soap and ghost, after months of flirting, of having each other’s backs and saving each other’s lives, of knowing the other better than they know themselves, finally getting together
ghost letting himself free fall onto the bed, soap following, always following his lead. they barely pull apart enough to get their shirts over their heads, hands running over muscles and scars and holding close
soap kisses every new scar that’s revealed to him, from the thick keloid divot over his ribs from some kind of puncture to the innumerable slashes and stitch wounds holding his torso together until he’s mouthing over his collarbones; the tips of his fingers lightly caressing the edges of his mask
ghost who’s been so quiet, so overwhelmed by soap’s touch that all he can do is sink into him, panting gasping breaths, finally pushes out, “don’t ask me. please…”
soap freezes, mouth hovering over his skin. “ghost…?”
ghost’s face is tilted away, eyes held so tightly shut they tremor while the rest of his body stays lax beneath his. desperate. resigned. “please don’t ask me, johnny.”
soap lets his hand fall from the mask, coming to run soothing circles over his clothed hip. “why?”
“because i’ll say yes,” he confesses and it’s great and terrible; a warning and a relinquishment laid at soap’s feet. “i’ll always say yes to you.”
for a long moment, there’s nothing but their shared breaths, nothing but their hearts beating for the other. until soap finally leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his hidden mouth; his lips meeting faint raised scar tissue he might never see
“i’ll never ask.”
ghost’s eyes drift open and they catch on soap’s; on a sea of promise and fierce protection
“i swear… i’ll never ask, ghost.”
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Clark thinks of doing something romantic and nice for Bruce, who works too much in his opinion. So Clark decides to make him breakfast in bed.
Little does he know this is the usual situation, with Bruce supporting his battered ribs after 2.3 hours of sleep while Alfred brings an IV and possibly liquid nutrition, so Bruce is just sort of looking between the buttered toast and Clark's brilliant smile, very amused and grateful but also deeply horrified by the change in his routine.
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Canines
Thing is, Etho had never been a dog person.
Dogs tended to be too loud, too clingy, too excitable—the tinier the worse. He didn't dislike them per se, except he kind of did.
He liked cats better. They were smarter, they knew themselves better, they had a level of spatial awareness even he couldn't comprehend. They were vigilant, but not obnoxious about it.
Where a dog would uselessly bark and go wild, a cat would sit and stare at the offender until it pissed itself. A dog would try hard, too hard, until its energy became useless in its overabundance. A cat would chase down a possible threat for fun, and it'd succeed.
Etho could appreciate cats and their values. The same could not be said for dogs.
Until Joel, that is.
He wasn’t trying to imply that Joel was a dog. Not necessarily. But the descriptors fitted and, for the first time, Etho found it all infuriatingly endearing.
Maybe he was a bit more like a wolf, with sharper canines and predator instincts. Either that or a poodle. He just couldn’t seem to stay quiet. Or calm. Or content. At all.
“You suck,” Joel yelled at Bdubs.
Maybe closer to a poodle, Etho thought.
Joel turned to him. “Let’s go kill him,” he said.
Wolf. Maybe.
“We’re yellow, we can’t.”
“You’re no fun,” Joel whined.
Poodle. Definitely poodle.
He watched Joel huff and turn to leave and idly wondered if this was what dog owners felt, the thing that drove them to dogs in the first place.
He had never understood them, except he was starting to believe maybe he could, and that was both an interesting and concerning realization.
“Well, don't stay behind,” Joel said impatiently. He had stopped walking the second he realized Etho hadn't fallen into step behind him, almost like having him out of sight was an unfathomable problem rather than a minor inconvenience.
And look, he still wasn't trying to say Joel was a dog, but…
“Come on,” he said, tapping his foot. “Someone will touch you and I won't be around to bite them. Hurry up.”
It was probably a joke, but his voice sounded just annoyed enough that Etho thought he should maybe believe him.
Etho just stared at Joel for a few seconds longer. He could perfectly picture Joel's bloodied teeth closed around someone's throat, and the sadistic grin that'd follow. So perhaps, and just perhaps, there was merit to the earlier wolf theory.
Joel walked back to Etho, scowling. “Come on,” he repeated, then proceeded to grab his wrist and pull him along.
He was a poodle that believed itself to be a wolf, Etho decided.
He let himself be pulled forward, and it was only when he saw Tango scurry away upon seeing them that it clicked.
No, he realized with dawning horror. Joel was a wolf with poodle tendencies.
And Etho—proud cat person, proud of himself in general up to that very point in life—found that endearing.
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the cat is great! it's very polite and likes SQH. it still bites, because demonic things show affection through violence as always. it also likes mobei. it reminds yqy of sj because every peak lord meeting, now that everyone 'knows' about xiao wangzi (little prince), it trots in, glares at everyone and then gracefully takes its seat. he gave it some dried meat once and it threw a FIT before accepting the gift and eating it. lqg apologises because he assumes sqh thought he'd kill it on sight
He's bringing back an absolute monster to the peak as a gift for Shang Qinghua and MAYBE to the others that give him treats. Shang Qinghua is wondering how his cute tiny (demon) cat managed to do that. Where did he even hunt that thing? How did he drag it over here?? How strong is his precious Xiao Wangzi???
Ok thinking about Yue Qingyuan trying to make the cat like him 😭 he's got him a whole box of toys and instead plays with his robes.
Mobei Jun loves him too
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insecure about a part of your body? just imagine ghost, soap, gaz, whoever fits the bill, pressing their lips to the flesh without a second thought. imagine them groaning into your skin as though they can't believe that this is theirs, that you're with them.
try to imagine how it would feel as they sink their teeth into the skin, as though trying to consume you because simply touching you is no longer enough. listening to how they whisper praise in awe and reverence, quiet enough you know it's not for you, loud enough to know that your body is such a marvel to them that they cannot help but voice it.
they worship you, regardless of your own opinion. not a moment goes by where they don't find you sexy, where they don't look at you and melt. in every scenario, they will always find a way to make you feel loved, cherished, and seen.
and on the days you really can't face yourself, on those days where the cruel whispers creep on your subconscious and grip your mind like a vice, they'll be there. steadfast and constant, they will be there.
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