such a great distress after all; Aleksi's knee bumped against the exact spot Olli had just been kneading with his face twisted in pain, but the delight on Olli's face barely faltered at the touch.

Sprained thigh, huh? I see how it is.

Aleksi's mood grew even more bitter as he tiptoed towards the living area of the moving tour bus. Olli's audacity to trick Aleksi into taking care of him when he clearly wasn't hurting as much as he led on was infuriating, not least because of what Aleksi had had to witness at the bar. Fair enough, Aleksi had skillfully masked his annoyance as tiredness, so he couldn't blame Olli for not having picked up on his bad mood and the reason behind it; even so, Olli might as well treat his own injuries for all Aleksi cared.

That was until Aleksi's eyes finally spotted the turquoise vibrator – the origin of which no one seemed to be sure of – and a wicked thought popped into his head.

Olli would get his treatment– one that would taste of his own medicine.

"Right, where is it hurting the most?" Aleksi whispered his question, climbing back to the bunk. While Aleksi had been in the search for the wand, Olli had apparently decided to rest his eyes and blinked them sleepily when Aleksi squeezed back next to him.

"Here," Olli showed the spot on his thigh, putting on his best pout. Aleksi couldn't wait to wash it off his face.

"Let's see what we can do for you then."

The rumble of the tour bus engine was enough to hide the quiet buzz of the vibrator, as well as Olli's blissful sigh as Aleksi began rubbing Olli's thigh in circles. He started gently, as to not raise any suspicion in Olli about his true intention; little would he know this false sense of calmness would be temporary.

"Mmmmmh, oh yeah, feels good," Olli sighed. Aleksi almost frowned at the reaction Olli's whispered moans caused in his traitorous cock.

Determined to still have the upper hand, Aleksi started to slowly shift the movements of the vibrator towards Olli's crotch, subtly enough for Olli not to notice immediately.

"Aah, yeah, right there."

Aleksi swallowed. He had always loved making Olli groan out loud; tonight, however, his mission was something else entirely.

He moved the wand another half an inch up Olli's inner thigh, glancing at Olli's face, ready to catch his reaction once he'd realise what Aleksi was doing.

One more inch and the vibrator would definitely be touching Olli's cock.

One more inch, and Aleksi could feel Olli hold his breath.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Who's smiling now?

"Giving you the massage you so kindly asked for," Aleksi whispered innocently, all the while working the vibrating sex toy briefly against the side of Olli's cock.

"That– that's not where–"

"Oh, sorry, maybe a bit more to the left?"

Olli's mouth opened in a sudden gasp when Aleksi pressed the wand against his dick with more force. In the bunk above, Aleksi could hear Joonas make a small noise in his sleep.

"Shhhhh," Aleksi hushed in Olli's ear.

"Aleksi, what the fu– aaahh!" Olli threw his head back, exposing his neck for Aleksi to graze with his lips. He couldn't help but smile at the way Olli squirmed next to him when he switched on a stronger vibration level.

"We, aahh, we can't fucking do this right now!"

"Little Olli seems to disagree," Aleksi smiled. The bunk aisle nightlight illuminating through the curtain was just enough to reveal the tent that had already formed in the front of Olli's boxers.

"The others will, oh fuck, they'll wake up."

"They won't," Aleksi brought his lips close to Olli's ear again, "because you'll stay quiet enough to not wake them."

Olli's eyes opened slightly to give Aleksi the most incredulous side-eye Aleksi had ever seen from the man. He had to bite his lips to not laugh.

"You're fucking crazy."

"And you fucking love it."

A hint of a smile visited Olli's parted lips, and Aleksi could feel his body relax.

No no, not yet.

Another surprised gasp filled the air when Aleksi clicked the vibration toggle again and began moving the vibrator up and down Olli's erect cock. He stopped to tease the tip in rapid, circular motions that had Olli wiggling beside him, his right hand reaching towards his erection.

"Ow!" Olli winced when Aleksi snapped the hand away with a quick flick of his middle finger.

"Keep your hands off," he murmured in Olli's ear and grinned at the low, furstrated groan sounding from Olli's throat. When Olli's breating picked up at an alarming pace, Aleksi eased the pressure of the wand and moved back down Olli's hard shaft, right down to the base to massage Olli's balls.

"Aah, fucking hell, Aleksi."

"You like that?" Aleksi's mouth was dry and he felt his own cock twitch inside his pants; he may have been annoyed at Olli's antics, but he wasn't immune to Olli's sighing in pleasure next to him.

"Fuck yeah," Olli's reply was breathless and caused another helpless twitch inside Aleksi's boxers.

"Too bad," Aleksi swallowed and lifted the vibrator off Olli's cock.

Olli's eyes opened again, squinting at Aleksi in the dark.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Aleksi didn't even try to hide his victorious smile.

"Naww, I'm not quite the jokester you are."

Olli stared at him in silence, his chest falling and rising as he panted.

"You're... you're not jealous, are you? Because of the... girls at the bar?" Olli asked, brows knitting into a definite frown.

Aleksi merely shrugged before pressing the wand back on Olli's cock without a warning. The small whine that Olli couldn't keep inside was the sweet sound of revenge Aleksi had longed to hear all evening.

"Would you judge me if I was?" Aleksi wasn't sure what lured the question out of his mouth: was he just teasing Olli, or did it come from a more genuine place, the dark corner of Aleksi's mind that still quite couldn't believe someone as hot and sweet and funny and perfect as Olli Matela had chosen him? Was it just some heat-of-the-moment banter that slipped out of his mouth for a lack of a better comeback, or was he actually looking for confirmation that Aleksi had nothing to worry about, nothing heartbreaking to dwell on when his doubts got the best of him and hurled him in the bottomless pit of overthinking and fear?

Olli must have sensed something, for his eyes studied Aleksi attentively, in the way they sometimes did, in the way that made Aleksi want to look away or else he'd get lost in Olli's eyes for good, never to be seen in the terrestial world again.

He never stood a chance, though; if losing himself in Olli's loving gaze was his destined way to go, so be it.

"I fucking love you, Aleksi. You know I do."

Aleksi did.

He kissed Olli to let him know. Olli responded, slowly but with passion, want, need tasting off his tongue, to assure Aleksi he understood the fact of the matter.

"Mmmmh," Olli broke the kiss, "a little further down, please."

It was then Aleksi noticed that the kiss had thrown his massaging hand off course to buzz against Olli's stomach instead.

"So bossy," Aleksi muttered and speeded up the vibrations again, just to put Olli back in his place.

"Aaaahh!"

To make matters worse from Olli's point of view, Aleksi turned his attention back to Olli's neck and left a trail of light kisses there, enjoying the silent sighs coming from Olli's mouth. While Olli was grasping the edge of the bunk bed, possibly just to have something to hold on to since Aleksi didn't allow him to touch himself, Aleksi sneaked his own free hand inside his own boxers to adjust his half-erection, biting his lip to keep back a moan.

The hand controlling the vibrator began working up and down Olli's cock, now pointing towards the ceiling of the bunk, throbbing erratically inside Olli's shorts. Aleksi felt his own respond similarly when he noticed a smudge of precum glistening through the fabric that had tigthened against Olli's erection.

"Fuck, you're leaking," Aleksi sighed in Olli's ear as he began rubbing himself. "You're leaking so nicely for me."

Olli's heavy panting filled the air, to an extent that if one was awake and stopped to listen, one would've definitely heard the sounds of restrained pleasure, and he had begun thrusting his hips up to match the movements of the vibrator.

"Ah, easy now." Aleksi withdrew the wand once again, eyes on Olli's face, ready to catch his reaction.

"Why do you keep doing that?!" Olli whispered with despair in his tone.

Aleksi laughed silently, leaning in again to tough Olli's temple with the tip of his nose.

"For fun," he said and put the wand back on Olli.

"Aaahhh, god, alright, you've had your fun, not let me cum."

Aleksi did a few more rubs at the tip of Olli's shaft before removing the wand.

"Not yet. Not when you're still so needy and loud," Aleksi kissed Olli's neck, perhaps to apologize for showing him no mercy.

Aleksi could feel Olli make an effort at calming himself down and evening his breathing. Then he nodded.

"Okay. Okay. I won't. Put it back." Aleksi had barely opened his mouth again in order to tell Olli off again, but then Olli must have realised his own error as he added, dark, hooded eyes looking at Aleksi: "Please."

Aleksi no longer had the heart to deny Olli his relief.

Fascinated, he watched as Olli's cock twitched once the vibrator touched it again, and Aleksi couldn't help but let out a sigh when he saw a new flow of precum wet the fabric of the boxers. He kept mouthing OIli's neck, listening to the man's heavy breathing, touching himself as he worked the wand on Olli's leaking erection, making sure to pay additional attention to the sensitive spot he knew to be on the underside, right by the head of the dick. He knew that if he kept massaging there, Olli would reach his climax in a matter of seconds in his current state.

The thought of it had Aleksi gripping his own cock tighter and stroke himself to the mere sight of Olli being on the edge of his orgasm, panting against Olli's freshly-shaved neck, inhaling the musky scent which alone was enough to drive Aleksi crazy with lust.

"Aahh, aahh, fuck," Olli panted, almost whined, a little too loud for Aleksi's liking.

"Sshhhhh. You were doing so well," Aleksi whispered against Olli's neck, planting a kiss there as he removed the wand.

"Fuck, Aleksi, I need to–"

"I know. But you need to stay quiet. Can you do that?" Aleksi spoke softly, to let Olli know he was on his side, in the end.

Olli nodded again. "Yes. Yes yes yes yes. Please. Fucking plea–"

The plead was cut short by a soundless gasp when Aleksi resumed massaging OIli's erection in short movents near the leaking tip.

"That's more like it. You're doing good. You got this," Aleksi spoke in between kisses along Olli's neck and jawline.

"Aleksi..." Olli's voice was barely even a whisper. "Aleksi, please..."

Although their space was limited to say the least, Olli managed to shift his hand in between them to lend Aleksi a helping hand in his efforts to get himself off. Aleksi trembled with pleasure and need when Olli cupped his balls and began to firmly massage them, while Aleksi's own hand hand was determined to pick up its pace and stroke himself more frantically as he felt his climax approach.

The low, quiet sound of Olli's humble request did not help his case in the slightest.

"Please, Aleksi. I need to cum. Please, let me– oh fuck, aahh!"

In the nick of time, Aleksi switched on the toy's highest setting and in the next blind of an eye witnessed how spurts of white cum soaked through the tent of Olli's boxers as the man jerked his hips in rhythm with his twiching cock. Aleksi listened to Olli's gasps for breath, to his heartbeat pounding inside his chest, to the tiny whimpers when his cock became too sensitive to touch, and it didn't take long for him to spill inside his own underwear, with Olli's hand still working on his balls, gently rubbing Aleksi through his orgasm despite having barely come down from his own high by the looks of it.

Once Aleksi had emptied himself in a sticky mess inside his pants, he turned off the vibrator and set on the mattress in between Olli's legs, too spent to think of a more convenient place for it. Just to be a tease one last time, his allowed his hand to brush Olli's sensitive cock before resting it on Olli's stomach and smiled at the tiny gasp Olli let out upon the touch.

Their breathing calmed down, and despite the mess they had made together, Aleksi found it was far too easy to let his eyes close and let sleep take over. With his last spark of energy, he lifted his head from the pillow he had made himself of Olli's shoulder and nuzzled his nose against his boyfriend's cheek.

"Are you mine?"

He allowed himself this moment of weakness, this one last request for reassurement, knowing it might make him seem a little crazy.

But he needed to know, needed to hear Olli say it, even though he knew the answer before Olli even opened his mouth and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I'm yours."

#a spicy little bedtime story 💓 #even though everyone (on this side of the planet at least) is probably already asleep 😂 #don't judge me i have a day off tomorrow #and @ anyone reading this in the morning: have a spicy start to your friday <3 #ngl this took an unexpected turn at one point. i guess i just couldn't help myself 🥺 #(read and find out <3) #didn't proofread so sorry for any typos and errors 🤷‍♀️ #random tumblr ficlets by theflyingfeeling #ollixallu #blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #answered asks #anon asks

[hauntedpearl]

blue minutes (ao3)

1.9k, post-canon, Dean/Cas, Fluff and Angst

Some nights, Cas slips out of bed.

The dreams wake him. The memories wake him. Sometimes, the chill in the air wakes him.

And then the world shrinks.

So.

Some nights, Cas slips out of bed.

He presses a kiss to Dean's brow before he does, curls his fingers in the air behind his ear. Feels the soft puff of Dean's breath on his throat.

He lets it be the thing to remind him of his skin.

~

He touches the things that mark his life as he moves about the house. The iron doorknob. The wooden railing. Picture frames on the wall along the stairs.

He'll sit down, then, in one of the lounge chairs out on the patio. The brand new couch by the fireplace. The hand-painted chairs in the kitchen by the window.

A moment, then another, then another, then another.

The world grows bigger.

If he squints, he can flatten it. The greys and the blues and the purples dissolve into the black. The dimensions collapsing into one unknowable expanse.

Into nothing.

It is quiet. Always, always, so quiet.

His mind is foolish enough to believe that he's back where he once was. Back where he never wants to go again.

He closes his eyes. His heart pounds. His ears ring.

He could scream.

(He is afraid the sound will stick to his throat.)

He could scream.

(He is afraid to find out.)

So, he bites his tongue. Sits in the quiet. Tells himself that this is not what it seems to be.

And it isn't.

It isn't.

When he touches his chest, he feels the softness of his shirt. The warmth of the muscle underneath. The outline of his ribs. The steady thumping of his heart.

When he touches his chest, it swells.

His body breathes, despite his mind.

His body breathes, because it must.

His body. His home.

He turns his palm over, knuckles pointing to the ground, and the weight of the world settles on it.

It is light. It is heavy.

It is.

By the heavens, it just is.

That is how Dean finds him that night.

"There you are!"

The timbre of his voice is low and rough.

And yet.

It fills the world. Lingers in the air.

Cas opens his eyes. Curls his palm into a fist against his sternum.

"Shit, Cas," Dean says, moving around the edge of the kitchen table to kneel at his side. "I woke up, and you weren't there. Scared the living daylights out of me, man."

Cas blinks down at him.

Dean's face, close to his chest. His palm settling over the meat of his thigh.

His skin tingles where Dean touches him.

And suddenly, he is aware.

Of his breath. Of his bones. Of the warmth of his skin.

The breeze whistling past his ear.

He wonders if Dean knows that he carries the world with him. That he brings it into every room with his voice.

That Cas can forget sometimes, and Dean reminds him.

Of this soul. Human, and frayed, and bright.

Of this body.

His body. His home.

Even if he can't see it now, he imagines he can feel the light of Dean's soul — its heat setting the darkness afire.

Something like a shiver races through his body, then. And Cas clutches at Dean's hand.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Dean's frowning up at him. Softening his voice for him.

Cas looks at the way the skin of his forehead creases. At the way his brows tilt.

The back of Cas' eyes sting.

Nothing, he wants to say. Stop frowning.

It's nothing.

Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

He cracks his parched mouth open. Cups Dean's cheek in his hand.

Nothing, he wants to say.

Instead, he says, "The weight of the Earth's atmosphere, the pressure of it... that's what keeps you alive, Dean."

The worry in Dean's eyes morphs into confusion. His gaze turns searching.

"About fifteen pounds of air on every square inch of your skin. Remove it, and death comes to you swift. Your blood boils. Your skin stretches. Your heart...bursts open."

The look of abject horror on Dean's face is almost funny.

Almost.

"Uh, Cas...," Dean begins, but Cas cuts him off. Digs his fingers lightly into Dean's skin.

"That's what it's like."

"What?"

A whisper.

A terrible innocence in it.

Cas pinches his eyes closed. Clenches his jaw.

(Nothing, he wants to say. Stop frowning. It's nothing.)

"That's what it's like," he repeats, through gritted teeth, words fighting their way out from behind the lump in his throat, "when The Empty takes you in your vessel. When—"

He gulps, forces the heat crowding his mouth back down into his chest.

Still, his voice shakes.

His lashes grow wet.

"When it took me in—in this body. That was what it was like."

A terrible silence. An echoing one.

Cas doesn't want to look. Doesn't want to know.

He looks anyway.

Dean is gaping at him, eyes wide and bright. The veins in his temples twitch

Cas turns to him fully and brackets his body with his knees.

He cradles Dean's face in his shaking hands and says, "I know it's over. I know it is. You saved me, Dean."

"Cas—"

"You did, Dean, you saved me. But, sometimes. In there, I couldn't — I wouldn't— It wouldn't stop. And now, it has. But—"

There.

There, on his fingertips, a pearl of a tear.

On his cheeks, the cool slide of one.

Their weighted breaths in the space between their bodies.

Cas' gaze flits between Dean's eyes. He clutches Dean harder, lets his palms slide so he can hook his thumbs around Dean's ears.

"I don't know how to forget," Cas says, and his voice is breaking. "I don't know how to forget, Dean."

And he doesn't.

He doesn't.

He wants to, and he doesn't.

When he sleeps, his dreams wake him. His memories wake him.

And the world shrinks. Widens. Darkens.

Takes him back.

He doesn't know how to make it stop.

And he's tired.

Of trying. Of doing it alone.

He's just so very tired.

"I'm —," he begins. Swallows a hiccup that rises to his throat. Blinks, and blinks, and blinks, dislodging the tears. Dean holds onto his wrists, quiet. Waiting.

Cas tries again. For Dean. For the silent tears that graze the base of his thumb.

"I'm tired, Dean. I'm just so tired."

A sob slips past his lips. A wretched thing.

A wretched, broken thing.

"Cas," and Dean's voice is raw. Scraped and sandy and dry.

He bows his head for a moment, then turns. Presses his open mouth to the center of Cas' palm, to the juncture of his wrist, the curve of his forearm.

Then, he stands, taking Cas with him.

Dean wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. Cas clutches the back of Dean's shirt in his fists.

The world is just the two of them.

The world is their rapidly beating hearts.

The world has never been so full.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dean says, his palm cradling the back of Cas' head. "I've got you."

And —

(It's the damnedest thing)

Cas believes him.

He buries his face in Dean's neck.

And for the first time in his long, wonderful, weary life — he weeps.

Dean keeps up a steady litany of soothing whispers. He cards a hand through Cas' hair, rubs circles into his back with the other.

"My darling," he says, peppering the side of Cas' face with wet, sloppy kisses. "I'm here. We're alright."

~

Oh, sweetheart. Darling. I've got you.

~

Weeping, Cas notes absently, is a little like drowning. The way the world narrows until all you can hear is the blood in your ears. All you can feel is the water clogging your lungs, your throat, your mouth.

He has drowned before.

He doesn't remember the surfacing. But he had, anyway.

He does so now, too.

~

There is salt in his lashes. On his cheek. His lips.

His face pressed into the wet spot on the shoulder of Dean's shirt.

He grimaces when the fabric rubs against his skin.

It isn't — pleasant.

He lifts his head and hooks his chin on Dean's shoulder instead. Sets his forehead against Dean's temple. Buries his nose in his hair.

A moment, then.

The settling of his heartbeat against Dean's. The cool touch of a breeze on his itchy, ruddy cheeks.

Something soothing in the air by his ear.

Something incredible in the press of their bodies. The —

—sway of them.

Because that's what Dean is doing.

Dean is swaying them.

Singing under his breath, words that ring familiar through the hazy veil of Cas' human memory.

There's a somebody I'm longin' to see

I hope that he turns out to be

Someone who'll watch over me

Cas' snort of laughter surprises them both.

Dean stills.

A beat.

Resumes this pseudo-dance, nudging Cas' feet with his own this time.

Then—

"I can't watch over you like I used to," Cas whispers, clutching Dean tighter. "I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean stops singing.

And yet.

The music lingers in the air. The impression of his voice. The warm lull of it.

It weaves between their bodies, keeps their feet moving. Keeps them swaying.

"You'll always be my angel," Dean says, his mouth pressed against Cas' temple. "And, hey. It's my turn, anyway. To watch over you. You can rest a while, sweetheart."

~

Dean told him once, about a future he never thought he'd have.

A home.

Someone to build that home with. Someone to hold.

Children. 

Dean told him once, about watching Garth and Bess through their living room window. Arms wrapped around each other, bodies swaying to the croon of their old record player.

Not a care in the damn world at that moment, he said.

Made something twinge here, man, he said, thumping his chest. Made it ache.

Cas wonders what Dean thinks of them, like this. Red nosed and puffy-eyed. Clutching each other, desperate and white-knuckled.

He wonders if Dean's chest still aches.

~

"I don't know how to make it stop, either," Dean says to him, later, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to Cas' thumb.

Cas lays on his side, facing Dean, letting the tip of his finger trace the freckles on his cheek.

"But I do know that it gets better. With time. You just. You gotta let yourself be miserable, once in a while. Gotta let someone take care of you when you are."

"Mm," Cas hums, tilting his head into the pillow under his cheek. Raises a brow. Presses the pad of his thumb to the corner of Dean's mouth. Says, "That so?"

Dean grins at him then. Huffs a laugh. Rolls his eyes. 

He surges up to fit his mouth to Cas'.

Dean kisses him deep and open-mouthed, rolling them over so he's hovering over Cas, one hand buried in the mop of his hair, the other skimming his side.

"Quit bein' such a smartass," Dean mumbles against his lips when they break for air, brushing their noses together. 

“You love me anyway,” Cas says, his thumb brushing over Dean’s cheek.

He is awed that it’s true. That he can say it at all. 

Dean’s grin softens. Brightens. 

(He is awed by that, too.)

And kisses him. 

“Yeah,” Dean whispers. 

#doe's writing #destiel fanfic #destiel ficlet #spn fanfic #uh...more self-indulgent nonsensical romance for you #i do apologize for serving up barely mediocre content but i had worms and i exist here so this is now everyone's problem #like i wanted to write about dean and cas slow dancing and being sad but they didn't even slow dance until after 1k bro im so bad at #planning this shit. also still writing that one dad dean and jack fic it's coming #also you can literally put this at any point in canon and it'll work #garth and bess reference notwithstanding #deancas fics #feathersforcas #oh lmk if you want to be on the taglist fr because i think im posting more regularly now!

[greenerteacups]

most of my AO3 comments are really amazing but every now and then i'll get one that is just wildly entitled

like someone just wrote a comment on ch38 that's like "please have them get together soon i don't want to wait. also [x] needs more character development." ??? bitch i'm not a menu why are you out here trying to order

#i wrote like 3 different replies and then deleted them all bc i realized theres no point #like if they dont reply then what's the point and if they DO reply then it's not like they'll spontaneously change their ways #it's best to just let them be mad #like if they end up liking what happens then it solves itself and if they don't then that's karma #but it's like. unless otherwise stated. writers are not DJs and we don't take requests #i've gotten a few of those — kind of weird entitled asks that are like “could you write [this specific premise]?” and it's like #uhhh #that's not... really... a service that i offer... #i don't... remember... offering to do that.... #my tinfoil hat theory is these people come from the Reader X fanfic communities where you just ask writers to do something #and they'll do a little ficlet for you #and they don't realize that most traditional fic spaces are not tailored in that way #for their personal enjoyment #like sometimes someone will ask me “would you want to write X?” and that's totally fine!! and flattering and fun! #but that's a very different question from “please do this enormously labor intensive activity for my personal enjoyment thank you.” #oh and that one AO3 comment? TEN CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE END OF THE FIC #HADN'T EVEN FINISHED IT and was already tryna stick their finger in the pot. lmao. bruh. #fandom takes all kinds for real.

[mancer-in-the-abbey]

Thinking about how much of an anomaly Swiss is and how much I love Jack of All Trades characters.

Because a ghoul that was an even split of all 5 elements, up until Swiss, had been unheard of. Sure, hybrids are a thing that happen sometimes, just look at Sunny and Aurora, but all 5?

It had been previously theorized by the Ministry that the max amount of elements one ghoul could possess on the surface was 3; any more and the body would begin to deteriorate due to the strain of containing that much conflicting elemental power. That’s not to say such ghouls COULDN’T exist down in The Pit, but they likely wouldn’t survive the journey to the surface.

Which brings us back to Swiss. Swiss, the living contradiction to all the Ministry thought they knew. Swiss, the type of ghoul never before seen on Earth or in Hell. Swiss, who could light your smoke one minute and chill your drink the next.

However, such great power has its limits. For example, while, yes, he could do both of those things one after the other, he is incapable of doing them both at once, forced to focus on one element at a time.

His natural abilities are also not quite as strong as those of someone born purely of that element. In order to reach even close to that level requires an intense amount of concentration and energy that simply isn’t sustainable for long periods of time.

This limitation gets to him some days more than others. Some days, he feels like a cheep knock-off of a ghoul more than anything else- like someone’s amateur interpretation of one. It’s an easy argument to make, given that’s how he survived in The Pit: pretending to be a full elmental ghoul and joining an established pack until the truth caught up with him and he was forced to leave and wander till the cycle could start anew.

Even though it’s been years now since he’d left The Pit and found a family that accepted him for exactly what he is, it still gets hard some days not to feel like somewhat of a fraud- like he’s tricked them all into loving a version of himself that was somehow better than he really is and it’s only a matter of time before they find him out and it’s back to square one down in the hellfire below.

Thankfully, his pack has gotten good at noticing when he’s too far in his own head and can remind him of just how sincerely loved and appreciated he is. It’s most days now where he gleefully tousles Rain’s hair with a gust of wind before warming up the coffee that had gone cold in its pot. It’s most days where he good-naturedly pesters Mountain in his greenhouse while going from plant to plant to water them and gently coax them to grow. It’s most days where he can tune into the same quintessence frequency as Aether and Aeon and make sure neither were overextending themselves.

Yes, Swiss would say he is very proud of what he could do for his pack.

After all, a jack of all trades and master of none is far greater still than a master of one.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #the ghost band #ghost bc #ghostbc #ghost #the nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul Swiss #Swiss ghoul #abbey lost and found #if the grammar in this is hard to parse no it isn’t #I’m tired and can’t be assed to figure about a better way to say it #but my point is I love Swiss and he is very cool I think #I’d love to write more about Swiss and his power set cause I didn’t even GET to the mimicry stuff yet #just y’all wait I got so many thoughts on him #the band ghost headcanons #the band ghost ficlet

[ineffable-kelpie]

Christmas hugs

Rating: G

Wordcount: 863

Prompt: A morning/hello hug

-

Warlock didn’t like Christmas. He liked things about Christmas—the cookies and hot cocoa, the presents, the funny old movies his parents would put on repeat so they didn’t have to talk to him—but the actual event itself was boring. He didn’t like having to fly to Ohio and then drive all the way to Grandma’s weird old house in the middle of nowhere with her weird little dog and the flowers he wasn’t allowed to touch. He didn’t like having to put on an itchy sweater and shoes that pinched his feet, just so Dad could make him stand straight and smile for hours to have his photograph taken a gazillion times with every possible combination of relatives. He didn’t like having to sit at the kids’ table with his cousins, as if they were supposed to have things to talk about just because they were all kids, even though Tristan still watched Barney but Jessica and Ashley were already teenagers.

He especially didn’t like all the hugs. He was supposed to hug everyone hello, and say Merry Christmas, whether he wanted to or not. He barely knew anyone there, except for their names. He only saw them once a year at Christmas, and they always asked him the same boring questions about school. Some of them hugged too tight, and some of them barely patted him on the back like they didn’t know what to do with him, and Aunt Mary always planted a wet smack on his cheek that he wasn’t supposed to wipe off in front of her. But if Warlock didn’t hug all his aunts and uncles and cousins and his two grandparents, and pretend he was happy to see them, his parents called him rude and selfish.

Warlock didn’t see what was so selfish about that. Warlock had asked Nanny once, and she sighed loudly and told him that it wasn’t selfish to have boundaries, and when he remade the world in his image nobody could make him hug anybody he didn’t want to. He told mom and dad, but they just said that he’d be allowed to set his own boundaries when he was older.

“I hate Christmas,” Warlock complained from the backseat of the van, on the way to grandma’s weird old house.

“No you don’t, sweetie,” said Mom.

Warlock folded his arms and looked out the window. Even the outside was boring. White and grey and boring. “Don’t make me hug everyone. I really don’t feel good. I’d get them all sick.” He sniffled to make his point.

Dad glanced back. “You’re fine, kid. You’re not sick.”

Warlock did not, in fact, feel sick. He hadn’t really expected them to believe him. Luckily, he had a backup plan.

The van pulled up to grandma’s weird old house, and Mom and Dad got out. Mom folded the seat forward so Warlock could climb over. “Let’s go say hi to everyone before we bring in the presents,” she said, without waiting to see if he was following her.

Warlock dragged his feet getting out of the van. While Mom and Dad walked in front of him, he pulled a packet of pepper from the airport lounge out of his pocket, poured it into his hand, and closed his hand around it.

The door opened, and Aunt Mary stepped out. “Well hi!” she said, too enthusiastically, hugging Mom. “Glad to see you made it!”

Mom and Dad greeted her with equal enthusiasm, and they exchanged hugs. Behind them, Warlock pretended to rub his nose with the hand holding the pepper. It tickled his nose. He sniffed, hard.

“And little Warlock,” she said, in a voice that people used for babies, squatting down to see him. “Merry Christmas. Come and give your Aunt Mary a h—”

Warlock sneezed, loudly, without bothering to cover his nose. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sick.”

Aunt Mary jumped backwards. “You brought him here sick?” she demanded, turning on Mom and Dad.

“He—he’s not sick,” Mom stuttered “He’s just—”

“Allergies,” said Dad, smiling diplomatically. “Seasonal allergies. Something in the air here that we don’t have in London. Nothing contagious, I’m sure.”

Warlock inhaled more pepper and sneezed again. “I told you I didn’t feel good. My throat feels scratchy.”

“His throat feels scratchy,” Aunt Mary repeated. “Whatever it is, I don’t want him spreading his germs to the whole extended family. Tristan just got over the flu.”

Mom spread her arms. “What do you want me to do, Mary? Our hotel is two hours away. I’m sure it’ll be fine. You can keep your distance from everyone, can’t you, Warlock?”

Warlock nodded innocently.

Aunt Mary sighed. “Alright. Alright, fine, as long as you don’t touch anyone.”

That Christmas, Warlock didn’t have to hug a single person. They let him just sit in the corner and read his book, which was all he really wanted to do, anyway. His parents weren’t happy with him, though. As soon as they left, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

He’d decided he was old enough to set his own boundaries, though. He thought Nanny would be proud.

#I should warn that the title is very misleading I just couldn't think of anything else #there aren't even any actual hugs in this one #in fact the point is specifically the avoidance of hugs #I'm sure Warlock came home and got a big consenting hug from Nanny and Brother Francis #good omens ficlet #hugfest 2024 #christmas #good omens Warlock #cyankelpie's fic