#I accidently a ficlet

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Arcane

Verse: Work-Life Balance

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Tags: omegaverse, future-mpreg

Still not a prompt fill (I will start on them I swear!) but I’ve been meaning to write Viktor deciding he wants to have a baby with Jayce because of scientific curiosity for a while now. So I am glad this is written.

And yes I did have an image of them both open while I was writing this to compare which features I think Viktor would prefer from which one of them.

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

Viktor doesn’t often get to watch Jayce work.

There is nearly always something else that can be done while Jayce creates a new casing or frame-part. Either wiring to be soldiered or a formula to continue working through. So much work to be done and never enough hours in the day.

Not this time. They had hit a point where nothing further could be done until Jayce finished forging the guard that would separate the Hextech core from the external mechanisms. So Viktor had joined him at the Talis’ Forge despite having complete faith in Jayce’s ability to do it right.

Supervising just feels more productive than merely waiting. And Viktor does enjoy watching his partner work on the rare opportunities he can allow himself to.

He will not deny that Jayce is impressive to watch when he is at work.

His shirt has been abandoned from the heat giving Viktor full view of the muscles of his partner’s broad shoulders shining from sweat and golden from the light of the furnace. The alpha’s strength on full display with each hammer fall. The profile of his face defined by the shadows cast by his features.

From the moment he met him Viktor knew Jayce was impressive, both in body and mind.

The physical part was impossible for anyone to miss. Jayce was stunning to look at, the very definition of an ideal alpha. Strong and fit but not hulking. Broad shoulders that taper into a defined waist and warm arms that it is so very easy to imagine being carried in. He is fit and healthy and seems to naturally draw the eyes of all around him.

But it was Jayce’s mind that had actually made Viktor interested in him. The ideas in his notes were genius even if Viktor had seen where they could be improved. Jayce hadn’t disappointed after they started working together. His intelligence may not be the same as Viktor’s, but the ease he could conceive and create the exact tool to fix the problem before them was inspired. Working with him was working with Viktor’s true intellectual equal.

Viktor can hardly blame the fans that fawn over his partner when Jayce makes public appearances. Anyone would want Jayce as a mate. His genetics alone ample reason before adding in his gentle kindness and sweet awkwardness.

All of it traits his hypothetical children could inherit.

Although if Viktor seriously considers the possibility of Jayce and children, then, while Jayce has many traits that would be desirable to see passed down, he is not perfect.

While Jayce’s hands are very skilled at what they do they lack the fineness and dexterity of Viktor’s own. So a child would do well to inherit from Viktor instead in that regard.

Even with his strong square jaw Jayce’s brow and eyebrows always seem to overpower his face. It would be good for a child to have one more like Viktor’s – less prominent and with a lower hairline to soften it.

While Viktor appreciates Jayce’s intelligence far more than the average person he will admit his bias in preferring that his own would be passed onto any child of theirs.

Then there are the things that matter less which way they go. Jayce’s skin may seem to glow under the golden light of his forge or the sun but Viktor’s hardly blemishes apart from a mole here or there. They both have good eyesight and neither possess a particularly outstanding eye colour. The texture of both their hairs is equal in strengths even if different.

Together they could make a glorious child.

Viktor would be remiss not to consider how difficult a pregnancy would be for him before letting his mind follow the thought any further. His body is deteriorating, he knows, and the weight of a baby on his spine would do it no favors.

Hextech hadn’t been easy either though. And it had been worth all the effort and pain and risk it took to create.

He would need only do it once to test his hypothesis.

“What are you thinking about Vik?” Jayce asks, taking off the wielding goggles as he turns around. The rest of his gear already put aside.

“I think I want a baby.”

Jayce stumbles, knocking into the table next to him. Catching himself to lean against it. The muscles in his arm bulging from the force he’s pushing down on it with.

“What?” he asks, free hand gesturing emptily. “Like generally or-“

“No, with you.” Viktor cannot say he ever thought about having a child before. His work always far too important. The idea of having one with someone else is not at all appealing. But with Jayce-

They created Hextech together as partners. The kind of child they could make together actually feels exciting in the way the early days of their partnership did. An unexplored potential that Vitktor wants to see reached.

“Right,” Jayce says, glancing at Viktor then up at the ceiling and then the floor in rapid succession. His hand comes to scratch behind his ear as he pushing himself off the table to stand fully upright. “Like now?”

“Well conception rarely is successful on the first try,” Viktor says, reaching for his cane as he stands up and walks over to Jayce. More to pace as he explains the process than anything. “And a pregnancy takes 40 weeks if it goes to full-term. So in about a year. If we start trying now.”

It is better they do it sooner than later if they are going to. How long before the deterioration of Viktor’s body makes him unable to carry a pregnancy an unknown.

“You’re serious,” Jayce says with a weak laugh.

“Of course. I would not joke about something like that.” It would be cruel to. “So do you want to or not?”

“Yes! I mean, if you want. Are you sure? It’s- You’ll- Us- A baby-“ Jayce stutters adorably. Viktor hopes their child inherits Jayce’s earnestness. “Do you want to start trying now?”

Viktor gives a hum of contemplation.

“We can install that first,” he decides, pointing to the guard that should be nearly done cooling. “But tonight, yes. If that works for you.”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Jayce jokes awkwardly and Viktor notes Jayce’s smile as another thing he hopes they inherit.

[blushweddinggowns]

I'm all for the angsty overhearing a conversation trope where it's all sad because of a misunderstanding. But I also love the opposite. Overhearing a conversation where the other person is just singing their praises. Especially with Steve and Eddie.

Like Steve being very aware that he likes Eddie, but way too afraid of rejection to actually do anything about it. So he just pines away, and gets closer and closer to him with the full expectation of it never going anywhere. Until one day, he comes to pick Dustin up from Hellfire too early, and he can hear everyone talking through the door. About him. But mostly it's Eddie, his loud voice carrying across the room. And he's just raving about him, and somehow managing to bring him up in conversations that have nothing to do with him.

Do you remember that time Steve saved my life by shoving my guts back into my body? Yeah, that's the level of skill and luck you're going to need to survive this.

Did you guys know that Steve actually gave me this background music? He's weirdly knowledgeable about classical stuff. Isn't that cool? He's so smart and-oh, yeah, the merchant agrees to the deal.

So uh, is Steve maybe seeing anyone? He isn't right? Like he would tell me if he was, wouldn't he?

And he doesn't give a single fuck at the collective groaning of the group whenever he gets going, never failing to pull out the I almost Died saving the world with you card to get them to shut up. And by the time it actually ends, Steve is a glowing, blushing mess who can't stop smiling.

Or the other way around. With Eddie full on assuming he has 0 shot because Steve's, Steve.

The golden boy who could obviously never be into him like that, or any other guy for that matter. So he doesn't do anything about his feelings, he just hangs out with him more and more and falls for him more and more, waiting for the inevitable day when he gets a girlfriend and his fantasies could finally die. Except one day, he spends the night at Steve's, but he isn't in bed when he wakes up. He goes to find him, just to hear him downstairs loudly talking to Robin. Because neither of them know the concept of inside voices when they're together. And he waits at the top, listening in just for the fuck of it, but mostly because he doesn't want to interrupt.

"I just feel like bed sharing the way you guys do is gay as hell," Robin sighed, "Especially at your age. Also, should we even be talking about this with him in the house?"

And before Eddie has time to freak out over that and the possibility he's gotten caught with his feelings, Steve is already answering, "I know right? And don't worry about it, he sleeps like the dead. But I don't know what to do about it. He still hasn't done anything. Am I just reading this whole thing wrong?"

"Well you could try making the first move instead of trying to trick him into doing it," Robin tried.

"And ruin our friendship incase I'm wrong? Yeah, no. Besides, I go like, full dumbass around him when I'm nervous. He's too hot. I'd probably walk into a wall in the middle of professing my undying love."

"Yeah," Robin sighed, "You probably would."

And Eddie is just having a moment upstairs. A full on I think I may have to jump for joy moment. Or even, I think I'm five seconds away from squealing like a teenage girl moment.

Yeah, I like that shit.

[eddiestightywhities]

“I, uh,” Buck swallows, and Eddie hears it as loudly as he heard that gunshot in the street. “I—I love you, man. Like, just so you know. Y'know? Because it feels like— like after everything—that you should get to hear that, Eds. That you, y’know, get to know that.”

Eddie is nodding, and just sitting there staring at Buck as Buck tells him something that's not fully registering in Eddie's brain yet, because Buck has this look on his face that Eddie is feeling sort of incredulous about, or he's maybe even a little annoyed by, which is—honestly, Eddie gets that it's kind of a strange way to feel. That it's not exactly normal. He's obviously no Sigmund Freud, but he is astute enough to understand that it's weird to get pissy about not being privy to every single look his best friend has in his arsenal of facial expressions, even if Eddie isn't sure of exactly why it is he feels this way. 

Buck starts chewing on his already-red bottom lip, and Eddie feels something like jealousy over it—which is just another thing he can't quite work out. 

He studies Buck's face as if he should be able to decipher what this new look is. Feels dumb that he can't. Because Eddie knows Buck. He knows him. Like the way he knows each of his sister's secret celebrity crushes; like he knows oranges are the colour orange; like he knows that his body understands how to breathe on pure instinct.  

This look though, he doesn't know it. And him not knowing whatever it is that Buck is currently trying to convey with the over-used muscles in his face and the gentle arch of his eyebrows and the forever-raw emotion behind those blue, blue eyes of his? It's making Eddie feel like he's failing miserably at the other most important thing in his life.  

There is Christopher, and there is Buck. 

“Eddie?” 

Buck just told Eddie that he loves him, and that's just now hitting Eddie square-on in the nose like a suckerpunch wrapped in a neatly tied silk ribbon. 

“Love you too, brother,” Eddie says without really thinking, because he has to say something, and only one side of his face is smiling because the other isn't sure what the hell it should be doing.

Then he's leaning over his kitchen table to try and find the pulse-point at Buck's throat with his thumb pad, thinking Batman and Robin; Guns and Roses; Peanut Butter and Jelly as it nestles safely into the place that gives Eddie the most comfort—Eddie hoping, as he always does, that the touch gives maybe a little of the same to Buck.

Brother. 

That feels—kind of right? Buck is Eddie's partner in crime. The person Eddie's closest to. Eddie's family. 

Only as soon as he's repeating the term in his head, he knows that it is very wrong, even if he can't pin-point why.  

Why are there so many whys? 

Things feel… muddied.

Buck's lips part slightly and he looks as if he might be about to say something else. Then the new look is fading away, mixing seamlessly with the dust motes floating hazily in the balmy air of Eddie's kitchen, now replaced by a much more familiar look, and Eddie is—for some reason woefully—relieved to be back in his comfort zone. Back where he knows precisely how Buck is feeling just by glancing at Buck, even if this next look is all-too similar to one Eddie's seen plenty of times, too many times; one he hates, hates, hates seeing on Buck's face.  

Disappointment.

Eddie doesn't quite understand what he did wrong but knows he's probably deserving of the fate, and half-heartedly tries not to hate on himself more than he already does for pulling the sorry feeling from Buck's bleeding heart. 

He doesn't know the word, “Always,” is going to slip from his lips like a secret before he's finding himself saying it, surprised by the force behind it, and the truth of it, his thumb now sliding back and forth over Buck's collar bone seemingly of its own accord. 

At least, then, there is a hint of something other than unfulfilled growing in Eddie's best friend's eyes, even if they are still, sadly, shining in the exact wrong kind of way.

Buck has an infectious, never-ending supply of hope, and Eddie does love him. 

He doesn't pray anymore—hasn't in years—but as Buck manages to find a warm smile for him, just like he always does, Eddie thinks he might find himself asking God for a few revelations later on tonight when the lights are all shut off and the moon is out. 

Like how to do better.

.

(also found HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp)

[intothedysphoria]

Steve is awoken at like 3 in the morning by an incessant pounding on the door.

He shuffles into his slippers and pads down the stairs, baseball bat in hand just in case.

At the door is a weary, dishevelled Billy Hargrove who looks like he’s on the verge of collapse.

Steve, alarmed ushers him in.

Sara Harrington, who was never exactly the heaviest sleeper, is already downstairs, peering at Billy with concern.

She leans down to his level, already splayed across the couch and makes a halting attempt at the language she hates so much.

Billy, shockingly, responds in imperfect but recognisable Yiddish before passing out.

Sara’s response is both deeply troubled but also has undercurrents of relief woven in.

“You never told me you found a Jewish friend.”

Well, friend is a stretch and Steve had no idea until about 5 seconds ago that Billy was anything but Irish Catholic.

Joshua finds out three hours later, when he wakes up to find a boy he doesn’t know at his dining table.

That makes Billy freeze, hairs standing on end in the middle of reaching for a pastry.

He only relaxes again when Steve’s dad makes a terrible joke about breakfast food and sits down, completely unfazed.

Steve manages to park himself right next to Billy, frantically whispering as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Billy’s response is a shrugged “dad found out I still practiced and kicked me out”, as if that isn’t one of the most horrific things Steve has ever heard.

Billy joins them for Shabbat that evening, as it’s a Friday. It’s clear he’s the real deal and that leaves Steve’s head swimming with questions. Why the fuck did a man so obviously bigoted marry a Jewish woman?

They smoke together peacefully on Steve’s driveway, Billy blowing out a long billow of smoke up into the night sky. He shifts slightly closer to Steve. Almost looking like he might reach out but then moves away.

Billy moves in permanently with the Byers. Steve sees him frequently at Temple, bantering with the Rabbi. It’s weird but seeing him in this environment, Steve could never picture him anywhere else.

Steves not got a crush or anything. He just daydreams about kissing Billy after he gets back from Rosh Hashana services. Normal guy stuff.

One night Billy climbs through his window. He just wants someone to talk to. Joshua and Sara are out on a business trip so Steve puts on Bronski Beat and they dance. Sensual. Steve’s head is on a fairground ride.

He’s pretty sure Billy leans in quickly to peck him on the lips but it’s so brief it might have been a dream.

It all kind of snowballs from there.

Certainly in terms of pseudo (?) romance. Which Steve isn’t complaining about

Steve thinks he may be sleepwalking. He flips through pamphlets about coming out and all of them inevitably point the same flashing arrow straight to him.

There’s a lump in his throat when he comes out to his parents. They’re so supportive, almost aggressively so and it makes Steve’s heart swell.

Coming out to Billy is a different kettle of fish. Steves fully aware that he’s obfuscating the matter, especially with the way he’ll lean into Billy’s touch but it’s just scary. Terrifying really.

Eventually though, he concedes.

Billy’s managed to get him into the backseat of the Camaro. It’s nowhere near as x rated as particularly Robin was expecting, more just second base. Something like that.

Steve finally manages to break away from the kiss and declare “I think I’m gay”.

Billy’s face says no shit but he’s not a dick about it. Instead, he motions for Steve to go on.

There’s a lot of cliches Steve could use. A fuck ton. But he keeps it brief.

He mumbles that he loves Billy and waits for the other shoe to drop.

It never does. Not really.

Billy just says it back. And they carry on.

This isn’t quite a Pesach or Chanukah fic but tysm @kallisto-k and @slime-hoe for your lovely comments, I hope this Jewish Harringrove is ok

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @harringroveobsessed @runraerun

[fluffypotatey]

evil swk only it's him finally fed up with everyone hurting mk so he kills the latest villain of the week and takes the powers of the Jade Emperor for his own thus: Monster (epic)

oops, hands slipped!

He meets MK on accident. Sun Wukong does not make it his ordeal to wander where mortals are near, but sometimes needs must. his little Suns have chosen to pester him about this specific brand of chips (how they ever got their hands on a bag of chips in the first place is a mystery of itself), so after hours of twisting his arm, Wukong obeyed their pleading cries and whines.

the accident came when Wukong found himself run over by a meager delivery cart. the boy, probably only two decades old, hopped off his death kart immediately, apologies spilling from his lips while Wukong debated throwing his disguise down the gutter and raising this whole block to the ground.

“—you have to understand! The Megapolis Grand Prix has a grand prize of an immortal peach and I thought I could both race and deliver, you know, kill two birds with one stone and all that but—“

“I don’t really care, kid.”

The mortal was quick to shut his mouth and nodded. Another apology was thrown out while Wukong dusted off the spare dirt from his clothes, and he was pretty sure the mortal made sure to follow him back to the safety of the sidewalk. It was a little overbearing, but Wukong was trying to keep a low profile for the sake of a stupid bag of chips. He would rather not bring Heaven or any other celestial’s attention to himself.

The things he did for his monkeys.

-

He met MK again on New Years. Again, his little Suns sent his out for a task— apparently, some idiot decided to teach them what noodles were and Wuking spent months suffering while they bemoaned and cried about it.

There was a plaza full of food trucks, so Wukong figured he’d find noodles over there somehow.

“Oh! It’s you!”

Wukong was startled by the smile, how it spread wide, so easily like a trained soldier (except soldiers were more fixed and lacked the warmth this smile gave). The mortal stood behind one of the windows of a truck, apron tied around him.

Wukong grunted put a hello.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Eight helpings of noodles.”

“Wow, that’s quite the haul! Got a party or something?”

“More like a family of rascals.”

The mortal laughed, quickly writing down the order before placing somewhere near the kitchen. There followed some indignant shouting about the order while the mortal— MK, the cool called him MK— placated and answered all the cook’s questions.

“It’ll be ready in an hour? Maybe longer.”

-

The third time, he found MK through his monkeys. A mortal, they had chirped at him, a mortal on the beach! Color him surprised when it was his mortal he found. How he got past the volcanic mountains was something he figured MK would tell him when he woke up.

And, boy, did he ever.

MK told Wukong of his old sworn brother, the Demon Bull King, and the would-be Spider Queen. Two demons who found it in their heads that Megapolis was their city, and neither were keen on sharing. And both seemed to believe that their solution was a secret weapon hidden in Wukong’s vault.

“And we thought— my friends and I— that if we found it first, then they wouldn’t be able to.”

It was a hilarious story. One Wukong made sure to laugh at in MK’s face. Because really, why would either demon think they had the balls to invade his island?

“I’m serious! We need to find it now or else they’ll—“

“Tell me, MK,” Wukong spoke, keeping a bright smile on his face. It was different from the ones MK would share. Less genuine and more senile. “How much do you truly know about me?”

Finding the terror in the mortal’s eyes shouldn’t have been endearing, but Wukong would argue that after receiving plenty, he was open to judge them all. While MK was slow on the uptake on who he was talking to, he was a quick learner in figuring out just how dangerous Wukong could be.

In the end, neither of the demons stepped foot on his island. And if he had to twist their arms a little to ensure there would be no future attempts of them sneaking in, that was between Wukong and them. The fact that a little delivery boy was included in that clause was neither here nor there.

-

The fourth time was when Azure made his appearance on Wukong’s island, smiling and laughing as if none of the past millennia had ever happened. Wukong played a good host to his old brother even while his skin crawled and his little Suns whined. But that all came to pause when out of Azure’s scroll came MK and more of his old brothers.

“So you used him,” he asked, eyes closely watching the mortal shake and tremble (he was mumbling something too but Azure was speaking too loudly).

“We needed someone on the inside in order to retrieve the rest of our brothers. With all of us here and reunited, we can finally put Heaven in their place!”

Wukong tilted his head. “What of the Bull King?”

He watched MK flinch when Azure scoffed, the mortal clutching his robes tighter. He was still in shock, but it would not last long. The new buzz of magic told him as much.

“He has forsaken the cause.” There seemed to be more but MK finally cracked.

“You said we’d free my friends.”

Wukong raised a brow, watching Azure’s careful sigh and friendly smile.

“And we will, but there is something I must do first. You have to understand?”

MK shook his head. “You promised. I’d go in the scroll and free my friends. You said you’d help me—“

“And I will, MK.”

“No you won’t.”

All eyes faced Wukong. He saw as Peng rolled their eyes, ever the dramatic one, but Wukong chose to ignore him.

“Azure is too set on his goal of overthrowing the Emperor that no other task will matter until that endeavor is complete.”

“And we will complete it. Wukong, you are not one to be so glum.”

“A lot has changed.”

“So much that you would turn your back once more to us?”

Wukong watched as MK’s eyes pleaded at him.

“I would.”

-

Given that he was the last one in possession of the missing memory scroll, the Diyu was quick to point their fingers on Wukong and claim MK as his accomplice. How they came to that conclusion was, quite frankly, insane and stupid of them. Wukong told them as much while they placed him on trial.

“And yet there is no other living soul we can find.”

“Well, duh,” he sniffed, keeping MK behind him at all costs, “I killed them all.”

“So you could have it for yourself?”

“Because they threatened my subjects.”

This one king was starting to get on his nerves. All his questions seemed posed to specifically point all attention on MK and Wukong refused to bring any attention to him. He’s not blind, there was obviously something mystical with the mortal. What exactly, he wasn’t sure. He could just hear Macaque lecturing him about it. As if that shadow monkey knew anything! He just spent most of his time trying to steal the attention of Wukong’s subjects like the asshole he was!

“And so why was this mortal involved?”

Again, the same king. He was a strange one, his magic not exactly the same as the others. Wukong was not liking the look of him.

And it turned out his instincts were right. As the trial continued and he asked more questions, the King began to call MK the harbinger, a title MK seemed to recognize and freeze at.

But in the end, none of their words held any good defense. Not that Wukong expected anything different. In fact, he was excited for it. Both the Diyu and Heaven have dreamed of shackling him down once again ever since his first havoc. So, when the chains came to shackle MK as well, Wukong felt he was excused enough to start a little mayhem.

Or a lot.

Actually, a lot, a lot.

It was only a pleasant occurance that Heaven chose to bring Wukong up to their realm and place him before the Emperor. And if said Emperor threatened to erase MK out of punishment of Wukong’s behavior?

Well.

Who is to say that Wukong is not excused from cutting that old goat down to size?

[andydona-chan]

Katsuki knocked on the door, feeling nervous and trying not to give into the urge to just turn around and go back to... No, it was fien, he was fine, everything was, then, happiness would bloom in his chest, and a genuine smile would keep him grounded. He could do this.

His father opened the door, surprised at first but then smiled widely at him and stepped aside.

"Katsuki, it's been so long, what a nice surprise"

"Hey Dad, is the Hag here?" He said smiling as they made their way to the kitchen.

"Yes, I was about to call her down for a break in a minute. Is everything okay, son?"

"Uhm... yes, everything is fine, just... You know how you told me that I could come talk with you when I had... feelings for some girl...?"

"Oh... is that it?" His father asked, and Katsuki gave a slight nod, ignoring his gaze. "Let me call your mother, why don't you get us some tea started?" Katsuki noted again, looking straight to the floor with his lips pursed in an attempt to hide his blush and expression.

Massaru took only a couple of minutes to come back with his mother while he was looking at the fire on the stove with a soft smile on his face.

His mother went up and sat up next to him, and Katsuki smiled up at her, for once, neither was screaming at the other. However, Katsuki only took a deep breath and prepared to speak once his father sat up on the other side of the table.

"I never thought I would be having this conversation with you. At all. Ever!" He said with his usual tone only to smile and run a hand down his face. "This wasn't something... it was so unexpected, I... It happened so fast I may never recover..." their parents shared a look expectantly.

Katsuki looked at them and then pulled a few recently printed photographs from his pocket. Unable to contain his smile he placed them on the table.

"Her hair is a mess..." Katsuki felt his voice break and his eyes water, his parents took the photographs in their hands and gasped. "She has these pink cheeks that are so... and her eyes!"

"Such beautiful green eyes, Katsuki! No wonder you fell so hard already!" Said his mother slapping his shoulder. They spoke for a few more minutes, during which they drank a couple of cups of tea, Katsuki was being so direct and felt so happy, his parents had rarely seen him like that, by the end of the conversation the three of them had tears on their faces.

"She's beautiful, son. When can we meet her?" Asked his father, wiping his own tears away.

Katsuki laughed and wiped his eyes, patting the photographs on the table to signal they would remain there. "Visiting hours start in about an hour, so we can go now if you want. But I'm pretty sure they'll discharge them by the end of the day."

"Inko must be over the moon!"

"She was surprisingly alright. There was a moment when she and Izuku were crying so much I thought we would have a problem, but right before I left, she was taking care of everything already"

"Congratulations on becoming a father, son. Even if the conception was out of the ordinary, I'm so happy you're both happy."

"Life keeps giving me these f*king surprises, first Izuku, then this... I mean, I'm not complaining because it's bad, it's really good but..." Katsuki felt himself tear up again, and he looked at his mother. "How did I ever deserve this Mom?"

"You love winning, right Katsuki? This is a form of winning, too. We live in a world where everything is possible, but I think you, winning a family, more than triumph is a gift, you deserve happiness, son."

Massaru picked up their empty cups and then stood up. "I guess we need to anticipate the wedding plans, maybe use it for a naming ceremony too"

Katsuki groaned and buried his face in his hands again, but then laughed. Then the three of them stood up and made their way to Katsuki's car.

If anyone had told Katsuki that morning that during his and Izuku's patrol, the nerd was going to be hit with a pregnancy quirk that would create a baby from his current partner within the following 12 hours, he would have punched that person and laugh at the absurdity. But here he was, at the end of the day, suddenly in love with a little girl that was fruit if said quirk...

Life was ridiculous...

[star--anon]

[suggestive]

"Why do you do that?"

Thomas pauses the movie before he responds, which makes Minho feel a little bit stupid. Was it that baffling of a question?

"Do what?"

His nerve fails him. "...Nothing."

"Do what, Minho?" Thomas insists. He clings even closer, his hands naturally trailing down south on Minho's body, going straight for his thighs.

"Do that," Minho says, struggling not to stutter. It's not like he's never been touched there, but it's different when it's Thomas. He's never gotten used to Thomas.

Thomas' eyes go wide and round, and he sounds pathetically injured when he asks, "I can't touch you?"

It's a nearly impossible mission to stay collected.

"You can do whatever you want," Minho mutters. "But do you have to squish my thighs?"

A bright smile spreads across Thomas' face. Too bright. Minho looks away, his face heating up.

"It's cute."

"My thighs?"

"Yeah. They're squishy."

His fingers feel like fire on his skin; Minho knew it was a mistake to wear shorts when Thomas was home.

"Real cute," Thomas says, as if it's an elaboration.

You're cute, Minho wants to say back. He manages a "Thanks," which is close enough. "You're like a cat," he adds. "Always kneading me."

For some reason, that makes Thomas smile brighter. "Yeah. Guess I am."

"I'm gonna get a spray bottle," Minho mutters. He doesn't mean it in the slightest, and even he can hear how empty the threat is, but Thomas has the good grace to look abashed.

Then Thomas drops a bigger threat. "I'll stop if you want."

Accompanied with a pout, it nearly makes Minho jump off the couch.

"No," he says all too quickly. "It's... It's fine. I like cats." It's a lame recovery, but Thomas pretends to be excited about his response.

Faintly, Minho wonders if he's the real cat in the relationship, and all these small wins in his and Thomas' conversations are like a laser dot on the wall.

He thinks about bringing it up to Thomas ("Do you think I'm your cat?"), wondering if maybe it'll make him laugh, and then he thinks about the black collar sitting in one of their nightstand drawers.

Of course not. You're my precious little puppy, he can hear Thomas cooing. Can still feel the leather around his neck.

For the sake of his sanity, he decides not to mention it.

Not tonight. Not right now, at least, with Thomas' fingers so close to... Well, it was a mistake to wear shorts when Thomas was home.

Thomas takes his hands off to press play on the remote again, and Minho counts every second his fingers are gone, unable to bear the cold. When he comes back, Minho counts every second his fingers are on him, unable to bear the heat. It's an dizzying, agonizing game to play. He really is the dog.

Judging by the way Thomas lets out a soft huff of laughter, he knows exactly why Minho's so bothered over his thigh-kneading habit. It's not long before his hands are going somewhere else. Maybe the shorts were a good idea.

[chronicowboy]

wrote this on wednesday then promptly forgot about it (thabk @danielsousa for reminding me) but there's like a tiny chance eddie could be trapped in that van with someone so the bones of this fic could still technically apply

Eddie makes it out alive. Again. Somehow.

(Except somehow is 6ft2 and looks a lot like an angel when the last piece of rubble falls away and the light filters into what Eddie had thought would be his grave.)

Eddie makes it out alive, but Joel isn't so lucky.

He had been on a motorbike when the first crash had happened, in critical condition before the bridge had collapsed. It had taken them far too long to extract him from the cluster of cars, and then, when they'd finally gotten him ready to transport, the bridge had swallowed both Joel and Eddie whole.

It had been a long two hours of trying to keep Joel from bleeding out, but eventually he'd lost the fight and the man had taken in one final, wheezing breath before going still.

Now, Eddie's staring into a hospital mirror covered in dust and another man's blood. The bathroom door creaks open, and Buck's reflection appears in the mirror.

"Chim's okay," he offers softly. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut in relief, its the most Buck is going to get out of him. "Maddie's just waiting for him to be assigned a room and then she'll go up and sit with him until he's awake." Buck joins him by the sinks, turning the faucet on and grabbing a wad of paper towels. "Hen and Bobby have been checked out too. Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. Karen and Athena are looking after them."

Buck picks up Eddie's bloodied hands with a gentleness that makes Eddie want to curl up in a ball, but he lets Buck wipe away the grime on his skin and doesn't think about Maddie with Chimney, Athena with Bobby, Karen with Hen. He catches the bandage peeking out from under Buck's shirt sleeve and his stomach clenches.

"What about you?" he croaks, voice hoarse from begging Joel to stay with him. Buck looks up at him with earnest eyes before following his gaze down to the gauze.

"Oh, that's nothing." Buck shakes his head. "Chim needed a blood transfusion, and..."

"You're a universal donor," Eddie mumbles to himself. Buck nods.

"How are you?" he whispers, guiding Eddie's hands under the lukewarm stream of water. Eddie fixes his gaze on the pink liquid swirling around the drain.

"Unscathed," he spits.

"Eddie," Buck murmurs. "You did everything you could for him."

"It wasn't enough."

Eddie jerks his hands out of Buck's grasp, pumps three drops of soap onto his palm, turns the heat up to full and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs. Buck shuts the tap off just as the water begins to burn, and Eddie slumps into a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his head.

"He had a kid at home, Buck." Eddie bites his lip, revels in the gritty taste of dust. "A little girl. Jackie. God, you should have seen his face when he spoke about her." Even in the darkness, even in tremendous amounts of agony, Joel had lit up like the fucking sun when he spoke of his daughter. For a single moment, Eddie had been back in the well, fighting to get home to Christopher.

"And I know that you did everything in your power to try and get him back to her," Buck says with conviction.

"Well, it wasn't enough, was it?" Eddie snaps. "He died in my care, Buck. I let a little girl lose her father."

"Eddie, that was not your fault," Buck warns him, tone stern. "The universe was working against you in every possible way."

"The universe!" Eddie laughs coldly, meets Buck's eyes in the mirror. "The universe has been working against me my whole goddamn life, Buck. But I'm still here." His voice cracks, but he doesn't take his eyes off Buck. Can't. "Why am I still here?" Buck opens his mouth, but Eddie doesn't want an answer as much as he wants to spit in the universe's filthy fucking face. "Shannon died, my convoy died, Joel died. You died." Eddie takes in a ragged breath, cursing the oxygen in his lungs. "Why am I still alive?"

"Because there is a little boy, who's not all that little anymore, waiting for you at home. A little boy who loves you more than anything in the world. A little boy who needs his dad."

"Wasn't enough for Joel," Eddie croaks.

"No, but." Buck sighs. "You made Chris a promise. To always fight to come home to him. You were just keeping that promise."

"He had a wife," Eddie whispers. "A wife and a kid to get home to. And he fought for them. But..." He squeezes his eyes shut again. "Why am I still here, Buck?"

"For Christopher."

"Christopher would be fine." Eddie shakes his head in dismissal. "He'd have you."

For a moment, the only sound in the bathroom is Eddie's ragged breathing and the drip-drop of a leaky faucet. Then, a low and furious noise, like the grumble of thunder -

"Eddie, you are not expendable."

Eddie huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Clearly not," he snaps, spinning around to face Buck head on. "Clearly I'm not expendable when everybody around me, everybody but me keeps dying."

Eddie storms out of the bathroom before Buck can say anything else. The itch under his skin turning into a haunting chorus telling him to run. He follows the winding hallways of the hospital in a blind need for air, suddenly claustrophobic trapped in between four walls, just waiting for it all to come crumbling down around him. He doesn't stop until he's outside, collapsing onto the bench just left of the exit as the tears start to fall. He hunches in on himself and cries into his hands for what feels like hours.

Eventually, somebody eases down onto the bench beside him. He doesn't have to look to know its Buck, can feel it in the warmth where their shoulders touch. Eddie braces himself for whatever Buck is going to say, but nothing comes. Buck just. Sits beside him. Sits with him in his grief. And Eddie is so thankful for it that he almost doesn't remember Bobby's words to him in the hardware store.

a motorcycle accident... it was a bad one... I wasn't at my best at the time... I needed to take a minute and she sat with me.

"Eddie, you said it yourself." Buck smiles at him. "Experiences like this they change us, so you're gonna have to make a choice. What's this gonna change in you?"

Oh, Eddie thinks, that's what its going to change.

[home-of-renn]

HC/AU where Danny wasn't wearing his hazmat suit when he died during the accident.

His parents' experiments had always had a fifty-fifty chance of whether they worked or not, and this one was just destined to fail. He'd been frustrated and embarrassed when he'd given into Sam's cajoling. He'd been careless and petty when he'd forgone his safety gear.

Now his suit still hangs there in the storage cupboard in the lab, three feet away from the portal that Danny died in.

A ghost's appearance is often a culmination of many things; the lives they lived and the deaths they endured. Their hopes, regrets, burdens and hardships. Those last agonising moments and all those who'd been involved. Oftentimes, ghosts will look somewhat like they did in life. But most ghosts don't remember who they were or how they died.

But Danny remembers who he was and how he died.

He remembers the feeling of his blood vessels bursting and his bone marrow bubbling and his heart struggling to beat.

He remembers every footstep that echoed on the metal floor and the stench of his own burning flesh.

He remembers the feeling of electricity burning his muscles and collapsing his lungs.

He remembers the way something had been drawn tight inside him. Strained and stretched - loosening and unwinding - so close to snapping.

The feeling of burning. The searing pain, bright and hot, every nerve lit up and scorching.

He remembers being consumed from the inside out.

It happened between the span of a single moment and a never-ending eternity.

But then it was cold.

A fleeting moment of relief - the feeling branded into his core.

So cold that for a moment he felt numb, all the way from his charred fingers tips to his blackened toes and melted sneakers.

It had been cold.

So, so cold - like frostbite - like needles piercing his skin and scoring his nerves. So cold he was burning all over again.

God, how he'd wished he'd worn his suit.

[goddessofroyalty]

hello! the fanart of Viktor with a baby you reblogged this week got me right in the soft feels u.u would you consider revisiting the Work/Life Balance 'verse? (random ideas: pregnant Viktor dealing with a minor illness (very minor, not a complication, no real threat to his health and no threat whatsoever to the baby, but Jayce is still fussing over them)? how a newborn affects Viktor's already hectic work/sleep schedule? either Viktor can't or chooses not to nurse and good papa Jayce does his part with formula and bottles?)

Kind of combined the second two parts of this into what I’ve written but more leaning on good papa Jayce helping feed their baby. Maybe I’ll figure out a quick 4th scene (to even out the POV’s) that focuses a bit more on Viktor’s messy sleeping schedule. Have also made a note of the first prompt as well to do separately.

I’ve given up and am naming this kid Naph as well. Why? Because it’s a nice easy name for me to kidnap and gods knows Arcane played fast and loose with League lore anyway. Also I like it and it has become the default in my brain if nothing else fills the space. It can be easily subbed out if I decide on something different later.

Warnings: past-mpreg, omegaverse (I refer to the baby as pup that’s literally it), some mention of after-birth pains (nothing major just a bit tender)

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

Viktor wakes to the sound of a baby crying.

“I’ve got him, don’t get up,” Jayce says as the sleep fades from Viktor’s brain and he remembers that it is their baby that is crying not just some random abstract one. Their baby that Viktor had given birth to days prior and had finally been allowed back home that day. The doctors happy with both their progress.

The bed shifts as Jayce gets up to go to their child. Viktor pushes himself up on his arms to sit up more as he does. Wincing as his weight settles on where he’s still tender from the birth.

“I told you not to get up,” Jayce says holding their son in his arms as he looks back at Viktor. It is a good image and one Viktor could get used to seeing. Will get used to seeing, as surreal as that feels.

“And I have not gotten out of bed.” Nor will he be. Not when he has a perfectly good and willing Jayce to get things for him while he still heals from the birth. To make up for you having done all the work to this point Jayce had said and Viktor had nothing to gain from fighting him on it. “What’s the time?”

“2AM. And you can go back to sleep,” Jayce says. “He just needs a bottle.”

“I’m awake now.” Viktor had never been able to go back to sleep once he woke. There always something he’d rather be spending the time doing than tossing and turning. “I can hold him while you heat up the bottle.”

“The doctors said you need rest,” Jayce says despite it being clear he needs both hands to keep their son settled which would leave none free to prepare a bottle as well.

“I am resting!” Despite how much he misses it he still hasn’t returned to the lab since he was put on bedrest in the final trimester. Working on formulas and schematics from bed can hardly be considered work. It’s just keeping his mind occupied. “Let me hold him.”

Jayce clearly wants to argue but he relents when Viktor raises an eyebrow. Carefully handing their son over and only taking his hands away once the baby is very secure and settled.

Viktor would almost be offended at the lack of trust but he all-too-well understands the impulse. It turns out newborns are tiny and so delicate. It is almost terrifying to think about all the different ways they could accidently hurt him. It is scary to even have him in Viktor’s arms but also nerve-wracking when he is not within easy reach.

“I’ll be right back,” Jayce promises, only taking his eyes off them when he physically leaves the room.

Viktor once again examines his son while he waits. He had hoped their child would have taken a little more after both of them rather than looking mostly like Viktor but it is still impressive to think mere days ago Naph was still growing inside him and now the boy is alive and experiencing the world, frowning up at Viktor as his tongue peaks out between tiny lips, followed by a small cry of impatience.

“Not much longer,” Viktor promises. If his milk had come in the wait wouldn’t have to be this long. But it is useful to know that Jayce can look after their son entirely on his own if needed.

Naph is still far too young to actually understand what Viktor is saying. Another louder cry being made as Jayce hurries back into the room.

“No, no, don’t cry, I got it,” Jayce rambles, sliding into bed beside Viktor, warm bottle in hand. He pauses when Viktor holds their child back out to him. “Uh-“

“You said you were feeding him, no?” Viktor has no problems with doing it as well but Jayce likes to feel useful. And Viktor likes to watch him with their son.

“Right, of course,” Jayce recovers quickly. Carefully taking their son back into his arms, offering him the bottle. It only takes two passes of the teat for the tiny mouth to open to let it pass.

“He is hungry,” Jayce says as their son makes quick work of the bottle.

“I suppose it was a big day for him.” For Viktor and Jayce they came home but all their son knew until the day before was the hospital.

“It was,” Jayce agrees, shifting slightly to allow Viktor to lean in closer and push the fabric from their son’s onesie down from where it had crept up to his mouth. “But we can all rest for now.”

Viktor gives a hum of agreement despite how he already itches to get back to the lab.

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

Jayce wakes to find himself alone in the bed.

It isn’t that unusual. Neither he nor Viktor can be said to have a normal sleeping schedule even before their pup was born. But Jayce still never likes it when he reaches out for his partner only to find cold bedsheets.

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles to the main living area. There’s no point trying to get back to sleep anyway and he might as well check on Naph to make sure he hasn’t woken in the night.

Viktor had apparently had the same thought whenever he had gotten up. He stands in front of the blackboard they had set up so they can make any changes to their equations even when not in the lab, a piece of chalk balanced in the fingers of the hand resting on his cane as the other holds their son steady where he is swaddled against Viktor’s chest. A slight bounce with every move clearly to keep the pup settled.

“I put coffee on,” Viktor says, not even turning around to acknowledge Jayce. Not that Jayce wants him to – he’s perfectly happy just watching his partner and their child together.

“Thanks.” There’s an almost empty baby bottle next to the coffeepot. It’s cold to the touch so Jayce rinses it out in the sink and puts it to the side to be sanitized with the others. He makes Viktor a cup of coffee as well as his own. “Couldn’t get him to go back to sleep?”

“He doesn’t want to be put down,” Viktor says, looking away from their life’s work to their son. “Clingy. Like his father.”

Jayce can hardly blame his son for that – he wants to cling to Viktor too at times.

“I can take him if you need to write,” Jayce says as he brings Viktor’s coffee over to him. Tapping his partner on the arm with it before placing it down on the table they keep next to the blackboard almost exclusively for coffee. He picks up the old empty one and takes it back to the sink.

“It is fine,” Viktor says with a small shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the blackboard. “I have nothing new to add to it anyway.”

Jayce would suggest Viktor go back to bed then but he knows his partner would have as much a chance of going back to sleep as he would.

Instead he joins Viktor at the blackboard. Close enough that Viktor can shuffle over and lean against him while they both try and figures out how the equations fit together and wait for the morning sun.

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

“Jayce!” Viktor calls because he is in the middle of wiring up the controls for the latest iteration of Hexgates and their son is crying. Jayce is just doing some paperwork, necessary, yes, but nowhere near as dangerous to be walked away from in the middle of.

“Huh?” Jayce asks as he sticks his head into the room before realizing why he was called. “Right. On it.”

“Up we go,” Jayce says as he picks their son up from the cot they keep in the lab for him to sleep in while they work. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor watches his partner hold their son high to sniff at his backside. “Nope. Must be hungry.”

Viktor returns his attention back fully to his work as Jayce carries their son into the kitchenette of the lab to heat up a bottle for him. He’s still at it when he two return, their son still in Jayce’s arms as he comes to watch over Viktor’s shoulder.

“How are you going?”

“Nearly finished.” The wiring had nearly taken him all day but it should be worth it.

“And then we can test it?” Jayce asks despite the fact he should already know the answer.

“Yes. They should lead to a less, uh, jolty experience when the jump is made.”

Jayce doesn’t respond, but Viktor can hear him pace around the lab no doubt bouncing their child in his arms as he does to keep the boy settled and not distracting Viktor’s work.

Viktor doesn’t alert his partner to the fact once he finishes. Instead watching the two of them for the minute it takes Jayce to notice himself. He had been told by many how lucky he was to have Jayce as the father of his child and, really, he cannot argue it.

[serenescribe]

Three sentence meme!

Epel has an extremely rough day and just breaks down, Vil is being a soft mum for him the entire time just wanting his little apple to know everything is alright.

[✐meme] three sentence fic meme [✐] ficlet frenzy

"Epel," Vil says carefully, his voice kind, "you know it is perfectly fine to cry, right?"

Next to him, the two of them seated on an elegant couch tucked away in one of Pomefiore's many rooms, Epel dabs at his eyes furiously with the end of his sleeves. Just this once, Vil will not chide him on the improper use of his dorm uniform as a handkerchief, only because there is a time and place for such reminders, and now is not one of those occasions. "Ugh, I know, I just—" Sniffling, Epel shakes his head, muttering, "I jus' hate cryin'," his accent leaking through his words.

"Well, it's a healthy outlet for your emotions," Vil replies, matter-of-factly, stifling the urge to sigh as he packs away another lecture for a better time. Right now, his priority is Epel's well-being, especially considering the dire situation affecting the boy.

There is a lull in the conversation, before Vil says, "Your grandmother will be fine, Epel."

"Ah know," Epel mutters, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again. "If it were real bad, my ma and pa would've told me to come back now... but still! How're they expectin' me to wait till the weekend when Meemaw's hurt?!"

Ah, Vil realises, as Epel rages and rants. The boy is crying now, tears streaking down his face. His heart twists at the sight; such a vulnerable, heartbroken expression, intertwined with streaks of red-hot anger, looks so wholly alien on Epel's petite features.

Wordlessly, Vil wraps his arm around the boy — his apple, a softer part of him thinks affectionately — and pulls him in closer, allowing the dam to break as Epel simultaneously weeps and rages. It's all he can do to be there for him while he lets it all out — and then after, he can take care of him.

[frankenjoly]

Take it

mushiango + “you deserve a day off, please just take it” request from @ashenaura

“Oh, come on.” Mushitarô said, glancing up and down in Ango’s direction. “You deserve a day off, please just take it.”

“But–” Ango tried to counter, emphasis on ‘tried’ because he was already expecting it (how not to) and thus had come to their current conversation ready; he was going to make his partner take a break and wouldn’t hesitate on calling in the big guns if necessary.

“Darling, you look terrible.”

That was an understatement, actually. There were very prominent dark circles under Ango’s eyes, which he was currently struggling to keep open on top of that, his hair was an absolute mess and there was a coffee stain on his shirt (something which might as well count as a punishable offense, and would have been almost literally it were that one of the shirts Mushitarô had gifted him).

“Come on.” He repeated, closing the small distance between them in a couple of steps and cradling Ango’s face between his hands. “They’ll survive without you. And if not, then it’s their problem.”

Despite everything, Ango let out a brief snort, making Mushitarô smile. He got this, there was only a bit more convincing left to do.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Tsujimura-san, at least.” And… jackpot.

“I’ll sort things out with her, don’t worry.” In fact, Mushitarô already had a plan for that, and little to no doubt about how he would be getting her to say yes to it.

(Also on ao3.)

[crumbleclub]

a super short ficlet in the blips universe, told from elizabeth's perspective.

Elizabeth and her little brother huddled together on the carpeted floor of her room, and she lifted her hands to cover his ears.

The muffled sound of shouting made its way through the walls, punctuated by a sickening crack. It was quiet for a moment. Then, she could hear crying. It was raspy and gasping and loud; the kind you couldn't mask no matter how hard you tried.

Evan was crying, too, silent tears dripping down his face and leaving damp spots where they fell onto the collar of his shirt. Elizabeth could feel him trembling in her arms, and her palms pressed even more tightly over his ears. Closing her eyes, she willed it all to go away.

"You don't have to be scared, Evan," she whispered. "You just have to pretend."

Elizabeth was very good at pretending.

[destinationtoast]

I love all of these ideas so much, especially the post-finale bewildering OT3 conversations one and the ~secret identity one (Keeley & Roy both know the same person without knowing it).

When looking to see whether some of these have sprung into existence over the past few months -- tragically, no AFAICT; there are still only a small handful of Roy-at-a-gay-bar fics -- I stumbled across a great little S1 missing scene fic where Roy encounters a drag queen at G-A-Y who looks just like Keeley! XD

The fact that Roy canonically goes to gay bars and hangs out with drag queens is criminally under-utilised in fanon.

Where are my stories about the boys trying to support Colin by going to a gay bar and then being gobsmacked when Roy knows everybody there? Where are the stories where Roy gets caught at G-A-Y by the paparazzi and outed, only for him to insist that he’s straight to the team, who think he’s trying to save face and keep making grandiose gestures to prove their support to an increasingly infuriated Roy. Where are the stories about Roy and Keeley going to a gay bar together (with the yoga milfs) and running into one of Keeley’s ex-girlfriends?

What about Jamie thinking he’s doing super subtle bisexual signalling (cuffed jeans, layers, iced coffee, etc) only for Roy to clock him immediately and start trying to signal his support to Jamie à la Trent’s gay mug, only for it to backfire as Jamie assumes Roy is trying to come out.

Where’s my Roy who’s known he’s queer all his life getting invited to a gay club by his yoga friends for the first time and panicking, (because he’s never acknowledged this part of himself and how can they see it?), only to go to the bar and have it feel like he’s coming home. Where’s my Roy who’s absolutely certain he’s straight (after all, he’s being going to gay bars for years and he would know by now if he wasn’t) having a fucking heart attack as he falls for Jamie and has to reconceptualize his identity at 40. Where are the comedies about Keeley and Roy knowing the same person, but Roy only knows the drag queen and Keeley only knows the man out of drag and so they don’t realise they have the same friend?

What about a post-finale story where Roy, Keeley, and Jamie all show up at the same gay bar without planning it and have a series of bewildering conversations as they try to figure out if they’ve followed each other there (Keeley is like “how many times can I tell these boys I won’t pick between them?”) or if the other person is gay (you obviously can’t just ask).

These are all off the top of my head, so I am sure there are more. But please, please, somebody write this. We can’t let Roy get away with mentioning this once and then never talking about it again.

[ink-and-dagger]

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

[stevieschrodinger]

I don't know, ficlet AU sort of thing.

Alpha Steve has a YouTube channel that, kind of, started by accident. Steve is not the most confident reader, like, at all. The words get kind of muddled and he got into a habit of just sort of trying to rush it, figuring he was going to mess it up anyway, so get it over with, right? And then he just sort of stops reading, even though he enjoyed it, because he couldn't get his brain to slow down and the muddling got worse and...yeah.

So one day, his platonic soul mate bestie suggests he read out loud. To someone. If he reads every word out one at a time, knowing it has to be clear enough for the other person to follow, that'll slow him down.

So, he tries it, but only for Robin. And it sort of works, kind of, and then she hits on him using something so he can only see the line he's reading, like a bit of card with a letterbox cut in it, and...Steve is on fire.

The words don't get muddled up so much, and his reading is slow and even, and he needs to read to someone, and Robin can't always be there. It becomes his own pet project, he reads out little bits of books he likes, parts of articles he has enjoyed, poems, whatever, and starts his own little you tube that has like, five followers, and they're all people he knows.

And then suddenly, almost overnight, Steve finds himself with four thousand followers. A very large portion of them are very clearly Omega, from the comments, and Steve suddenly finds himself with a lot of fans who are using his videos for white noise. He's literally reading thousands of Omegas off to sleep.

Which is...nice. Steve likes it. The hits and followers on his videos seem to settle down after a couple of weeks, and then, after having so many comments about how settling Steve's voice is, how the Alpha is relaxing and safe. Steve thinks fuck it.

As a test, he makes a ten minute video directly for that audience. He builds a nest, films it POV. He films the view of someone walking through the bedroom door, of what they would see as they climb into the nest, then resting the camera on his own chest.

Then he starts talking. Tells the omega how perfect they are, how much he cares for them, wants to protect, keep safe. How soft they are as he pets them, how warm and cosy they are in their nest. How snuggles with the omega are Steve's favourite thing.

He deliberately keeps everything as vague and gender neutral as he can. The video fucking explodes. Goes viral. Millions of hits, thousands and thousands of followers. Robin and the kids think it's hilarious, and encourage him to keep going, claiming he's doing a public service.

Hundreds of copycats spring up, but no one pulls it off quite like Steve.

He knows there are Omega out there getting off to his videos, despite there being absolutely nothing sexual about them, but Steve figures, whatever makes people happy.

He gets so many positive comments, omega telling him how much comfort he brings them. He has some regular commenters that he gets to know, too, which is nice. Sometimes he even takes requests, small things, the colour of his shirt, the time of day he shoots his videos, certain words and phrases.

One supportive commenter always stands out though : EdDio86. Steve's pretty sure he's male omega, and he's always so grateful when Steve posts a new video. The guy clearly has a lot of trouble sleeping, and apparently Steve really helps. They have a little back and forth in the comments, learning little bits about one another. Steve likes this omega.

Steve also gets the impression the omega is sorely lacking any comfort in his life. Considering the length of his comments, the guy never asks for anything.

Until he does.

At the end of a comment, always ever so politely thanking Steve, EdDio86 admits he's 'in a bit of a pickle' and could Steve, please, do a video where 'the omega' is with pup? Could Steve tell the omega that the pup is fine, and healthy, and that the omega is doing good and the pup is okay and everything will be okay...but cool if not. Bit of a weird request, I know, sorry to be a bother.

And Steve suddenly doesn't give a shit about the consequences of just,,,dropping his personal email out into the world like that, because he wants to tell this guy these things personally.