#both the prompt and the fact that i was able to do this without collapsing halfway through!!!! WH

[snowfoxicedemon]

@dotflowweek Day 6: Guilt

she left dirty slimeprints at mcdonalds and ran away without confessing

[starryeyedjanai]

all we need is these four walls

kinktober prompt: threesome/moresome corroded coffin/steve | 3.6k | explicit tags: exhibition & voyeurism, transmasc gareth, vaginal and anal sex, oral sex, come eating

read on ao3

Steve loves show days.

He loves the adrenaline, loves standing in the wings watching his guys perform.

He loves the music and the atmosphere and the energy.

He wasn't sure he'd like it when Eddie first asked him if he wanted to try touring with them. He'd never been on the road like this before, never spent so long away from home, never slept in an awkwardly cramped space. He wasn't sure he'd get used to it.

But he did. He learned the ropes of helping with setup and take-down pretty quickly and got to watch his best friends, his favorite people, rise to much deserved fame.

Long gone are the days of taking turns driving the van or navigating from the passenger seat and sleeping on top of each other in the back when they couldn't afford hotel rooms.

And long gone are also the days of hurried, quiet hand jobs between him and Eddie, in gas station bathrooms late at night or fucking in the back of the van while the other guys went to get food - they'd always complain about needing to air out the van whenever they did fuck, so they didn't do it all that often.

He doesn't exactly know when things began to change.

Maybe it was always slotted to be this way from the first time Eddie mentioned him driving out to a show with them.

Maybe it started to change the first time he and Eddie fooled around in the back of the van.

Or when Corroded Coffin got signed and started doing actual tours and Eddie brought him along in their bus, and they were trying to be so quiet as Steve sucked Eddie off while the guys were still awake and talking up front.

When they had two hotel rooms and Steve and Eddie had to share with someone because it wasn't fair to put someone out and make the others share a bed just because they wanted to fuck, maybe.

But Steve definitely noticed the change the first time Jeff collapsed into the bed next to them while they were kissing and murmured that if they were going to fuck to at least try to be quiet about it.

They hadn't been planning on fucking that night - they tried not to step on the other band members' toes when it came to couple-y stuff. They didn't want Steve to wear out his welcome or for anyone to start resenting the fact that he was touring with them.

But with Jeff's kind-of-sort-of permission, Eddie slipped his hand into Steve's pants and brought him off right there with Jeff dozing in the bed next to them. Eddie was so worked up that he came in his pants without Steve ever needing to put a hand on him.

No one mentioned it in the morning when Eddie slipped his cock between Steve's thighs and Steve watched Jeff slowly jerk himself off in the other bed, locking eyes as they came just a breath apart.

They didn't really talk about it when Gareth - who must have talked to Jeff - roomed with them at the next hotel and scoffed like he was offended when it looked like they were just going to bed. He said something to the effect of, "What? Am I not good enough to fool around in front of?"

Steve doesn't remember the exact wording, but he remembers what came next. He remembers Eddie's eyes blown wide as Steve pressed inside him. He remembers the shattered moans. He remembers both him and Eddie not being able to take their eyes off Gareth once he got his pants off, fingers fucking roughly into his cunt as he watched them fuck.

But they still didn't talk about it, other than this understanding that when they had a hotel night, whoever was in the other bed was likely going to get a show if they weren't bone tired and fell asleep right away. (That happened more than Steve would have liked, the all-consuming exhaustion that prevented them from having fun.)

Freak was the one who actually asked for more, after two tours of them all staunchly not bringing it up.

He said that he wanted more, that they all wanted more, but they weren't sure if it was allowed. That the two who weren't in the hotel room with Eddie and Steve usually hooked up on hotel nights, which neither of them knew, and that they could probably all hook up in the same room even if Steve and Eddie didn't want to be touched by anyone else.

Eddie looked at Steve, looked deep into his eyes - probably saw the heat he knew had to be there, at hearing about the other hooking up, at thinking about them all in the same room, at the thought of more - and marched right over to Freak to pull him into a kiss.

Steve followed, getting behind Freak on the bed, kissing his neck and playing with his nipples as he watched Eddie take him apart with his mouth. He kissed him over his shoulder as he came in Eddie's mouth, tasting the sighs and moans that fell from his mouth.

Eddie kissed and licked at Freak's cock until he was hard again and then for the first time, someone other than Eddie fucked into Steve, pulling overwhelmed gasps from him - Freak's dick was short and wide, pressing right up against Steve's prostate on every single thrust in.

Eddie fucked him after Freak came a second time, burying his face in Steve's neck and whispering about how sloppy and wet he would be if Freak hadn't been wearing a condom, how full he'd be after two loads - or maybe even three - were fucked into him.

Steve had already come once, untouched on Freak's cock, so he was shivery and overstimulated, speared open on Eddie's cock, and he came again with Freak's fist wrapped tight around him, shuddering and crying out loud enough that Jeff and Gareth must have heard it in the next room over.

The next morning, the three of them slipped into Jeff and Gareth's hotel room with the extra key and when the door shut behind them, Steve and Eddie hopped into the bed they were sharing and pressed kisses all over both of their faces, Gareth only mildly resisting Steve's love.

Gareth was the first to speak, saying, "So you bit the bullet, huh?" to Freak.

Eddie asked, "How long have you all wanted to say something?" and the answer was a resounding too long, so they immediately began fixing their lack of communication (after nearly breaking the hotel bed, of course).

Now, though, it's been a few years since then. They've got this dance down, know each other and each other's bodies so well that most things run smoothly between the five of them.

Steve and Eddie aren't SteveandEddie anymore because it's all of them. It maybe started out as a 'SteveandEddie and whoever happened to be in the other hotel bed' thing, but it didn't stay that way once they all talked it out. Because there were feelings there on all sides.

Eddie had been harboring a crush on Jeff that Steve knew dated back to when they started this band together. Gareth had apparently, seethingly, been crushing on Steve since Eddie first introduced them. Grant had been into Eddie from nearly the beginning as well. So, once the floodgates were open, there wasn't really any going back from there.

They fooled around that first morning, with the sunlight shining in from the window, and they just never stopped.

It became more than that, more than just fooling around, and now here they are.

Steve's practically vibrating as they all say their thank yous and goodnights to the crowd and make their way backstage. He knows intimately what's coming next.

Eddie crowds him up against the wall and kisses him deep, Steve's hands coming up to his neck, where he's sweaty and hot from performing.

He pulls away with a wet sound and grins at Steve and grabs his hand to pull him towards the dressing room where the others have already started walking towards.

The door closes behind him and he twists the lock and then all bets are off.

Gareth is on him first, pulling him down into a harsh kiss, biting and nipping at his bottom lip. Steve drops Eddie's hand and pulls Gareth closer, steering the kiss somewhere less bitey, slower and lingering, tongues pressing together as Steve tilts his head.

He moves them further into the room so he isn't pressed up against the door - because as much as he likes getting fucked up against a wall or a door, his body is still sore from Freak taking him against their hotel room wall. He picked him right up and fucked inside him, his knees hooked over his elbows, bending him further than he's been bent in a while.

He feels Freak press up behind him. Freak kisses his neck and palms him through his pants as he gets Gareth's jeans open. He slips his hand inside his underwear and plunges his fingers in Gareth's cunt, feeling him sigh into the kiss.

He hears the slick sounds of someone getting their dick sucked and his own dick pulses in sympathy when he hears Eddie moaning because he knows how good Jeff is with his mouth.

He moans as Freak gets his hand inside his pants and starts to jerk him off.

"Off, clothes off," he says, pulling his hand out of Gareth's pants. He sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste the slick clinging to them and when he looks up, Gareth is staring at his mouth hungrily and he instantly knows how he's going to get him off first.

The three of them shed their clothes and when they're naked, Steve leads Gareth over to the couch.

He's about to suggest Freak bend him over the arm of the couch so he can bury his face in Gareth's cunt when Eddie says, "I want Freak to fuck me," and they all roll their eyes because Eddie always wants Freak to fuck him.

Freak's dick is the perfect size for hitting prostates and g-spots and Eddie hogs it because he's extremely into prostate orgasms.

Jeff walks over to them and kisses Gareth and Steve figures he'll be tapped in when Gareth wants his mouth, so he turns to watch as Freak and Eddie kiss near the vanity. He knows Eddie's going to be bent over it in minutes, always impatient to get Freak's dick in him when he knows it's coming.

He watches as Freak undresses Eddie, taking his time despite the way Eddie tries to urge him to go faster. He never gives in, though, just slowly pulling his sweaty shirt off his body, ducking his head to kiss and lick down his chest. Eddie would never admit it, but he loves being teased like that when he's desperate for it - he kind of loves being denied what he wants sometimes.

Steve watches as Eddie throws his head back and moans at the feeling of Freak's teeth on his nipple.

As much as he wants to watch Eddie get fucked - and he still might get to watch that depending on how they configure themselves - he wants to get his mouth on Gareth even more.

Jeff is fingering Gareth when Steve looks back at them and he groans. The pretty picture of Jeff's fingers fucking inside, his thumb rubbing Gareth's cock as they kiss makes Steve's cock throb.

He gets behind Jeff and unbuttons his pants, Eddie having already stripped him of his shirt earlier. He pushes them down his hips and helps him step out of them so that he never has to stop touching Gareth.

He presses himself up against his back and wraps a fist around Jeff's cock, rocking his own cock against his ass.

He kisses Jeff's shoulder, trying to peer over it so he can see him working his fingers into Gareth, but with how close their bodies are pressed together now, he can't really see anything.

Jeff pulls away from the kiss and Steve sees when he pulls his fingers out of his cunt and feeds them, slick and all, into Gareth's waiting mouth.

Gareth sucks the slick off of Jeff's fingers, gripping his wrist and not letting go until he's licked them fully clean. Steve's stomach swoops at the look in Gareth's eyes, at the heat in his gaze.

"You wanna fuck me?" Steve asks Jeff and Jeff nods, turning around to kiss him.

He lets himself get lost in it, Jeff's tongue pressing inside and stroking against his.

He shudders when Jeff reaches down and tugs at the plug inside him.

He lets Jeff bend him over the arm of the couch, Gareth eagerly climbing in front of him, laying on his back, bending one knee and letting the other leg fall off to the side.

Steve doesn't wait - he's been waiting long enough, wanting to get his mouth on Gareth, to have a real taste of him.

He pulls Gareth forward by the hips and buries his face in his cunt. He presses his tongue into him immediately, where he's stretched open from Jeff's fingers and dripping slick.

Behind him, Jeff pulls at the plug, teasing him, fucking it in and out slowly, stretching his hole around the widest part and then pressing it back inside again.

He moans at the feeling, at the taste of Gareth on his tongue. He pulls up to suck Gareth's dick into his mouth, slurping at it noisily, groaning when Jeff finally tugs the plug out of his hole completely.

He feels the come that Eddie fucked into him earlier trickle out of him and he shivers.

The feeling of Jeff notching his cock up against his hole, slick with lube he must have had stored in his pants pocket, makes him double his efforts on Gareth, fucking two fingers into his hole and curling them. He wants Gareth to come on his tongue so that he can slide into his wet cunt with Jeff still fucking him.

Gareth moans at that, his hands tangling in Steve's hair, holding him there - as if Steve would want to be anywhere but here, sucking his cock.

Jeff presses the head of his cock inside Steve's hole, the slide so slick from the lube and the come leaking out. Steve gasps at the stretch when Jeff presses in deep, clenching around him.

He sucks and licks at Gareth's cock and he feels the shuddering climax coming, feels Gareth tensing up. His thighs close around Steve's ears and he comes, cunt clenching rhythmically around Steve's fingers.

Steve sucks him through it, pulling back when Gareth tugs at his hair. He licks around his fingers, lapping up the slick that's flowing out around them. He presses his fingers up against Gareth's g-spot and Gareth's body jerks under him from the oversensitivity.

Steve pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them as Jeff nails his prostate.

He taps Jeff's thigh even though he really doesn't want to him to stop, but they need to rework their position if he wants to fuck Gareth.

Jeff slows to a stop and pulls out. "Where do you want us?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know Steve's going to choose the option where they all can see the reason why Eddie's making such punched out little moans as Freak fucks into him.

He stands up and he puts Gareth on his knees on the couch with his chest nearly hanging over the arm. He gets behind him and waits for Jeff to get behind him before proceeding.

Jeff puts one knee on the couch behind him and keeps one foot on the ground for leverage as he slips back inside. Steve sighs at the stretch, taking a second to turn his head, begging for a kiss.

Jeff obliges, pressing his mouth to Steve's as he grinds inside. Steve gasps and Jeff slips his tongue inside his mouth, sliding his tongue against Steve's as he gently fucks into him.

"Are you gonna fuck me or do I have to go and squeeze between Eddie and the goddamn vanity if I want some dick?" Gareth asks and Steve pulls away from Jeff's mouth.

Steve looks down and finds Gareth glaring at him. His hand comes down on Gareth's ass in a loud smack and Gareth groans.

"Poor puppy. So neglected," Steve says sarcastically, shuffling forward.

He lines up his cock and slides inside his wet cunt, Gareth sighing so pretty as he does. He waits for Jeff to slide forward behind him and then they start moving.

He fucks into Gareth as Jeff pulls back, sliding back into him hard enough that the sound of their hips colliding rivals the smack he delivered to Gareth's ass.

They find a good rhythm, Steve rolling his hips, fucking himself into Gareth and then back onto Jeff's dick, and Steve feels enshrouded in the pleasure, caught between the two of them.

Jeff grabs his hips and starts fucking into him with slow, even strokes, driving him forward into the heat of Gareth's cunt.

He can't help but moan, the dual feeling of fucking into Gareth and having Jeff fucking into him is a lot to handle. He feels warm all over even though the air is cool around them.

He looks over at where Freak and Eddie are caught in a kiss as Freak grinds into Eddie. They're so fucking pretty together, Eddie with his head turned over his shoulder, gasping into Freak's mouth as he no doubt hits his prostate on every thrust into him.

"You love watching them," Jeff says in his ear, snapping his hips forward, making Steve shudder as it sends him balls deep into Gareth's cunt.

"Yes," Steve whispers, leaning forward, draping himself over Gareth, still not taking his eyes off them. He lets Jeff take over, lets himself get lost in the feeling of him fucking into him, grinding his own cock into Gareth.

He gets his hand under Gareth, gets his fingers on his dick, stroking him in time with Jeff's thrusts, speeding up when he hears him groan, when he feels his cunt start fluttering around him.

He strokes Gareth through his orgasm and tries to hold on for a little bit longer, until he comes again.

He keeps his fingers on Gareth's cock and Gareth's moans get louder.

It suddenly feels like a race to the finish because Eddie's crying out from across the room, Freak's groaning loud and long, Jeff is speeding up, rabbiting his hips into Steve, and Steve is just trying to hold on for dear life.

He manages to hold out until Gareth comes again, his hole quivering around his cock.

Steve shudders at the feeling, burying himself deep inside Gareth and stilling, Jeff's thrusts into him unrelenting.

He shakes through his orgasm, buried in the Gareth's heat, coming deep inside him, feeling Jeff's hips start to stutter as he fucks into him.

He's so sensitive once he stops coming, but there's nowhere for him to go, still caught between them.

He feels Gareth's hand find his beneath them, starting up his fingers on his cock, stroking himself using Steve's fingers, grinding down on them as he chases another orgasm.

He's watching Eddie and Freak too, his head tilted up as he grinds on Steve's fingers, watching as Freak gets on his knees behind Eddie, lapping at the come dripping from his hole.

Gareth shudders and at the same time, Jeff groans behind him, grinding in deep and coming inside him.

All three of them are shaking with it - Jeff fucking his come into Steve, Gareth grinding against Steve's fingers, Steve in his oversensitivity, cock twitching hard inside Gareth as his cunt flutters around him again.

Steve's shivering when Jeff finally pulls out and presses the plug inside him again. His cock slips out of Gareth's cunt when he lifts himself up and sinks back into Jeff's lap where he's seated behind them.

"Someone should clean him up," Steve says, his cock giving a valiant twitch as he watches his come start to leak out of Gareth's cunt - he's still draped over the arm of the chair, his last orgasm taking the wind out of him for a moment.

Freak's already licked out most of his come from Eddie's hole and is just laving over his skin now, so he pulls away and taps him on the hip lightly as if to say you're on cleanup duty.

Eddie is still flushed and looks like the cat that got the cream (or is about to anyway) as they both make their way over to the couch.

Eddie stops to kiss both Jeff and Steve before scooping Gareth up and rearranging him on one of the other chairs, Gareth's ass hanging off the edge so Eddie can bury his face between his thighs and lick him clean.

Freak sits down beside where Steve and Jeff are cuddling and pulls Steve's legs into his lap, scooting close.

Steve leans in and presses his mouth to Freak's in a chaste kiss.

Gareth's gasp makes him pull away. Jeff's fingers idly starts stroking over Steve's cock, not to get him off, just because he likes touching him.

The three of them watch as Eddie sucks Gareth through another orgasm, fingering Steve's come back into him. They watch as Eddie ducks his head and licks around his fingers and they watch as Eddie curls his fingers and brings Gareth to a final orgasm - at least the last one here in the dressing room - watching him quake through it, crying out weakly as he slumps back in the chair.

As they clean up, trading kisses and laughs, Steve can't help but think again about how much he just really fucking loves show days.

[thezombieprostitute]

Fireflies

Written for Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration.

Prompts: catching fireflies; “who thought a place with mosquitoes was a good idea?”

Summary: Jake helps you kick off your vacation in the best way.

You've been having such a rough few weeks, maybe even few months at work and Jake has been trying so hard to help you out. You finally have some time off coming up and he's been working hard on figuring out all the things you can do, that you need to do, to help you really relax and enjoy the time off.

He's definitely starting you out on the right foot by picking you up from work. You step into the car, give him a kiss, and just collapse into your seat.

“So what's the plan, Jakey?”

“It's a surprise,” he smiles. He hasn't hidden the fact that he'll be taking care of you but he refused to tell you all the ideas he'd come up with.

“Can we get some food first?”

“That actually is part of the plan! Let's go get your favorite fast food.”

“Yes! You're the best, Jakey!” You lean over and kiss him again before buckling up and heading out.

It's about an hour-and-a-half later and you swear Jake is driving to the middle of nowhere. The only reason you're not grumpy is because he got you extra fries without even having to ask if you wanted them. The sun is low in the sky and you haven't seen any signs of civilization for a while.

“Jake, are we lost?”

“Nope,” he answers confidently. “I've got the GPS and I managed to bounce off some...unsanctioned satellites so we can always have a signal.”

“So, where are we going?”

“I told you, it's a surprise!”

You give him a suspicious look but his grin never falters. He takes a left onto what looks more like a path than a road and drives for another twenty minutes or so. At least the scenery is nice. You don't often get to the woods like when you were little. You kinda miss them. The path is taking you through quite the forest and you think it'd be nice to take a walk through them with Jake. Maybe that's what he has planned!

The path ends at a clearing in the woods with a small lake. Jake immediately declares “we're here” and jumps out to start getting things from the trunk of the car. You chuckle at his enthusiasm and step out, taking a look at the area. You and Jake are the only signs of civilization out here. It really is just a lake in a clearing. You know you've told Jake you wanted to get to the woods more, but you'd kinda hoped he'd opt for a cabin or something.

You feel a mosquito bite on your arm and instinctively slap at it. Then another. Then another!

“Jake,” you call to him, “please tell me you brought bug spray!” Jake is walking towards with a cooler and he stops. His expression betrays his answer. “You brought us out to the woods without bug spray?! It's mosquito season and we're right by a body of water!” You're still smacking spots on your arms.

Jake's head drops, “I...I didn't think of that.” He winces and you know he's been bit as well. “I just...this spot is...” he drops the cooler and starts smacking the bugs that are increasing in number with the darkening skies.

“Let's get back in the car,” you suggest. He doesn't argue and makes sure you're safely in before he puts gets in. Within the safety of the car, the swarm of mosquitos dwindles and you're both able to take out the few that make it into the car.

Jake lets out a sad sigh, “they said this place would be best.”

You turn to Jake, “who thought a place with mosquitoes was a good idea?”

“I cross-referenced a bunch of firefly websites with angler forums to find the best places we could go to for fireflies. I wanted you to start your vacation with a little magic and I fucked that up.” He sags in his seat, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.

Your heart flutters at how sad he looks. He really did want to do something nice for you. Something he knew you would love. Taking you to the woods, seeing fireflies. If it weren't for the mosquitos, or the lack of bug spray, it really would've been a wonderful night.

You gently caress his cheek, “hey, you tried. You put in a lot of effort for this and you know I appreciate that.” He turns to you and sees your gentle smile. “We still had a night of good food and even better company.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him with a kiss. “We should probably head home, though.”

Jake nods and buckles in while you do the same and look out the window.

“Jake!” you quietly yell. “Jake! Look! The fireflies!”

Sure enough, the telltale flickers of light are starting up all around the car. You're absolutely giddy with excitement, even tearing up a little. It's been so long since you've seen so many in one place! You stop making coherent statements and just give appreciative noises of delight as you unbuckle and practically bounce around inside the car to look at them from every window.

By the time you calm down, Jake is just staring at you with loving eyes. You grab him for as big a hug as you can get in the vehicle.

“This was the best, Jake! Thank you so much!”

Tagging @alicedopey; @bigtreefest; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[muse-write]

Verlady Week Day 4

Prompt: Stitches and Scars/Confessions

@verladyweek

Okay, here’s…something. I’m terrified that it’s a bit OOC, but it was written fairly quickly and I do like the basic concept. I really wanted to contribute something for today’s prompts!

Nero cleaned Blue Rose and ignored the tension radiating from his father—it was difficult, but he had learned to expect the even shorter temper and pacing when both Dante and Lady were on a mission. It made him wonder if Vergil displayed the same when he was gone, but he’d never ask.

He looked up as the front door to the office flew open and Lady staggered in, looking dirty and unkempt. Dante strode in after her. “Home sweet home, and cash to pay the bills. Lady, sit and get some rest; you took a beating today.”

Vergil glanced at her, and Nero thought his voice was overly casual as he drawled, “Demons got the best of you for once?”

Lady snorted, but seemed too exhausted to really fire back the way she usually would as she collapsed onto the couch with a wince. “Definitely not. They’re dead and I’m not. But I’ll be feeling a lucky blow for a few days.” She raised the hem of her shirt to show a large, purpling bruise extending across her stomach and over her ribs and even further up underneath the band of her bra. Nero winced; on the half-demons, and even on him, it was the kind of injury that would heal almost instantly, but on a full-blooded human, it would take weeks to fully disappear.

Vergil observed it for a second. “Keep an eye out for broken bones.”

Lady rolled her eyes, then closed them and leaned her head back onto the arm of the couch with another grimace. “Yeah, yeah. If I had broken ribs I’d already know, Verge. Didn’t know you cared.”

Lady wasn’t looking, but Nero saw an unfamiliar, unreadable emotion flash across Vergil’s face. Maybe Dante was able to read it better, because he straightened, his face growing suddenly serious. When Vergil turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen, Dante followed after him. Nero, unsure what was going on, slunk after them.

Dante leaned against the counter, a smirk playing around his lips. “You want to tell me what that was about? I know what you look like when you want to kill something, trust me.”

Vergil glared at him, looking as though he’d be quite happy for that something to be Dante. Nero withheld a sigh. “Can I not express concern for an injured partner?”

Dante cocked his head. “Sure, but that was a bit more than concern, Verge. You looked a bit pained there for a second. A bit constipated, maybe.”

Vergil’s hands clenched at his sides, and Nero thought it was best that he step in before he found himself breaking up yet another fight to the death and never found out what was going on. He shoved Dante none too gently toward the door. “Go, Dante, I’ll interrogate him. I think this will go better without you.”

Dante held up his hands, the easy smile on his lips belying the worry in his eyes as he glanced at his brother. “Alright, alright, I know when I’m not wanted. Shout if he combusts or somethin’.”

Vergil growled, but offered no other reply as Dante slipped from the room. He gave Nero a slight nod. “Thank you, Nero.”

Nero shut the door and sat, watching his father. “Alright, what is it?” His eyes flicked to the door. “And does it have anything to do with the lady sitting out there with a bruise the size of Nico’s van wheel on her ribs?”

Vergil remained standing, awkwardness clear in every inch of his being. He didn’t quite wring his hands, but it came close. “Yes,” he said slowly. “It does have something to do with her. I—I think—“ He huffed out an annoyed breath. “I care about her.” It was said with the kind of reluctant, grim resignation that Nero would expect that kind of confession to be made by his father, if he had ever imagined it in the first place.

However, he was more surprised by the fact that Vergil had admitted it at all than by the admission itself. As such, it was a few seconds before he could formulate a response, and when he did, it was a simple, cracking, “Oh.”

Vergil’s lips thinned. “Oh, indeed.”

Nero sort of wished he hadn’t been saddled with this kind of conversation, but even so, it was probably ten times better for it to be him than Dante, who would tease and poke sore spots and generally refuse to take any of it seriously to hide the way he’d be utterly reeling. Dante likely would not have picked up on the same tension between Vergil and Lady as Nero had.

Nero gathered his thoughts. “Alright, so…what are you going to do about it?”

Vergil stared at him. “Nothing, of course. I hardly know how to interpret it myself.”

Which Nero supposed was fair. He didn’t know a whole lot about what his father had gone through, but judging by the fact that well-socialized people did not decide to split themselves in two to gain more power, he could assume that feelings of love and how to go about dealing with them had not been a particular focus.

Except, of course, once, but he shoved that away. He had long since resigned himself to ignorance about his mother, and it wasn’t relevant to this situation, unless Vergil decided to hit and run a second time. “Well,” he tried, “why did you tell me?”

Vergil rubbed his hands together. “It’s a matter of professional competency, that’s all. It’s affecting my work, and as it can obviously go nowhere, I cannot allow it to do so. I am—distracted.”

Yes, Nero had noticed: Vergil hanging back to walk alongside Lady as they tracked demons, Vergil glancing at her during combat as though continually checking that she was alive and unhurt, Vergil conveniently finding other things to do in the office when she stopped by. He shrugged. “What do you mean, it can’t go anywhere?”

Vergil huffed, but if Nero’s skills at reading his father were even marginally better than they had been a year ago, he thought it was the huff he gave when he was embarrassed and wanting to wriggle out of a conversation, so Nero simply sat there and waited him out. “She’s human,” Vergil sneered finally, glaring at the door.

Oh, so they were actually going there. Nero felt his shoulders tense. “Well, you went somewhere with a human at least once before, so don’t blame me if I can’t see the difference here.”

Vergil began pacing, and Nero wondered if maybe he actually would just walk right out of the room and leave the conversation to linger. “Nero, that was utterly different. I was 19, younger than you are now. I was naive. Foolish. What I felt for your mother was very different from what I feel for Lady. It was…no less real, perhaps, but I am not the same person I was then.”

Huh. That had been way more self-aware than Nero had ever imagined Vergil capable of being. “That sounded more like V than anything you’ve ever said. All you needed was some obscure poetry at the end and it would have been like old times.”

Something almost amused entered Vergil’s eyes. “I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart; trembling, cold, in ghastly fears, ah! did she depart.” It was recited with a cadence of long repetition. “There. Feeling nostalgic?”

“More like confused. You care about Lady. That poem—is that what you think she’ll do if you acted on it?”

“What else could I expect her to do? She has shown nothing but contempt for me for as long as I’ve known her. With good reason, and I cannot fault her for it. Any sensible woman would do exactly that, and she is as pragmatic as they come. She killed her own father to avenge her mother’s death. She would not stoop so low as to have any feelings other than complete hatred for one such as I. Lady is…strong.”

And somehow, Nero heard the words unspoken that hung in the air: stronger than I will ever be.

“You know,” Nero started slowly, unsure himself of where he was going with this, “I think people said the same thing about Kyrie. They saw me and who I was then and didn’t understand why she would choose me when she had model Order lieutenants crowding around her. I didn’t really understand it, either, but…you don’t choose you who fall in love with. All I could do was be grateful and try my best not to lose her. Who’s to say Lady wouldn’t return your…feelings?”

Vergil’s laugh was a bitter, harsh thing. “Nero, I’m not sure if you’re aware of my complete lack of luck. Dante has it in spades. I have never had a drop of it. There is no chance in the universe that this would work out that well.”

Nero rolled his eyes. He wasn’t so sure—he’d seen how Lady sometimes moved to fight next to Vergil, how she glared at him with fury and something Nero had chosen not to analyze too closely—but he was getting tired of playing relationship counselor for his own father. “What’s the point in talking about it, then?” he bit out. “Are you trying to get me to tell you what to do? Do something or don’t, I don’t care. Just don’t let it affect the job.”

Nero left to finish cleaning Blue Rose, and Vergil followed him. Vergil hovered by the couch, and after a moment he pulled down the throw blanket on the back and draped it over Lady, who had fallen asleep. Over the past year, Nero had seen his father’s eyes express many emotions—hatred, fury, even moments of brief affection—but the sheer longing he saw there now was utterly new, and Nero turned away abruptly and hunched over his gun, feeling as though it was not for him to witness.

[onyourowndaisymae]

Hey Daisy, congrats on 500 followers!! Whoo🎉

So I'd like to request prompt #6 "I win" with Solomon x reader (if gender is mentioned/needed, please write it for gn/f reader). I thought it would be perfect for a scenario with him and mc doing some practical sorcerer training stuff and mc ends up playfully challenging him to a duel. Sol accepts with a knowing grin, and he fights mc with confidence, but mc also doesn't plan on going down easily (just so they can wipe that shit eating grin off Sol's face)... Eventually they end up in an intimate position with him on top of mc, both of them breathing hard. Mc can't help blushing at the closeness, so he smirks down at them and goes "I win"... (in my mind, they have a pre-established relationship here, so this could lead to nsfw-ish stuff, but not necessarily)

I'm down bad for this man😩 If you have another idea, it's totally fine, just thought I'd try to share what's in my head😆 Thanks in advance💙

in your defense-- you are a fantastic fucking sorcerer. the power you wield is enough to subdue seven of the most powerful demons in the devildom without breaking a sweat. your untamed abilities almost caused the collapse of all three realms. you are a fire, a force to be reckoned with-- a legend, dammit!

so, then... how did you end up pinned to the ground, out of breath, and thoroughly beaten in a duel you started?

well. the training had started like any other-- spell demonstrations, potion making, boring sorcerer lessons that eventually made both of your concentrations slip. you were feeling hcompetitive and riled that day. no more spellbooks, solomon, c'mon, let's do something interesting! and today, your lovely boyfriend was feeling (in the mood to fucking lose) generous, and took you up on an offer for a "friendly duel".

"friendly" probably wasn't the word to describe what ended up happening. it started as such, with a few playful spells being tossed back and forth, but soon solomon's taunts got the best of you. your spells became more pointed as time went on, and his rose to match your intensity.

sparks (literally) flew as you shot spells at each other. one of yours made solomon's cape flip over his face (and wrap around his neck... maybe that one was a little mean). a spell of his knocked you flat on your ass a few feet back. that smug ass grin on solomon's face made you fight harder-- how was it that his skill dwarfed your own so thoroughly?! you'd been working tirelessly for months on your craft, and yet he was able to run circles around you, able to fight back while laughing.

the real frustration came when he started dodging your attacks, even going as far as to throw himself on top of his work desk so you wouldn't hit him with knockback spell. fine. if that's how it's going to be, then he could certainly be dragged closer then, hmm? you recalled a spell you learned when studying with satan for exams, and cast it, with the intent of drawing solomon to you like a magnet.

what you lack in technical knowledge, you make up for in power. solomon's body flung itself towards you, bowling both of you over in a tangle of limbs and panic.

silence. the room is void of all sound except the steady pants of exertion as you two catch your breath. solomon is glued to you, with his body having been intertwined awkwardly with you at some point while falling, and now he has you pinned underneath him. his face hovers close to yours as his gray eyes flit around to try to understand what has happened.

then, he smirks.

"someone's a sore loser," solomon breathes, watching each bashful twitch in your expression as you realize this situation was, in fact, your fault.

"loser? i didn't lose."

"oh really? what makes you say that?"

"I got you! i incapacitated you!"

"... i'm the one incapacitated? i have you pinned."

"that wasn't part of the rules."

"we didn't establish any rules."

"... they were implied."

he laughs in your face, grin splitting his rosy cheeks. the heat of his body on yours was starting to get to you. did he really have to land in such a compromising position? his legs were tangled with your own, with his knee stuck between your thighs, your chests glued together by the spell you'd cast-- the one you couldn't currently undo, of course, because your hands were pinned between your bodies when you tried to shield yourself earlier.

"we're really stuck, huh? well, come on, apprentice, fix your mistake."

"... i don't think i can."

"oh?"

"my arms are stuck."

you can tell by the look on his face that he knew this already-- that he was cornering you with his words like he had done with his body.

"so, you're pinned with no escape because of your wonky spell... and somehow I'm the one that's lost here?"

you let your head lull to the side in shame as you realize how badly you've lost. still, though, you can't admit defeat, not aloud.

his lips find your skin, soft and warm as he litters kisses up your jawline and the side of your neck. you gasp-- his lips curl into a smirk against your throat. you think about chiding him for taking advantage of such a situation. then again... something about the heat of his body intertwined with yours was making you feel a certain way.

"oh, did you like that?" he teases, hand drifting up and down your arm to feel the new field of goosebumps that have taken up residence across your skin. "i like being this close. i get to see all your little reactions, all the ways you respond to my touch... it's fascinating, really."

"should we call someone for help?"

"oh, no," solomon replies, grinning wickedly. "i don't want anyone to walk in on something like this."

"what do you mean?"

"the aftermath of our little duel? i win, after all. don't you think i deserve a prize?"

you like the sound of that.

i am officially out of requests for this event w plenty of prompts left-- if you would like to request a prompt (anon or not), please feel free!

(i also would like to apologize again for taking forever to get this one out, life got in the way)

[500 follower event masterlist] // [obey me masterlist]

[pastelwitchling]

A maybe prompt?

One of Alex's military buddies comes to visit or something and Michael and Kyle both are super sulky

Michael is the husband Kyle's the best friend

This guy makes them both feel threatened

Their jealousy and hatred for him would be a bonding experience for them 😂

@brittz-2123

***

              Michael and Kyle did not get along. This was a known fact that neither of them could ever—or ever really felt the need to—resolve. Michael would admit that it came mostly from his side. Kyle liked to point to Michael every time Alex had a furrow in his brows and demand to know “what did you do to him this time?” which was always a nice slap to the face that Michael couldn’t argue was unwarranted. Still, Kyle was painfully indifferent to him half the time, and yet Michael couldn’t help but have a visceral distrust of the man who had kept Alex company in the years Michael himself hadn’t been able to.

              “You’re so jealous by anything that breathes in Alex’s direction,” Isobel had scoffed once, “it’s insane.”

              Yeah, he was. He didn’t know why people kept expecting him to deny it. Alex was his husband, and he didn’t think it was a weird or bad thing to want to have your husband’s affection all to yourself. As it stood, he and Kyle had a whole frenemies thing going on, a very begrudging frenemies thing, that Alex had resigned himself to after their marriage.

              “This is as good as it’s going to get with you guys, isn’t it?” he’d sighed one day, hands on his hips as he looked between them, both exasperated and fond, to which Michael insisted that the fond gaze belonged only to him, which began a whole new argument.

              He really was a jealous bastard, and despite Kyle’s innocent best friend act, Michael knew he felt the same to an extent. Now, as they both sat in Michael and Alex’s living room, arms crossed on the couch, aiming glares at Alex’s military buddy in the kitchen, Michael knew his suspicion had been right.

              It had been early in the morning when he and Alex, unfortunately already joined by Kyle who’d brought breakfast, got a knock at their door. Alex had no sooner opened the door when he was pulled into a hug that lifted him off his feet and nearly had Michael throwing the stranger off his own.

              Alex had explained with shock and laughter in his voice that this was Scott Mason, his best friend from back in their military days, “and the one I could count on whenever I was in trouble.”

              Michael had hated him instantly.

              Some blond-haired, blue-eyed guy with a wide, genuine smile and booming voice looking at Michael’s Alex like he was his instead, like he knew things about Alex that Michael could never hope of knowing. It set him on edge. And apparently, Kyle too.

              “I know why I’m pissed off,” Michael said without taking his eyes off Alex who was laughing at something Scott had told him, “but why are you? Aren’t you supposed to be above jealousy?”

              “I’m not jealous, okay?” Kyle scoffed, forcing himself to uncross his arms so that he didn’t mirror Michael’s position. “I just think that, as Alex’s doctor and his friend, it’s not conducive to his health right now to get this excited before he’s even had anything to eat. He collapsed not that long ago from exhaustion, remember?” He huffed and glared at Scott. “Look at that, if he shoves him one more time, he could fall over!”

              Michael grunted, unable to muster the ability to scoff with the way Alex was smiling at someone other than him. “And this has nothing to do, I’m sure, with the fact that Alex called someone else his best friend?”

              “Come on,” Kyle rolled his eyes, “what am I, twelve?”

              Michael narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the way he looks at him.”

              “Who? Scott or Alex?”

              “Yes.”

              Kyle finally peeled his eyes off Alex and his friend to consider Michael. “Are you seriously worried about Alex talking to some other guy? It’s not like he’s a master flirt, you know.”

              “Alex wouldn’t want to flirt with anyone but me anyway,” Michael smirked humorlessly.

              “Oh? Is that why you look like you’re about to throw him through the window?”

              “Think Alex would notice?”

              “Just a bit.”

              He growled, and as though sensing his unease, Alex blinked and looked over. Michael and Kyle plastered on a quick smile. Alex’s own laughter softened to amusement and love for them both, as though he knew what they were thinking and thought them adorable for it. He blew a kiss to Michael which Michael caught and pressed against his heart. Only until Alex returned to the conversation with Scott did Michael sag against the couch.

              “I hate him.”

              Kyle shifted and sighed. “Well . . . we don’t actually know anything about him, Guerin. He seems like a really nice guy, and Alex seems to like him.”

              “Don’t ever say those words in that order again,” Michael growled.

              “Look,” he straightened, “sure, it’s a little weird having this . . . stranger here all of a sudden, but he was part of Alex’s family for a long time, and I think we owe it to Alex to give him a fair chance.”

              Michael pursed his lips, but before he could say anything, Scott suddenly appeared in front of them, a kind, perfect smile on his kind, perfect face. “Hey, you guys okay over here?”

              Kyle started to nod, attempting a smile of his own, when Michael looked around and stood. “Where’s Alex?”

              “Gone inside to get his jacket,” Scott said easily, hands in his pockets. “I’m taking him out for breakfast.”

              “Oh you don’t have to do that,” Kyle said, standing as well. “I already brought breakfast over before you got here.”

              “Yeah, but,” Scott shrugged, “there’s this fudge muffin thing I used to get Alex all the time, and he loved it. You might not know this, but chocolate’s, like, his favorite thing in the world. But hey, you should come! I’m sure he won’t mind.”

              With that perfect smile still in place, he sauntered off, Michael and Kyle watching him go silently, murder in their eyes before slumping back down roughly onto the couch.

              After a long minute, Kyle said, “I hate him.”

              Michael nodded darkly.

***

Happy malex Monday ❤️

[nitewrighter]

okay hi i have a lot of prompts and stuff to suggest bc i am the person that spent all night reading the kids continuity fic

- aedan and rei domesticity they are so cute

- aedan growing stubble, running out of razors, asking the twins for a razor and they flex and say they use hard light razors. then aedan having to ask jack where the razors are because he doesn’t know (this would probably be around the time he asks him about reaper LMAO)

- marti aim training with amelie?

- obv there’s already been a lot of gency but maybe some of them talking about rei and aedan and being nosy

- more genji pleeeeease he’s so cute <\3

Argh I have a really strong Marti idea but I've got a bit of brain burnout and my idea for her doesn't really match what you're describing and also I haven't written Aedan and Rei in what feels like ages and I miss theeemmmm. Also I like the idea of having some kind of... honeymoon post-Dragonback stuff and also Live Mercy Reaction.

-----

The afternoon sunlight was blazing outside, but Aedan could hardly tell with the windows tinted. He was chewing on his thumbnail as he watched a holographic projection of Andrea's cells. The sample wasn't nearly as stable as he'd like, given the fact that it was mixed with his own blood, but Morrison and Reyes's DNA at least made it easy to quickly distinguish the cells before they morphed back to nanites. She was virtually gone from his system at this point, so he knew any creeping feeling of her still in there had to be purely psychosomatic.

He managed to identify and isolate one of Andrea's neutrophils before it was destroyed and scan it quickly enough to create a rough holographic projection, and he rotated the projection in the air, frowning. He heard the whoosh of the lab doors opening behind him and said, without turning around, "Do you think I could get a blood sample from Morrison?"

"Maybe if you sneak up on him," a voice that was clearly not Mercy's spoke up from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Rei holding two bento boxes.

"...thought you were your mother," he said blankly and Rei made a crinkly-eyed, pressed-lip smile at him, "Sorry--that was weird, wasn't it?"

"Not that weird," said Rei, setting the boxes down on the desk a safe distance from the monitor's keyboard and pulling up a chair, "It's nice that you finally have more lab privileges."

"You missed a lot in LA!" Aedan spun in his chair slightly to face her, "I mean, Marti and the others definitely trust me more than the old guard, but still, there's been a lot of progress!"

"'People will let you experiment with their blood' progress?" Rei arched an eyebrow.

"Well... no. But I was thinking I might be able to delineate the effects of the SEP serum better and isolate the stabilizing factors of his DNA if I have a sample," Aedan had fallen back to his previous train of thought.

"You've been at this for hours," said Rei, looking at the hologram.

"I just... wish I was able to find out more before my body destroyed all evidence of her," murmured Aedan.

"Well, what do you know so far?" asked Rei, looking at the projection.

"I know she's stable--incredibly stable."

Rei snorted.

"Well not mentally, obviously, but cellularly. I've never seen such seamless transitions between nanite and cell. I mean I thought her nanite secretions weren't as prominent as mine because she wasn't working with a biotic rig, or--you know, because she was kicking my ass, but I think mum managed to really perfect the metabolic processes with her," he made a kind of flailing, spread fingered gesture at the white blood cell hologram with both hands, "Just... specimen."

He felt Rei's hands lightly but firmly close around his shoulders

"Should I be concerned you're gushing about the girl who collapsed your ribcage?" Rei cooed, rubbing her thumbs at the tops of his shoulder blades, "And her perfect, perfect cells?"

The initial touch gave Aedan an involuntary shudder, but he melted into his seat as she worked at the knots at the back of his neck. "A lus na gréine, you have nothing to worry about. She's my sister from another amnio... nister... tank..."

"Okay that is low blood sugar talking." Rei slipped her hands from his shoulders and grabbed one of the bento boxes, plopping it in his lap, "Eat." She grabbed her own chair and bento box and sat down.

"It's just.. a weird relief in a way," he said quietly, still looking at the hologram, "One of the reasons I was made was to help try and find ways to stabilize Reyes. But if anyone's going to save him, it's her."

"Yeeahh it is a weird relief that she's going to save the guy who wants us all dead," Rei agreed, stirring up her own box. Aedan saw green. Some kind of salad?

"...I don't think he wanted you dead," Aedan said.

Rei looked up from her own bento box to him.

"There was a moment back in Urdr when we were shuffling through in those stolen uniforms, you were still a bit drugged up. He looked right at us and I could have sworn he knew it was me, he knew something was off, but he just... let us go."

"Well he must have changed his mind if he's sending Daughter Dearest after us," said Rei, taking a bite.

Aedan scoffed. "He could barely look at me knowing what I was, there's no way he would agree to--" Aedan caught himself and his face dropped, "...there's no way he would agree to Talon making another him."

Rei's chewing slowed. "...so it's messing him up just as much as Jack, probably?"

"Probably," Aedan shrugged.

"Eat," Rei said again, pointing at his bento box with her own chopsticks, and Aedan shuffled his chair slightly away from the holo-monitor closer to her, opened his own box, and started eating across from her. It seemed to be a loose interpretation of a sushi bowl, brown rice and surimi and edamame, with extra greens and a sliced up hardboiled egg on the side, all drizzled with sesame oil and soy sauce and doused with furikake and red pepper flakes.

"Avocado..." Aedan said, "The Californians got to you."

"Don't knock it. You need monounsaturated fats," said Rei.

"I'm not--thank you, for making this," said Aedan. He took a bite and immediately felt the calories hit in the only way they can when you've forgotten to eat for a lot longer than you'd care to admit.

"It's just tossing a bunch of stuff together in the mess hall, it's a lot better equipped than it was when I was a kid, really," Rei held up the bento box, "But I had to bring these from home."

"Back home with the folks, huh?" Aedan perked up in his seat, poking around.

Rei huffed through her nostrils, choosing her words as she chewed. "It's nice... " she said slowly.

Aedan considered leading with 'But..?' to prompt her to say more, but decided humor might be the better route.

"Ah, but you've tasted the freedom of Hollywood," Aedan waved his chopsticks around, "And so the tinseltown dreams have taken roost in your heart. Your soul forever unsatisfied until you're once again in the dazzling spotlight."

Rei snickered. "I was a stunt. And... it was weird. Using all my training to.. pretend to fight--even if it was as my childhood hero. And like, the whole time I had this nagging feeling that even if I could make a career out of it, I'd always feel a hole where the dragon was. And I felt like... everyone back here was throwing themselves into danger while I was licking my wounds and bouncing around in silly costumes. But now I'm back here and... I don't know. We fly everywhere. We go on these missions, but the world feels smaller somehow. It feels like a wall's come back up."

"You're telling me that squatting on a rocket launch facility and traveling pretty much exclusively for missions feels limited compared to having free rein in one of the biggest cities and entertainment capitals of the world?" Aedan smiled.

"Okay, when you put it like that--" Rei cut herself off to chew some more surimi.

"I felt the same way about Oasis," Aedan shrugged, "Even if it is a young city, it's done everything in its power to draw the greatest minds from all over the world. One of the tourism boards wanted to bill it as 'The New House of Wisdom' except that got shot down because it felt a little archaic, potentially orientalist, possibly muscling in on Baghdad's tourism... and also like it might be inviting disaster. But, point stands, you felt special while you were there. Chosen."

"And you miss all your fancy 'son of the minister of genetics' perks," Rei smiled.

"Not nearly as much as I used to, these days," said Aedan, "I might either be going crazy or Jack might be onto something about that 'building character' stuff."

Rei snorted. "Maybe I'm just being weird about moving back into my childhood room."

"Well I should let you know that in your absence I've upgraded the dormitories into quite the bachelor pad. Convinced the twins to put in some hard-light privacy dividers, moved some of the extra beds into storage...the holo-projector was always in there, but I have a couch now!"

"Aedan O'Deorain, are you inviting me to your place?"

"Door's open," said Aedan, shrugging.

Her mouth just quirked off to one side in a smile and they both continued eating, letting that percolate in the air between them.

Rei was scraping up stray edamame beans and bits of furikake from the edges of her bento box when she noticed Aedan had set his empty bento aside and his attention was drifting back to the giant hologram of the neutrophil, his expression hollow and searching. He had pretty much inhaled his food, which was good, but Rei had seen enough of Marti, Samir, and her own mother to know when someone's brain had driven them into a rut that they weren't going to get out of without help.

"You know, if she's already out of your system, it's not like you'll find new data now that you can't find later," said Rei.

"Mm?" Aedan looked back at her.

"You need a break," said Rei.

"But---there's the flow factor," said Aedan.

"Oh, the flow factor," said Rei, rising from her seat.

"And like, yes, this is probably trauma talking, but I want to feel like I came away from that fight with a bit more than memories of a giant hole in my chest."

"Aedan," Rei braced her hands on both of his forearms on the seat's armrests, "We did."

She looked at him expectantly with those big, dark gray eyes, and his own eyes widened. Technically, it had been a mission accomplished. They had set out with the intention of getting the dragon back, and, miraculously, they had gotten it back, even if it was far from the circumstances any of them actually imagined getting it. Surviving an encounter with Talon when none of them were really equipped for that level of combat was nothing to sneeze at, either.

And there was the other thing, Aedan thought, as Rei's mouth closed on his.

Surimi and hard-boiled egg, in general, are not the optimum pre-making-out foods, and Aedan honestly could have used a nap and a shower in either order, but after hours of staring at blood samples and holograms of the woman who had nearly killed him, just the sensation of having Rei on his lips made none of that matter. That itch wasn't gone from the back of his mind, though. He wanted to do more, to claw just a little further ahead in this fight, to find something that would turn the tide. He wanted the fight to be over. He wanted the world to feel open for her--for her to go to LA or Oasis or wherever she wanted, to not have to worry about everyone back here.

She sank into his lap and his arms wrapped around her, letting even those stubborn thoughts melt away, if only for now, if only for a few moments. He hefted her up in his lap and he felt her breath puff out of her nostrils in an amused sound--maybe he was adjusting her to get to a more comfortable position, maybe he wanted to get the point across that he had put some muscle on with Marti's team, but either way she dove into the kiss hungrily. Aedan's arm curled around her more, trailing up her back, as his other hand brushed down her hip.

And then there was the vwoosh of the lab door opening.

"Aedan, I'm going to need to commandeer the holo-projector from you for a minute, one of my colleagues sent---" Mercy glanced up from her tablet to see Rei and Aedan, staring at her, tangled up precariously in one swivel chair.

"...Rei," Mercy said, straightening herself up in the doorway.

"Mom," Rei said, not making any movement to get out of Aedan's arms.

"Eh--" Aedan squeaked, sheet white with ears redder than his hair.

"I can come back later," Mercy said with a terrifying blankness.

"Mom--" Rei started, but Mercy put both hands up as the door whooshed close in front of her once more.

Aedan's heart was pounding in his ears. "She's going to kill me."

"She's not going to kill you," Rei rolled her eyes.

"She's going to kill me," said Aedan, his mind blank with terror.

"Aedan, we're adults, it's fine."

"You didn't tell her!?"

"I was going to tell her," Rei gestured vaguely, "You know... when I figured out how."

---

Genji was at Athena's main monitor browsing through some old Blackwatch files when the door opened behind him. He caught the barest reflection of her silhouette before turning around and brightly greeting her with, "Angela!" before quickly realizing that she was panting hard and her hair was disheveled. "Did you... run across the Watchpoi--?"

"When were you going to tell me?" Mercy's voice was almost a growl.

"Tell you... what--?""

"Our daughter! And the clone! I mean--the boy! Moira-clone-boy!"

"Aedan," Genji said easily.

"They were in the lab... c-canoodling!"

"Canoodling?" Genji repeated.

Mercy huffed out a tense breath, "...kissing," she clarified.

"Oh," said Genji, visibly relaxing.

"Did you know about this?" Mercy briskly closed the distance between them.

"Well... emotions did get a little high in Shirakami-Sanchi, but it wasn't really relevant to the mission debriefing."

Mercy just folded her arms in front of him.

"And... I figured it was Rei's business to tell you."

"Well yes but--" Mercy caught herself, now coming to terms with the fact that she had raced over her out of an outrage that she was far from being able to articulate, and the more she thought on it, the more (frustratingly) her sense of her right to outrage seemed to slip away from her.

"I feel like we've had this discussion before," said Genji.

"We said there was a possibility, that's very different from them making out in the lab."

"Oh no! Not the lab!" Genji said with clear amusement, "No one's ever made out in that lab before!"

Mercy's shoulders slumped and she looked at him sourly.

"I'm sorry---" Genji caught himself, "Obviously, I've had more time to come to terms with this, and I was there when things... started, sort of--"

"What do you mean 'sort of?'"

"Well it's in the debrief that both Rei and Aedan were missing from our campsite when they encountered Andrea. Rei's debrief says she was going back to the pond to try summoning the dragon again, and Aedan's debrief said he had headed away from the camp to relieve himself, but... I'm not ruling out the the possibility that they also could have snuck off together."

"They were sneaking off together under yours and Hanzo's noses!?"

"Honestly with the state Rei was in during that whole trip, it seems pretty unlikely that they were doing that," Genji murmured.

"Genji..." Mercy pressed her knuckles to her forehead, the burn of outrage now simmering down to exhausted frustration.

"Look--don't worry about that. What I'm saying is, when we let her go off to LA, we agreed we would trust her judgment, right?"

"Yes..." Mercy said slowly, lowering her hands.

"And you do like Aedan--I mean, I know it's been hard for you, overcoming everything you know Moira is capable of, but you two really have come a long way since he's joined the team."

"He is a good lab assistant," Mercy conceded, before muttering, "Though clearly he's gotten a bit too comfortable in that lab."

"Plus... it's not like we can really judge on the whole 'falling in love with your rescuer' thing," Genji stroked a knuckle down her jawline.

Mercy's lips were pursed, but a smile was tugging at the corner of her mouth as she glanced off.

"And if it's any consolation, I know he's still terrified of you," said Genji.

Mercy snorted. "It is fun to put the fear of god into him," she mused. She paused, still not meeting his eyes, before sighing and slumping her forehead onto his shoulder. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice reverberating against his cybernetic chestplate, clearly trying to convince herself just as much as him, "It will be fine. I can be calm about this."

"You really ran across the watchpoint, huh?" Genji brought his arms around her and rubbed her back a little.

"...yes," she admitted, and he just chuckled and set his chin on her head.

[ladyirisreviews]

Pizza Tower-Review

To say Pizza Tower was a hit would be an understatement, it's so well-received in fact, that I feel like there's not much point in me reviewing it, but I want to talk about it even if everything I say has already been said.

At least I'll get to flex my P-ranks.

(I try to use the cover art of each game I review, I gotta be thankful Steam has some sort of cover art for games that weren't released physically.)

The plot is extremely simple, our dear Peppino Spaghetti is having a hard time with his restaurant, then Pizzahead goes to him threatening to blow up his place for no real reason, and that's how our mess of an Italian gets into the pizza tower, trying to stop Pizzahead, and that's about it.

The focus of the game lies entirely in its gameplay, and lemme tell you, it is something to admire, it's the most fluid game I played in a while, Peppino has a varied moveset that makes traversing any type of terrain feel like sliding butt-naked covered in oil on a ramp made of butter, yes it felt that fluid for me.

Run-Grab, Mach-Running, Uppercut, Ground-Slam, Twirl, Dive, Wall-Climbing, Roll/Slide, Piledriver, every single move Peppino has I was able to find multiple ways of using, and they link with each other so well that I was able to pull off pretty much everything I could imagine, the only thing that stopped me was how tight the inputs could get in some places, only because I was going for ambitious routes.

(Every frame is a painting)

The levels also flow pretty well, every level has some sort of gimmick, be is a transformation of Peppino that completely changes how he controls, special enemies, types of platforms, or all 3, each stage feels completely unique and are so well made.

The levels might not look that linear at first glance but they are quite linear, which is better for the gameplay, there's a number of secrets on every level and collectibles, they are spread throughout the level very cleverly, if you aim to collect all of them, they end up feeling like an extension of the level instead of going out of the way, and that is because of how the rating and combo systems work.

(What's that eye doing there?)

After defeating an enemy, your combo starts, congratulations, you did it, you are doing a combo, but there's a meter that depletes after a couple of seconds, after which the combo ends, getting hurt also depletes the meter faster, but you can defeat other enemies or get any type of item to make the meter deplete.

So if you want to maintain your combo need to utilize everything that is on your way, enemies and collectibles, sometimes when I was playing I felt like in a frantic daze trying to keep the combo going, which made me realize why the portrayal of Peppino as a nervous wreck is so genius.

And there's one last mechanic I need to talk about, which is the escape sections.

(Just look how much he is freaking out.)

When you reach the end of the level, you get into contact with dear old John, who you sadly have to destroy to keep going, prompting the imminent collapse of the level you are currently playing and a change of music, and your objective is to get out of the level from where you entered, NOW.

Some aspects of the level change and the feeling of anxiety is palpable, getting to the point where the time is almost over and hear the music communicating that exact feeling to you is awesome, but if you manage to escape you are safe and you get a rating.

But what if there was more?

(Does the P mean perfect or pizza?)

You survived the level, but you could conquer it by collecting everything and doing a second lap to the level, which changes the song again and feels more frantic, getting to the point where you start a second lap with everything is such a cathartic feeling, I cannot describe it, the music itself is an award already.

But if you manage to do it all without dropping your combo you get a P-rank, which signifies you absolutely conquered a level, and you can get them for both normal levels and boss fights.

They don't unlock any content and you are not required to even get a good rank to finish the game, I would say that if you didn't even try to keep your combo going the game would be a pretty easy experience, just getting enough collectibles and beating the bosses until you get to the final boss.

(The main purpose of this image is to flex I got all achievements.)

And that's the brilliance of how levels and ranks are designed, the game is as hard as you want it to be, and I simply love that, the game can be a very chill game to go through or an anxiety-inducing race against the clock, it's just so cleverly designed in every way I cannot praise it enough.

SO now that I'm done gushing out about the gameplay, I quickly want to mention that the graphics are top-notch, I almost feel sorry for the devs while looking at how fluid every single animation is, no wonder it took so long to release, you know? love pours out of every orifice of the game.

(I just love this level card.)

And not to mention the music, which gives like half of the personality to every level and boss-fight, it's just incredible, really, how every single aspect of the game I look at is amazingly done, I haven't had this much fun with a platformer since a long time ago, so it goes without saying but I recommend this game to anyone.

If I gave ratings it would be an easy 10, and it's also obviously the game of the year for me so far, and I am gonna be honest, it's gonna be pretty darn hard to surpass, not only because it's so good but because I am kinda broke at the moment to play other current indie hits, but even so, if I wasn't broke it would be pretty darn hard to surpass.

[dark9896]

Day 19 [Steven/ Lucky/ Femt]

Prompt: "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Steven

Mere moments after his attempt to impress you by pouring a little wine from the bottle, right into a hot skillet, Steven realized his mistake. The flame caught his sleeve, but he managed to keep it off the bottle. You did the only thing you could think of and just threw the glass of cold tea on Steven.

At the very least, the fire went out...

Steven stood there sopping wet and embarrassed. Once the shock wore off, you began giggling at the situation. Making Steven blush and turn away a little.

"I-I-I'm sorry." You finally gasped out, holding a hand in front of you, "I... it just..."

You succumbed to loud chuckling, Steven joining in. He had to admit, it was pretty funny for him to mess up this badly, even if it was his own fault for trying something so dangerous in the first place.

"That wasn't supposed to happen though." Steven still tried defending his actions, "That usually works without the fire going up the stream."

Between his pouty face and slightly red blush, ypu couldn't help but delve into pure laughter. Until...

SNORT

You finally stopped, both hands covering your nose and mouth... and a little blush that flew in out of nowhere. Both of you just stopped, before Steven smirked. Maybe he hadn't ruined the night after all.

.

.

Lucky

Things like this don't just happen. No, this had been a carefully planned, carefully calculated attack against his partner. Lucky felt absolutely helpless saying what you'd become. Even if you were able to keep that part of yourself under control, there wasn't anything anyone could do to reverse the process.

Not even a little.

You didn't need sleep, not really. But it felt nice to lay next to Blitz. Knowing he still trusted you to be this vulnerable around what he knew to be a monster of sorts. He never called you one directly. In fact, He tended to clam up, becoming extremely cagey whenever his work involved other blood breeds.

"Zzz... no..." Lucky had developed a habit of sleep-talking, or maybe you just noticed because you were able to stay up all night, "Not... shouldn't... not right..."

You tried to calm Blitz down, gently stroking the side of his face. Unsure if you were even good at this anymore, given how cold your hands were now. A soft whisper into an otherwise empty room...

"I know this wasn't supposed to happen... but it'll be okay..."

Femt

One too many beakers in his arms and a poorly placed cord meant Femt was bound to trip eventually. Except this time, you were caught in the crosshairs. Several different types of liquids in various states of solidity had splashed across your arms, neck, and chest.

Both of you looked at one another, clear panic and fear before you collapsed. Writhing in pain and shrieking your head off. Femt unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of your body contorting in spectacular fashion.

He didn't know what to do. The experimental goops had already been absorbed into your body, there was a high likelihood that this couldn't be reversed at all.

Then you went still.

The fear that this had killed you crashed in around Femt's ears. He scrambled to your side and started checking your vitals. His hands slid over new protrusions ranging from thick horns to softer lumps that would surely contain new organs... or repeats.

Heartbeat? Good. Breathing? Steady. Body temperature? Definitely higher than normal, but this could be the new normal for you.

Or it could mean you would die of heatstroke.

Femt couldn't do anything except hope you'd be okay... and mutter to himself.

"Oh Dearie, I'm so sorry." He tried to control his panic and tears, "This was never supposed to happen."

[ailithnight]

I understand where you are coming from and if that's how you or anyone else want to play this AU, go for it mate.

I personally don't think it would be that way because the way I see it; the first portal may have been opened by his hand, but it was not opened by his power. His ghost power. Because he didn't have that power yet. Couldn't have that power until the portal was already open and killing him.

That said, I do like the idea that he can only sustain one open portal at a time, at least at first. Or maybe another way to put it is that he can only sustain 'so much' portal at one time. Like, a limit on the surface area/volume he can sustain. Which is a numerical value which could increase as Danny gets stronger.

I maintain that he should have complete control over the activation of that power from the onset. Fine control can come later. His first portals might be too small to pass through, only open for a moment, and open to completely random exit points.*

But the power itself, when he uses it; I think should be basic, instinctual, easy as breathing to him. At least to open them.

Maybe another balance could be that he can't force them closed at first and just kinda has to wait for them to collapse on their own or for himself to run out of energy to sustain them and they collapse.

But yeh, like I said, mate had the Fenton Portal open on, in, and through him. He knows, his body knows, on a molecular level, how to open portals. He got a pretty thorough lesson.

*Fic idea/prompt!

Danny is running. They're chasing him. They're so persistent. He's out of options. He only hesitates a moment. He is, after all, still learning from Wulf how to control where his portals lead. He's not keen on the idea of popping out at some random place without even knowing its safe.

But fuck, they're here. He's injured. He's running out of energy. It's his only option and if he doesn't go now he won't be able to in another moment. So he opens a portal and dives through, just barely getting through before his energy fails him and both he and the portal collapse.

.

It's a quite night in Gotham. It shouldn't be a quite night in Gotham. Quite nights in Gotham means the city is gearing up to throw something big at them. A fact only supported by the meta kid falling out of a Lazurus portal and collapsing right in front of a couple of brooding Bats.

I think Danny should have portal powers.

Like, not as something he develops later or gains after becoming King or what have you.

I think it should be one of his most basic and instinctual powers. Something that he had maybe even before his other basics (flight, intangibility, invisibility, ectobeams) manifested. Something he could control perfectly before he figured out anything else.

Mans died by having a portal opened on top of him. They should be an integral, fundamental part of his ghost self.

Maybe he can't open them very big or for very long or to where he wants to at first. Power, stamina, and accuracy can be something he has to build. But I think the baseline ability should be there from the start.

I also think portal powers in general would fall under the unique abilities of Space Core ghosts. That Wulf and Cujo (and in this Danny) are Space Core ghosts.

[someplace-darker]

32 f w matty boy pleaaaase

Absolutely i can do that. This one got away from me, it's over 800 words, my bad.

Send in a prompt and character from this list!

It had been years of pining, years of staring at him without worrying that he’d know, years of hello sweetheart. Every single time the four of you had met up for drinks, retelling college stories to Karen, he’d greet you just like that. A smile in your general direction, his voice dipped a bit lower than usual, tone warm and liquid sweet. It was a bit different this time around, instead of Josie’s or the office of Nelson, Murdock and Page, it was a wedding.

Foggy’s, to be exact- he had finally gotten around to asking Marci to marry him after toting around a ring for a year and a half, griping about how he had to find the right time. The wedding itself had been beautiful, chandeliers lining the ceiling between each arch, the crystals that dripped from them refracting white light that danced across the walls. Matt stood beside Foggy, bright smile etched across his face through the service, genuine joy written all over his features at listening to his best friend recite his vows shakily.

You felt a little bad though, most of your time had been spent looking at Matt, analyzing every detail of his groomsmen suit which did wonders for his ass (you made a mental note to thank Foggy later). At one point he had tilted his head towards you, like he knew that you were looking at him instead of the newlyweds, eyebrows raised playfully as if scolding you. “Don’t look at me like that murdock,” you had muttered under your breath with full knowledge that he would hear it, biting back a grin when he huffed out quietly.

Now the two of you are sat side by side at the reception, your heart thumping in time with whatever song was playing. You’re too focused on the fact that Matt is sitting so close to you that his thigh is currently pressed against yours to listen to the music, thoughts racing so quickly you almost don’t register that he had asked you something.

“What?” you breathe, finally looking away from the spot on the floor that you had been staring at for the past five minutes. Matt chuckles and inclines his head towards you, knee nudging into your own “I asked if you wanted to dance. I don’t think Foggy would forgive me if I didn’t ask you.”

That’s not what you were expecting. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock and you choke out a laugh, internally trying to get your heart to chill the fuck out because he can hear it, you idiot. Matt waits patiently for an answer, red glasses trained on your face and you can see how absolutely frazzled you look in their reflection.

It takes a moment for you to gather the thoughts that have scattered, finally able to piece them together enough to whisper a “Yes, please.” Matt wastes no time in grabbing your hand and standing, pulling you up with him before moving to grab the back of your elbow. He leans into you, breath fanning over your ear, and it’s a wonder that your legs don’t collapse underneath you “lead the way.”

Placing your hand over his you lead him out onto the dancefloor, lingering on the sidelines so no attention is drawn to the two of you, or to how red your cheeks are. Except for Karen, who you see on the other side of the venue, both thumbs up in the air in support while Foggy and Marci laugh beside her. You roll your eyes, smiling fondly- they truly were your biggest supporters.

Matt moves to stand in front of you, one hand sliding around your waist to rest on your lower back while the other takes your hand in his. It’s intimate and unlocks something deep within your chest, something you had buried long ago in an attempt to hide from your emotions. Your breath hitches and dammit, of course he catches it immediately, frown tugging at the corner of his lips, head tilting just the slightest. “Are you uncomfortable? We don’t have to dance,” he offers softly, tone concerned and sincere.

“Oh! No, no it’s not anything like that. I want to dance with you, trust me,” you step closer to him, chest pressed against his to ensure that your point gets across. It’s his turn to inhale sharply, the feel of you against his body consuming all of his senses. “You give me butterflies, that’s all,” it’s pushed out swiftly, your eyes closing in anticipation for some form of teasing that never comes. Instead, Matt’s nose nudges against yours until the air between you becomes shared, his smile dimpling his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach flip over once again.

His lips brush against yours and you lean into it, kissing him gently as the two of you sway to the long forgotten song, all the guests fading into the background for this one moment in time. Matt’s mouth moves against yours, the hand at the base of your spine pulling you in closer. You pull away to breathe and he chases your touch, thumb rubbing against the soft skin of your hand “you give me butterflies, too.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

omg i love prompts, and congrats on 100 followers !! <33 how about "i never realized how meaningful sex could be until we got together" with batman!damian?

354. "I never realized how meaningful sex could be until we got together," with Damian Wayne.

ty!! I love prompts too cause they force me to be more creative than usual, which ya girl struggles with. Batman!Dami was an exquisite choice 👌

A needy moan fell from Damian's lips.

You chased the taste of it, cupping where the soft edge of his hair met his neck to swallow his sounds. Post-patrol sex was fifty-fifty for Damian - either it was the last thing on his case-honed mind, or the necessary stretch his overworked body was dying for. Now, his muscles seemed to float under his skin without tension. Sometimes, your hands would flutter over a bruise or your lips would meet a bandage, but each minor pang was a worthy sacrifice to withstand. You kissed him. The fist of control Damian held over himself unwound, finger by finger.

You tilted back, hands sunk in the sheets behind you, and rolled your hips onto his dick. There was so much to look at that Damian's mind went blank, piercing eyes dizzying over your flush body. His hand braced on your warm waist and pressed into your belly. Damian watched your face steam with lust, watched your pussy fill itself with him until your weight settled on his lap again.

"Yes," Damian hissed, meeting your hips with his.

The tiny plea you gave him was too precious to be bought. "Look at what you do to me, Damian... fuck, baby, look..."

You whimpered at his fullness. The sound guided his eyes to your union, where the outer ring of your cunt wrapped snugly around Damian's girth.

"So full?" Damian cooed. His thumb languished at your clit, circling it in lazy circles. "You're practically bursting with me, beloved..."

You kissed him, wet and wanting and giggling. "Gonna - ah, split me in two, bats."

Niether of you put much effort into moving. You didn't have to, with Damian's injuries and your shared laziness. He liked to soak in each feeling you gave him, and you were content to be studied, so long as his gaze wandered and lingered. It never failed to. Just sitting cozy in his lap was nice, anyway. You'd managed to rip off everything but Batman's leggings, and the armored plates scratched pleasantly at your thighs and ass, putting imprints in your skin the longer you saddled him. His belt, boots and gloves were all over your room, lit by the wall-by-wall view of Gotham. It was too early in the morning for any sun, so you made out Damian's face by the angular planes of golden light framing his skin. Admiring him turned you into an artist. You could plot the shape of the light on his abs well enough to paint, and match it to the gleaming color of his eyes in the shadows.

A hand on your back fished your top half back to him, lips ready and eyes feathered closed for a kiss. Damian hummed when you gave him what he wanted. The sound vibrated low in his chest, thrumming through your own rib cage and filling your heart. Even just that movement stimulated you both. Usually, Damian's skill and determination could ensure at least five rounds of hungry, filthy sex, but his voice is tired and his hands are soft. Niether of you want to rush this. Niether of you need to, because the simple pleasure of kissing is enough to make you cum.

Damian cups your jaw in one hand, almost wrapping his hand around your throat. You're so close that you can taste the shape of each word on his lips. "Perhaps we should fall asleep like this," he humors, blinking lasciviously, "use you as my little cock warmer."

"M' too close," you shake your head. "I can sit on your lap when you work tomorrow. Just some Justice League reports, right?"

Damian scowls, "I don't want to think about Kent while my dick is inside you."

Your blush sinks into his neck and hides there, pressing your nose into his shoulder. Damian's heart flutters when you kiss his pulse. "Then what do you want to think about?"

His warm, calloused fingers play with your hair and enjoy how attached to him you are. You're barely touching the bed. With Damian's cock sheathed all the way inside your sore pussy, you're on him in every other way too, chest to chest, face to face. You're only brought closer when you embrace him around the neck, prompting Damian to scoop you up around your lower back and nuzzle into your cheek. Even the tiniest squeeze forces his eyes shut in bliss - your walls cushion him just right, and pool slick down his thighs. Touching himself was fine when the moment called for it, but nothing could beat this slickness, this velvet.

"You," Damian admits. He gave himself an arm to brace against the plush mattress, then stirred his hips up into yours, faster and faster, "t-touching you... your stomach, your breasts..."

Politely, you pushed your chest deeper into his. He felt your weight move to your knees. "A-ah! Yeah? W-what else?"

"Making love to you while you wear - wear my shirt. Pushing it over your chest, f-fucking you," Damian grit, "the face you make when I make you cum."

Your nose withdrew from his neck and bumped against his, your foreheads together. Arousal burned in your gaze like boiling steam, and you trapped him there, palms on his cheeks, forcing him to watch your lashes flutter and lips part each time Damian plunged deeper. He twisted just out of your hold and slammed his mouth to yours, groans unrestrained - you rode him until his legs were sore, until cum surged into your cunt, so much, liquid spilling in thick ropes down your thighs.

He thrusted and kissed you until you both were sweaty and cum-slick, mouths slowing, breath laboring. Damian released you from a particularly wet kiss, lips popping. He fell onto his back and sunk into the memory foam, sucking down air. You knotted your trembelling fist around the edge of his waistband and panted. The orgasms dragged on as the sex had, languid and exhausted. You waited until your pussy stopped urging his cock to throb to dismount him. This, too, took forever, but Damian's grin only grew as he absorbed your satisfaction. He'd performed well. Damian always did, but that fact was never missed by his ego.

You dropped your ass down on his stomach instead, letting his cock breathe. Like him, you collapsed forwards, squeezing his waist with your calves and snuggling Damian's chest. When his orgasm had faded to a distant warmth tingling in his gut, he was struck with the feeling that no one else had ever done this for him, and perhaps no one else ever would. Sex had once been nothing but a manipulation to him, but this was... this was special. This was something a devil like him should've never been able to treasure, and yet you'd shared it with him. Shared yourself. He hugged you to his chest, heart pounding.

"I never realized how meaningful sex could be," Damian said, slowly, "until you. I... I love you, Y/N."

You pressed a smiling kiss into his chest. "And I love you, Damian. Anytime."

[inkykeiji]

the clock is ticking, running out of time

characters: shigaraki tomura

genre: smut and angst

notes: AAAAAAH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMURA!!!!!! sorry i seem to write angst for all of my faves birthdays ehehe. this is technically set in the touya-nii universe!! | title cred: birthday by katy perry

warnings: 18+ minors dni, cheating, implied stepcest/pseudo-incest, toxic relationships, the slightest hint of degradation, noncon/dubcon video recording, extreme feelings of guilt

words: 4.4k

synopsis:

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together. Sweet breath wafts over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

That’s the thought that’s been looping through your head for the past forty-five minutes, for the entire bus ride from Touya’s apartment to Tomura’s, for the walk from the bus stop to his condo complex, for the thirty-seven seconds it takes him to answer the door.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you want to.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him last, months since you spent the night with him, months since you’ve spoken to him at all.

4:06. The glowing numbers glare up at you from the screen of your phone, unable to stop obsessively checking your phone, mentally calculating the time you have left over and over again, even though you’ve already meticulously planned this outing down to the very second.

It’s rare for Touya to be out for an exact amount of allotted time, but when he mentioned that he had a three hour full body check up with his doctor that just so happened to be scheduled on Tomura’s birthday…Well, it was too convenient for you not to seize the opportunity.

The door swings open, breaking you out of your thoughts, and your name leaves his lips in a gasp, crimson eyes searching your face in disbelief. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you for your birthday,” you say simply with a shrug and he blinks several times, still staring at you incredulously. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, terrified that he doesn’t want you here, that he thinks the risk is too big—Touya will murder the both of you if he finds out—too dangerous, his body gone rigid in the doorway, breathing stopped.

But then a brilliant smile is splitting his face, and he’s pulling you into his arms, crushing you to his chest as his fingers curl in the material of your dress.

And you—you practically collapse against him, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He still smells exactly the same, just as you remember—like cheap cigarettes and watermelon bubblegum.

The scent evokes thick unfurling remorse, sinking heavily in your stomach, the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for the past few days immediately flowing through your mind, a desperate attempt to reassure yourself, to reason with yourself, to justify this decision.

Because you both deserve closure, don’t you? After everything that’s happened? After leaving him without a trace, without so much as a phone call or a quick text to at least let him know you’re okay?

Because Touya’s cheated on you how many times throughout the first six months of your relationship? One more teeny tiny instance of infidelity—the last one, you promise yourself—shouldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t know about it.

Right?

Really, this does nothing to dispel the culpability churning in your chest. No, Tomura’s bright boyish smile does that all by itself, sincere in the way it’s stretched across his face as he tugs you inside.

And...And suddenly, none of it really matters. Not in that moment, at least. Suddenly, all of those statements are rendered true; Tomura does deserve this. Suddenly, you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“I have to be quick, I’m sorry,” your voice cracks under unexpected emotion, but Tomura doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, ecstatic over the fact that you’ve come to visit at all.

“That’s fine,” he’s saying as his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing with surprising gentleness, eyes shining and wide as they follow his touch, as if he can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re real.

It has your heart shattering in your chest, jagged shards puncturing your surrounding organs, burying themselves deep within you, never to be dug out. A lump lodges itself in your throat, voice frail and full of spit as you speak around it.

“I missed you so much,” the words rush from between your lips without your permission, and Tomura pulls back, smile fading as his gaze searches your face.

For a moment, you can tell that he wants to berate you for disappearing without any contact at all, can see it shining clear as crystal in his eyes as they narrow, as eyebrows knit and his nose scrunches, and you nuzzle your face into him. Guilt, a different kind than that which Touya evokes—this type lighter than the dense acidic guilt that sticks to your insides like thick tar any time sapphire sears through your mind, this type bitter and saturated with melancholy—roots in the pit of your stomach.

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to text,” you mumble meekly, tears pricking your eyes. “Touya—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with surprising softness, fingertips still trailing up and down your spine. “I figured. Uh, how is he? Like, how…How was he?”

The brand of those five letters, now fully healed, scald your flesh, blistering bright and hot as if you had just been branded again. With your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you contemplate just outright telling him—he’s going to see it eventually either way, but you’re worried about ruining the mood a little too early.

No.

Better to rip it off like a band-aid, to get it out of the way now, instead of interrupting your birthday festivities later.

Your chest swells with a deep inhale, exhaling the words slowly.

“He was…” Livid. Furious beyond belief. Deeply hurt—distressed, distraught, dismayed. Visibly shaken up. In more pain than you’ve ever witnessed before. Terrified. “Upset. Naturally.”

Tomura waits for you to continue, speaking after a few moments of silence. “And?” he prompts, knowing Touya didn’t let you get away with a mere verbal warning, knowing you have more to say.

“A-And—” you bury your face against his neck, hot tears leaking from your eyes and staining his skin as they squeeze shut tightly, forcing the quivering words from your throat. “And he—He, um, he branded me,”

“What?” The word is just a huff of breath as large hands curl around your shoulders, yanking you from the sanctuary of his body so he can scrutinize your face, flashing crimson flying across your features. “He what?”

“His name,” you whisper, eyes still shut, face screwing up in distaste, the words bitter on your tongue.

“Where?”

“My ass,”

“Let me see,”

Eyes snapping open, your head begins to shake, motions cutting off when your stare meets his glare. Reluctantly you turn, flipping your dress up as you bend over a bit, pulling your panties down just enough to show him the slightly raised letters etched into your flesh forever.

Save for the soft, choked noise that sounds in the back of his throat, silence blankets the room, atmosphere suddenly stale and suffocating.

You glance back at him after a few beats, when your chest is beginning to burn from holding your breath in your lungs, and the sight that you are met with has your chest tearing itself in half, ribs caving in, giving way to the deep, dark ache swirling at the very core of your body.

Crimson eyes gleam in the setting sun, a thick layer of tears catching in the golden rays streaming through the window. It’s almost pretty in a way, brilliant ruby that shimmers and shines in the waning beams, practically glowing. But those beautiful, beautiful eyes are transfixed on your bare flesh, unblinking stare etching itself into your skin much like the letters Touya left behind.

His chin trembles just a little, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to halt it, head nodding in minuscule motions, barely noticeable, almost as if he’s confirming something to himself, affirming some unsaid thought sailing through his mind—almost as if he’s blaming himself.

“Fucking bastard,” he spits, though the words are wobbly, lacking heat and coated in sticky saliva. Using the sleeve of his black shirt, he wipes at his nose almost aggressively, quelling it’s twitching as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring, before he sniffs twice and rolls his shoulders back, gaze finally meeting yours.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

The glittering scarlet lace barely obscured by your thin dress singes itself into your flesh as his palms cascade over it, tracing every dip and curve of your body as they slide down to grope your ass.

You had bought the set for this occasion specifically—using cash you had stashed away, of course; Touya regularly checks your bank statements and credit card—with the intention of letting Tomura keep it, as a present.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together, sweet breath wafting over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

He surges forward, foreheads bumping together from the strength, and crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, nimble fingers curling in the hem of your dress and yanking, pulling the material from your body in one erratic motion.

He’s just as enthusiastic as he was all those months ago, large hands settling on your lace-clad hips as he guides you—back, back, back, stumbling over your own feet a little as he shoves forward, teeth clacking as his tongue tangles with yours, interspersed drool pooling at the corners of your lips.

A soft cry of surprise leaves your lips as he roughly spins the two of you so he’s the one reversing, collapsing in the overstuffed gaming chair abandoned near his desk and hauling you down with him, wheels rolling against the hardwood from the force.  

His lips are plush and chapped, kisses messy with strings of viscous saliva, and you’re reminded of how fun kissing Tomura is, playful giggles spilling from one mouth into another consistently breaking the flow as eager hands paw and pull, snapping the clasp on your bra and haphazardly discarding it, your fingers toying with the silver button of his charcoal jeans.

“Get on with it already,” he groans, impatient and entitled as ever, exactly how you remember, hips rutting up into you clumsily as hands travel up your torso to knead your breasts much too hard. And even though it shouldn’t, his predictability inspires a burst of intense warmth in your chest, burning bright like a tiny sun, heat seeping into your blood and flooding your veins as more involuntary giggles pry their way out of your mouth and into his.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he asks, and although his eyes are fierce and sharp as they scrutinize your face, there’s a playful little grin decorating his lips, slender fingers tweaking a peaked nipple and snickering at your resulting yelp.

“Just missed you, s’all,” you mumble against him, lips dragging along his jaw then trailing down his neck, tongue peeking out to give kitten licks at self-inflicted scars and tugging pathetic little half-whimpers from deep in his throat, rough and uneven as he tries to swallow them back down.

There isn’t enough time for thorough prep, your only form of foreplay consisting of his cock being rammed down your throat—just get it fucking wet, he had demanded—hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep from bucking while your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in spit.

“Fu-Fucking stop, or I’m gonna cum,” Large fists tangle in your hair, trying to yank you off his cock with a pathetic little whine. Gaping pupils outlined by a fine ring of scarlet observe the way your shining lips pucker around his girth as your mouth slides up, grip on your strands already loosening as his chest heaves, completely absorbed by your actions, breath escaping slightly parted lips in sweet little puffs.

A little tongue flicks against the slit as you reach the tip, placing an obscene openmouthed kiss to the head before pulling away completely. Your mouth hovers an inch above it, allowing a large glob of sticky saliva to dribble from your mouth onto the head, then kissing it again, pressing slippery lips to heated silky skin.

“Jesus Christ,”

The curse is nearly a moan, and you look up from your place between his thighs, batting your eyelashes and offering him a tiny smile. His eyes glitter as he gazes down at you, chest rising unevenly under the force of ragged breaths, a thumb swiping across your cheek in a manner that’s almost awestruck, as if he can’t believe you’re here.

“Get on my cock,” he orders a moment later, when the aching between his legs draws him back to reality, hips jerking up in reflexive, instinctive micro-movements, gleaming cock bobbing with the action. “And take your fucking panties off,”

It’s a little awkward and a lot uncoordinated, trying to maneuver yourself onto his lap while he slouches in that ridiculous gaming chair, unable to quell the way his hips prematurely thrust the moment you’re hovering over him, legs folded and cramped on either side of his thighs.

Pathetic little whimpers leak from your lips as his slick cock stretches your ill-prepared hole, cunt stinging as it struggles to adjust to the sudden breach, your nails digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders as a hiss is spit between clenched teeth.

But the moan he emits, deep and satisfying as you sink down on him, how his eyelashes flutter shut and his head knocks back against the headrest as he bottoms out, long ivory neck and prominent Adams apple on display, and the way massive hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he forces you to begin bouncing almost immediately, make it all so worth it.

Because he’s still so pretty, lids lifting a moment later to reveal dazzling ruby gazing at you in an almost voracious manner through thick dark lashes, glued to your face as he memorizes every micro-expression that transforms your features, the way your eyes roll back and eyebrows twitch, the way your mouth forms around those cute little gasps of his name that his rough thrusts punch from your chest.

“Did’ya miss my cock?” his breath is already coming out in short little pants, hips grinding urgently against yours, lacking any kind of finesse or rhythm. “B-Bet’cha did,”

“Uh-huh,” your head nods jerkily, hips rocking just as desperately into his as if to confirm your statement. His cock is pretty, too—a darker pink than Touya’s, half an inch shorter but just as fat, thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Dick drunk already?” he teases, and you’re positive his voice was meant to be more rancorous, but the large grin it’s spoken through, as if he’s proud of himself, chest nearly swelling with it, dilutes it, disintegrating the bitter shell that was supposed to coat the words. His tongue clicks, fluffy tufts of hair bouncing a little as he shakes his head. “What would your precious niichan think?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because it’s already so much, uncoordinated thrusting almost teasing in a way, the head of his cock unintentionally grazing that spot buried deep inside of you, the fleeting sensation mixing with that of the taboo, of the naughtiness of the situation, mewls spilling from your lips.

And you wish, so desperately, that you could take your time, that you could enjoy such amateurish gyrating, crude movements giving way to sloppy squelching that makes your stomach swoop and cunt throb as your clit glides against his pubic bone, but the mention of niichan reminds you of your finite amount of time and you lean back, soft palms finding the edge of his desk, fingers curling tightly around it.

Tomura’s bare feet planted on the hardwood keep the chair from shifting as you begin to really ride him, starting with slow, hard rolls of your hips that have cute little grunts hitching in his chest, bright eyes darkening as they watch, lids drooping a little, your movements increasingly gaining speed with each rock forward of your hips, leaning back against the desk and using it for leverage.

Blunt nails bite into your skin, and you want to remind him not to leave marks, but the words won’t keep their shape as they gurgle in your throat, evaporating into moans that break with each rough buck of his hips.

He finds a rhythm with you quickly, though, your lust-hazed mind dully noting that he’s better than before, the thought conjuring sudden, fierce spears of jealousy that slice through your chest, jaw clenching.

“Fuck, you—you’re still the best I’ve ever had,” he practically whines out, like he’s reading the thoughts on your face, but his voice is genuine, strained and hoarse with the confession. “Will probably always be the best I’ve ever had,” his sentence fades into a growl, almost as if he’s angry about it, hands squeezing your hips.

Nevertheless, you’re unable to stop the little smile those words paint across your lips, giggling breathlessly as bubbly warmth tingles in your chest, a sense of shameful pride rushing through your veins.

“Yeah?” he seethes in a huff, eyes narrowing. “Bet you’re proud of yourself for that, little slut,”

You are, you’re nodding, tongue rendered useless as his hips piston into you, cockhead repeatedly slamming against your cervix, reaching deeper and deeper and deeper the further you lean back, until the sharp edge of the desk is cutting into your back.

“I know you are,” he sneers, callous tone emphasized by his brute force as he fucks you. “V-Vain little bitch, happy she’s ruined me—ruined sex for me, forever,”

It’s getting harder for him to speak now, words punctuated by half-baked whimpers and swallowed, stifled moans, the sentiment under his speech accentuating pleasure for the both of you, dirty humiliation only making everything that much more intense, heady and addicting as it intoxicates your bodies, your minds, your souls.

“S-So the least you could do,” he begins in a keen, pace faltering as he squirms under you, yanking his phone from his back pocket. “Is give me something to—ah, Christ—remember you by,”

You should tell him no. You should cease all bouncing on his cock the moment he presses that little red button on his screen, the moment the flash next to the camera turns on, signaling it’s recording. You should.

But you don’t. You don’t, because he’s right. Because that guilt returns, seeping up through the floor of your stomach and spreading to your other organs, chest tightening as it reaches your heart. Because you took something from him, something he’ll never be able to get back, purely for your own selfish gain, just to get back at the man you love, and that isn’t fair. That will never be fair.

Instead, you look straight into the lens, hips beginning to ride him almost viciously, pushing out your chest further, bouncing tits on display as they heave with your lewd moans of his name, begging him to fuck you, begging him for his thick cum, and oh please, Tomura, please, give it to me, want your cum so bad, need your cum so bad, please!

He chokes on his own groan, the hand holding his phone beginning to shake slightly as the other finds its place on your hip again, his own thrusts pumping wildly as he spits expletives through gritted teeth, your pathetic little mewls egging him on.  

“G-Gonna cum?” he whines out, almost as if he’s begging you to say yes, the needy canting of his hips indicating that he’s about to, too, crimson searing into you as you nod messily. “Fucking do it, then, cream all over my cock like the good little whore you are,”

And you’re powerless to stop the loud cry that rips from your throat as your cunt clenches around him, only half of his name escaping in a yelp before your own shuddery gasp cuts you off, choking a little on the intense inhale, air sharp as razors as it rushes down your throat.

He follows less than a second later with a ferocious growl of your name, potent cum filling your aching little cunt, phone clattering to the floor as both hands grip your hips and force you to continue milking him until both of your bodies are shivering from the overstimulation.

You collapse against him, sweaty body melting into his, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Long arms encircle you, cradling you to his chest in a way that’s almost tender, phone laying forgotten a few feet away.

It’s just as nice as it was the first time, being swathed in his embrace, a gentle sigh slipping from between your lips. Nimble fingers trail up and down your spine, pressing into the notches, tracing the smooth, soft plains of your skin.

“Wish you could stay,” he mumbles into your hair, so quiet you nearly miss it—would have missed it if not for the vibrations in his chest.

Me too.

You want to tell him, want to express the same sentiment, to make it known that you desire the same thing, but the words tangle in your throat, that sticky brand of guilt that is specifically Touya refraining them from leaving your lips, yanking them back down into your chest with painful hitching breaths every time you try to speak.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tomura coos, pulling back a little to cup your face and tilt it up, big thumbs swiping across your cheeks as they catch glistening teardrops.

He doesn’t say anything—there is nothing to say—instead dipping his head to press his lips chastely to yours in the softest kiss he’s ever given you, mumbling his thanks for the birthday present a moment later.

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you want to ask, but there’s no more time, opting to kiss him again in response, praying that it conveys all the things you can’t, all the things guilt won’t let you.

And then you’re scrambling off of his lap, collecting your dress off the floor and hastily pulling it over your head, turning back to find Tomura standing, holding out his hand, soaked lace in his grasp.

“Keep them,” you whisper, curling his fingers into a fist around the dainty material. “Happy birthday, Tomura,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You have forty-five minutes before Touya arrives home—that’s cutting it close, you were supposed to have a full hour, but Tomura’s arms were so warm, his gently rising chest so inviting, his entire aura so comforting, that you had allowed yourself to indulge, just for a moment, to let your eyes slip shut and exhale a soft sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace and inhaling his distinct scent deeply, holding it in your lungs for a moment, wishing it would stay, wishing it would stick to the gummy walls, take root and find a home there, wishing you could keep a piece of him with you, always.

The water scalds your skin as you step into Touya’s glass shower, hands instantly reaching for Touya’s bodywash and squirting a generous amount in your palm.

You lather your entire body with it, until every inch of your skin is covered in foamy white suds, until your flesh has been scrubbed raw, the sharp scent—something woodsy and musky, like a crackling campfire of burning hickory wood, smoky and sweet—enveloping you entirely, stinging your nose.

It sticks in your throat and invades your lungs, as if cleansing you from the inside out, and you choke on it, are suffocated by it, little gasps and coughs falling from your lips while nails claw at your neck.

That dull ache returns as you rinse your skin, throbbing incessantly at the very core of your body as you watch the last remnants of Tomura swirl around the drain, infused in the soapy water.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’re thinking to yourself as your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp. It shouldn’t, but it does, a painful lump lodging itself in your throat, expanding a little more every time you try to reason with yourself until it’s gagging you.

Something stings your eyes—soap from the shampoo as you rinse it from your locks, or maybe the potently fragrant scent from Touya’s bodywash, you try to convince yourself, that lump sprouting tiny spikes and viciously slicing into the gummy walls, that lump forcing saliva still containing traces of Tomura to collect in your throat, that lump reminding you that you’re a fucking liar.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Touya doesn’t need to know everything, does he? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? And it was only a one time thing, wasn’t it? It’s alright, isn’t it?

These are the questions that cycle through your mind obsessively, running laps in your skull as you absentmindedly towel off your dripping body in your niichan’s bedroom, the gentle buzz of your phone snapping you out of your reverie.

For a moment, you’re terrified it’s Touya, texting you to tell you that he knows, you little slut, scrambling to snatch it off of the nightstand as trembling fingers hastily unlock it.

It isn’t Touya.

It’s Tomura.

best birthday present of my life, hands down. thank you. i love you.

The resounding slam! of the front door has your entire body flinching violently, the heels of Touya’s heavy boots thumping against the tile as he kicks them off mingling with his smooth voice as he calls your name.

It’s with watery eyes and painful little sniffles catching in your chest that your quivering thumb jabs at that tiny little trashcan in the corner of your screen, watching through blurry vision as the entire conversation disappears into the ether, gone forever—though those three glowing words that concluded the text are etched into the very tissue of your brain, where they will remain, forever.

[gumnut-logic]

Abisalli Art Challenge.

D3

Fistfight With God

Virgil

Dockside

This one fought me tooth and nail so the quality is questionable.

Thank you to @janetm74 for the ask ::hugs you tight:: I hope you like the mess I came up with.

So many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for picking me off the floor when the fic beat me up, and to @katblu42 for the read through and advice as to whether the fic was actually working or not.

I'm dumping it here and running away now.

Warnings: Angst, inferred violence, mention of injury.

-o-o-o-

The dockside of this city was a disaster waiting to happen. Well…actually the waiting was over – that was the reason why he was here, after all, but the assessment warranted grumbling about anyway.

He felt like grumbling.

It was a rabbit warren of old buildings both in use and long ago abandoned. The loss of the sun left the rickety and industrial area lit in the deep blues of falling night. Cut by the reds of aircraft warning lights high up on dormant cranes, it was crowded, dark with shadows, and difficult to find a spot to land Two.

John directed him to the collapsed building. Thankfully it was one of the abandoned messes down here, but there was at least one person stuck under the rubble and International Rescue was the fastest and most efficient response.

As always.

Virgil was tired. It had been a very long day consisting of several timezones. His uniform was grotty, his exo-suit had taken a battering in a rockslide two hours earlier and was now listed as broken.

The fact he was more concerned about the condition of his equipment than the condition of himself had already resulted in a lovely hot coals raking over comms by his eldest brother.

Virgil was grumpy enough to nod and grunt at all the right places and then cut the connection perhaps a little too abruptly.

Of course, that prompted his over protective brother/commander/whatever to ‘be there in five’ to watch over him and make sure he looked after himself.

As Virgil eyed the remains of his exo-suit and rolled his aching shoulders, he had to admit he was acting more juvenile than experienced rescue operative.

He sighed.

Too damned tired.

A quick emergency coffee ration later – and yes, Gordon had installed the equipment, without Virgil’s knowledge, three missions after the aquanaut had joined the team.

Virgil had done his best to ignore the tone of relief in the first few debriefs after that. Scott really didn’t need to act so dramatic.

Today the coffee had little effect, he just needed sleep.

But there was someone to save.

Two worried onlookers met him as he disembarked, one clinging to his arm in her urgency. The other one was a gruff man who gave Virgil the impression he had seen this all before and this was just another homeless person in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Trying to reserve judgment about the man’s attitude was hampered by Virgil’s mood, but as always, he did his best to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he might just be as tired as Virgil felt.

He finally managed to shake the woman off and stash them at a safe distance. With John and Five’s assistance, he assessed the building and was well into excavating rubble before the roar of One landing nearby reached him.

He did notice that John neglected to announce Scott’s arrival, but then John had been working even longer than Virgil and no doubt would be even more tired than he was.

Hmm, perhaps a check on his space brother was warranted.

The life sign wasn’t far under the rubble and it was strong. Before he knew it, he had broken through the majority of the collapsed mess with the pod and was able to jump into the hole he had created to tackle the debris a little more strategically. The pod lights lit up the mess in stark shadows and the dull reds of fallen brickwork.

He missed his exo-suit more than ever. How did his brothers do this without proper hydraulics and the extra boost in strength?

There was a whimper and flicker of movement amongst the rubble.

“Hey, I’m with International Rescue. We’re here to help. Can you hear me?”

There was no answer. He shifted a few more bricks, hoping Scott would hurry up and get here. Four hands were much better than two in this situation.

Much better if two of those were a giant claw and pincer grip.

Stop whining and get the job done.

He grunted as he shifted a huge lump of mortared brickwork, only to turn around and find a pair of wide dark eyes staring out at him. The reflection of the pod’s lights shivered as he was stared at.

He lowered his voice. “Hello? I’m here to help. Are you hurt?”

A head he could barely see shook just a little, those eyes still wide and staring.

“I’m going to help you get out. Is that okay?”

Still no answer, but the single nod was enough for Virgil. “I’m going to remove the last of this rubble. Then we can get you out of there.”

He began to move faster, removing broken building with the aim to reach…a child? A young teenager? It was hard to tell in the lighting. A scrap of short dark hair above those dark eyes, smudged and dusty, maybe olive skin, small, almost elfin.

His shoulders ached, but he ignored them.

Eventually, he cleared an entrance to what had to be the most secure bolthole to find in a building collapse. The elfin had found their way into what was essentially a box consisting of a massive table and part of a wall. Virgil’s eyebrows arched as he finally broke through.

The rescuee scampered away and curled up at the opposite end of the space.

Virgil held out a hand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t believe you.” Their voice was soft but fearful.

Virgil blinked. “There is no need to be frightened.”

“Is that what you say to all your victims?” The voice was strong and came from behind him.

Virgil spun, startled. The woman who had clung to his arm earlier was standing behind him, a gun in her hand.

What the-?

Virgil straightened as the man who had accompanied her jumped down beside her, the sneer on his face almost a snarl.

“What do you want?” Virgil’s shoulders settled, his feet firming up his stance amongst the rubble. There was always one thing most antagonists wanted.

His Thunderbird.

She eyed him up and down. “Justice, perhaps. A stop to your tyranny, foremost.”

Virgil stared at her. “What?”

She waved the gun. “Move.”

Still completely flummoxed as to what the woman wanted, Virgil dug in his heels. “No.”

The gun went off without warning. A sharp crack in the air of the relatively confined space and something tore at the thigh of his uniform.

“I said move!”

Virgil stumbled but kept his footing. “Whatever it is you are trying to do, you won’t succeed.” His fingers brushed over his wrist control, triggering his emergency alarm.

Kayo was going to be so pissed at him. Again.

“If you don’t move right now, I will kill your brother.”

Virgil froze. Questions piled up on his lips, but the woman was gesturing with her weapon and Virgil found himself stumbling over fallen masonry without saying a word.

Which brother? His mind delivered the positions off all his family members. The two youngest were on the Island, John was in space, that left…

Scott.

She directed him out of the hole without a single word. As he rose out of the rubble four other men surrounded him, each as snarly as the first.

He ignored them, his eyes searching for Scott. He could see the shadowy outline of Two in the dark, but there was no sign of One.

But he’d heard her land earlier…

He spun where he stood. “What have you done with him? Where is he?”

“Your ‘Commander’ is getting what he deserves.” She gestured at the man beside her. “Let him hear his brother.”

The snarl turned self-satisfied as he flicked on a hand-held comm and spoke gruffly into it.

The sounds that followed were so Scott and so much pain…all the blood in Virgil’s body pooled in his gut and heart and clotted solid.

“Why?” The single word burst out of him, more shock and disbelief than anything else.

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Because your plan to hoard all that technology and keep it from those who need it has to end.”

Virgil’s heart was racing as much as his mind. “What plan?”

The woman snorted before stepping up closer to him, waving the gun in front of his visor. “Take your helmet off.”

His eyes widened, but a sudden scream of agony from the hand-held comms had him moving.

The air stank of mouldy seaweed and dust.

The barrel of the gun brushed against the underside of his nose.

“You Tracys are despicable. So many could be saved if only you shared the technology.”

“People would get hurt if the technology fell into the wrong hands.”

“It’s already in the wrong hands!” Her spittle sprayed across his face. “What makes you the second coming? What gives you the right to say who lives and who dies?!”

“We don-“

“You do! You hoard your spoils on that damned island with no accountability, no governance, and no right!” Her breath was hot on his face.

Her voice lowered. “But I have you now. I have leverage.”

She stepped away and gestured towards the men around him. “Take him. It’s time to put an end to this.”

Virgil stared as she callously turned her back on him. Someone grabbed him from behind.

His mind raced, caught up in why and how and where. Where was One? Where was his brother? What were they doing to him? Why? How? John?! His hands shook and time slowed as his mind fought for an out, an exit to all of this, but then Scott screamed again.

The woman waved her gun in the comms’ direction. “Shut him up.”

The man grinned and spoke into the comm.

Another scream was cut off in a gurgle.

Virgil’s mind blanked.

-o-o-o-

“Thunderbird Five, I need more information!”

“If I had it, I would give it to you!” John’s voice shook with anger.

Thunderbird Two had been sliced out of existence and half the city with it. Scott had been sideswiped enroute to Virgil by yet another rescue. It had been short and successful, but if he hadn’t been interrupted, he would be there already.

One screamed around him.

“But you have his emergency signal?”

“Yes.” Their emergency signals were transmitted on a very high energy band, designed to cut through anything and everything. “But nothing else. Thunderbird Shadow is in transit, Kayo will be moments behind you.”

They had no idea what had happened. It was chaos in the city, the power cut inexplicably, not unlike what happened in London. Usually Eos would be all over it, but John had banned her from reaching into the dark unknown, fearful he might lose her.

That didn’t stop John from diving in himself. But powerless computers were useless and they had little information.

Local emergency services had their hands full, and besides Scott was almost there.

He lost contact with John the moment he dipped below the cloud cover.

For once in his life, Scott did not tear onto the scene. He was aware enough of the possibilities to creep up on where Thunderbird Two was sitting amongst the docks. Certainly after what had happened to Two over London that time.

He found their sister ship sitting on her struts quietly. All her lights were on, an oasis in a sea of blackout darkness. Not far away, one of her pods was directing its spots into a hole in a large pile of rubble.

Between Two and the pod were seven crumpled bodies.

One of them was wearing a familiar IR uniform.

Thunderbird One dropped to the ground hard. As Scott ran towards his brother, a hiss and Shadow materialised beside him.

Scott didn’t stop.

Five men and one woman were crumpled around Virgil. Virgil himself was clutching something and curled up on his side in the middle.

There was blood.

And a curse as John finally broke through the blanket of interference surrounding Two and half the city.

Kayo was almost silent as she slipped past each body checking vitals.

Scott only had eyes for Virgil.

His brother’s helmet lay cracked and discarded in the dirt not far away.

Virgil was mumbling to himself, curling around something he was holding ever so close to his chest.

Scott knelt down beside him quietly. “Virgil?”

The sound his brother made was pure pain. The injured face that was suddenly staring at Scott was incredulity itself.

But Scott didn’t have a moment to process anything before his biggest brother was in his arms gasping as if he couldn’t get enough air.

Considering Virgil’s strength, Scott doubted he would be able to breathe himself if it wasn’t for his helmet. As it was, heavy lifting muscles were doing a good job on his ribcage anyway.

Scott held him. “Virgil?”

The gasps strangled into sobs and his brother shook in his arms.

“John, you getting any vitals yet?” Scott’s voice was little more than a strangled whisper.

“Negative. But…”

“What?”

“Kayo reports all six people surrounding Virgil have serious injuries. They need medivac.”

Scott tugged Virgil upright so he could get a good look at his brother. His breath hitched.

Virgil had a bruised cheek and broken nose, his right arm was bleeding through his uniform.

“What happened?” Scott fumbled for his mediscanner, the yellow light revealing injuries under that uniform that hurt to look at. “My god, Virgil, what happened?”

“He was the fist of god.” The voice was whimsical, almost triumphant. A blink and Kayo was beside Scott and Virgil, ready to strike.

But it was a kid. Torn jeans and a t-shirt more dirt than whatever colour it used to be.

They scampered away to the very edge of the light circle.

“Hey, we won’t hurt you.” Scott was desperate for information.

The slim figure froze.

Virgil had crawled into Scott’s arms again, still murmuring and saying nothing of sense.

“Please tell us what happened.”

Dark eyes peered back at them. “They…” A hand was waved at the crumpled bodies. “They were the devil…” That hand pointed at Virgil. “He was the fist of god.”

The figure turned and vanished into the night.

-o-o-o-

It took Kayo, Penny and John three days to work out exactly what had happened.

The amount of multilingual profanity wafting down from orbit was extreme. But ultimately it boiled down to conspiracy theorists.

Which prompted enough profanity to wake even Virgil.

Grandma wouldn’t have been impressed except she was the culprit.

Scott had called Aunt Val to attend to the six injured persons. Kayo had managed first aid and they were all going to live, but they were also sporting a series of injuries obviously resulting from fighting.

The cut to Virgil’s arm was a shallow knife wound. The weapon used was found stabbed into a guy’s thigh. In fact, all the injuries to the men and woman were consistent with a heavy lifting fist or foot.

When Scott finally managed to pry the comms unit out of Virgil’s hands, he found out why.

His own voice making those sounds of agony…John decompiled it and traced it back to a single karaoke recording from five years ago that had then been manipulated to do…this.

Virgil would not let go of him. He was barely conscious and certainly not coherent.

Kayo flew them to Auckland aboard Two.

Scott sat with his brother until the hospital staff were forced to sedate him for treatment.

Then it was Scott who couldn’t let go of Virgil.

Over the next three days they stitched the picture together and came up with a motive for the attack…and an understanding of what exactly happened.

Virgil claimed he couldn’t remember, but then Virgil was simply proving he still couldn’t lie to save his own ass.

Because this was a close one. Aunt Val had questions and there was a lot of fast talking and declarations of self-defence to stop those questions going further.

And Virgil still flinched when Scott walked into the room.

His brother was in hospital overnight but demanded to go home the next day. The demand wasn’t uncharacteristic, no Tracy liked hospitals much at all, but the abruptness and the need behind those injured eyes…

Scott flew him home within the hour.

-o-o-o-

Virgil limped down the stairs into the kitchen. Scott was sitting at the breakfast bar munching on cereal. He looked up as Virgil took the last few steps.

“You know, we do have elevators for a reason.”

“It’s only a scrape.” The shrapnel from that bullet had sliced through the back of his thigh. His uniform had taken most of it, but enough had gotten through to need a couple of stitches.

“And your ribs? Last I heard broken ribs warranted using the elevator. In fact, I distinctly remember being lectured on the topic last time I cracked a rib.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose, winced, and ignored him.

He still sat down beside Scott, swallowing the groan in the process.

“Want some cereal?”

“Coffee.”

“No. Orange juice?”

Virgil glared at his brother, but sighed. “Whatever.”

Scott’s smile was at half mast as he slipped from his seat and stepped around the counter to the refrigerator.

Both cereal and juice appeared in front of Virgil before Scott sat down beside him again and resumed eating.

Virgil grunted. “Stubborn.”

“Mule.”

They ate in silence.

Virgil found himself edging closer and closer to his brother as if he had this need to touch him to prove he was real.

Instead of backing away, Scott, being Scott, wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and drew him in.

Virgil found he could breathe again.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Cereal finished, they sat in silence again.

Barely a whisper. “I thought they had you. I thought you were being tortured like…”

The unspoken word ‘Bereznik’ floated in the air.

Scott’s arm tightened. “They didn’t.”

“I know.”

“But you responded as if they did.”

Virgil blinked and looked up at his big brother. Blue eyes peered down at him as if looking into the depths of his soul. The word climbed up his throat and hissed across his tongue. “Yeah.”

His brother pulled him in even tighter. Scott dropped his head gently sideways until it rested on Virgil’s. “That, I can understand.” He exhaled slowly. “That, I can understand.”

Virgil closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of home…

And his brother’s breathing.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[ayamturd]

sick│technoblade

summary: in sickness and in health, without the title of marriage to state it.

prompt: (requested) “Techno fluff, perhaps?”

warning: brief sickness descriptions, fluff

pairing: in-game c!technoblade

a/n: this could be considered a pt. 2 to my last techno fic, but regardless, i wanted to write more techno fluff :)

wc: (1.0k) - m.list

cuddles - pt. one

You woke up in a cold sweat, body freezing despite being wrapped in the thick covers against Technoblade’s warmth. 

Throat dry, your air felt constricted as your nose was stuffed and painfully closed, it worsening the current pressure around your neck. Within seconds of regaining consciousness, your gag-reflexes kicked in from the tense hold on your air, and you reached a hand to your mouth as you started choking on nothing. 

Tears brimmed the corners of your eyes, and as you bent over to regain your breath, a new sensation came through. You needed to throw up.

In spite of trying to remain still moments before for Techno’s sake, you ripped yourself from the soft mattress and tumbled your way through the house, hitting every corner and every edge recklessly in desperation to reach the front door. Once you were able to burst through the entrance, you tripped down the porch stairs onto your knees and threw up. 

Your hands and knees were numb in the freshly fallen snow, the early morning barely breaking any sunlight over the horizon as you continued to miserably release your sick. You didn’t know how long you had been throwing up for, but either way, the pain was excruciating enough to devolve your sense of time entirely. 

A sudden noise came from behind you, rushed steps that followed the slam of the partly open door you left unlocked in your dazed sprint. You couldn’t care less for what the sound could have been, too nauseous to consider your surroundings or possible threats. 

Luckily for you, it was only Technoblade. 

He had panicked once waking to an empty bed, the sheets still slightly warm from your recent presence, but not changing from the fact that you were missing then. It was unlike you to rise so early or before him after he returned from a supply trip; either way, his light pondering was interrupted when he heard a crash downstairs. 

The haze of sleep immediately left him as the voices roared in full alert from your sudden disappearance in association with the noise, and with trained and haste steps, he had grabbed the nearest weapon, it being his sword.

He had assumed the worst when he found the front door open ajar, the cool winter wind bring wind into the house, but was relieved in the best way possible to see you knelt in the snow. His relief, however, was short lived the moment he heard your dry hacks. 

“Y/n.”

The sound of his voice made you collapse to your side, body aching yet relaxed at the thought of Techno nearby. He jumped down the stair way to you, and stabbed his sword into the ground before focusing on you alone. 

Noting the obvious sick you threw up, he pulled you into his lap and turned your head towards him, caressing you face endearingly soft. 

“Hey, hey, just listen to me. Breathe in, breathe out. Let yourself feel the cold of the air.”

You felt so physically weak, eyes watered and body tense. Taking in his words and consuming the course, cool air in large intakes that practically burned your lungs, you murmured your discomfort into the warmth of his body heat. 

“I feel like shit,” you whispered. Techno laughed at your literal dry humor and pulled you closer to warm you. 

“You’re sick, darlin’. Running a fever I would assume.” His voice dropped once feeling the sickle heat from your forehead, the rough callouses of his hand held slightly above. No matter what you were feeling now, your body was freezing and would become worse in longer exposure to the environment. He knew better than to let you endure the snow for another few minutes. 

Planning out the next steps to nurse you, he slowly began to hook is arm under your limp legs, his other supported your upper back beneath your neck. 

“We need to get you inside,” he stated, voice calm and steady to ease your pain. “I’m going to lift you now, alright?”

You nodded your head lightly, too tired and drained to move anything more than an inch. Once you gave your approval, he gathered you into his chest and rose. 

His steps were slow and calculated, and while he thought it best to bring you upstairs, he needed to warm you up as fast as he could. He placed you on his armchair gently, making sure to prop your head with the throw pillows, before growing the fire and removing any unnecessary layers that were wet.

Glancing around him, he hummed when spotting his cloak, deciding it would be the best form of covering within the household. As he placed the thick fabric on you, you sighed from both the heavy weight and the overwhelming smell of him. 

He chuckled as you unconsciously gripped it and moved to prepare a glass of water for you.

Crouching down in front of you, he dipped the cool liquid into your partly opened mouth, hand supporting your chin beneath considerately. Like the roles were reversed and he was given the opportunity to do so, once he placed the glass aside, he watched your steady breaths close and openly admired how beautiful you truly were. 

Admittedly, he knew he could be close off and struggled to express himself often, but even then, he loved you and the fact that you didn’t need his constant words of affirmations to state his obvious. 

With a firm kiss to the side of your head, he let the voices bellow their own admissions of love and stood.

After knowing you were as comfortable as you could be considering the circumstances, he mentally listed the next ingredients he would need to make your favorite stew. He tried to step away while lost in thought, but your quick outreached hand caught his wrist. 

“Will you stay?” you asked small, like you were afraid of his possible rejection. He smiled and rubbed your knuckles reassuringly before pushing his lips to them. 

“I never planned on leaving.”

[septemberinorange]

Atsumu Comfort Fic

Desc: Atsumu drabble where he comforts you after a bad day

Gnreader

With open arms Atsumu stands by his car door, ready and patiently waiting to more than willingly care for the exhaustion left after what seemed to be the longest day ever. His only explanation of the events so far being the one that you’d rushed to describe to him in a breathy whisper over the phone whilst he scrambled to grab his keys and get to you as soon as possible, an overwhelming need to kiss the pain away taking over his body.

“Baby” he calls out softly, his voice barely rising over the buzz of your mind as you tumble your way over to him, your body all but collapsing into his as he cradles you into his chest, Atsumu’s body curves to your height as tender hands adjust in order to lay across the back of your head. This simple movement prompts you to sink further into his embrace, your heavy breaths filtering through his shirt as tears leave tiny reminders upon the material.

“Baby I’ve got you, I’m here and I’ve got you and it’ll be okay, we’re going to be okay, I promise” Atsumu assures with a quiet determination that you can hear in his tone of voice whilst he murmurs softly into your ear and the gentle touch of his skin as he runs a placid thumb over your tear-stained cheek.

For a few seconds, or minutes, or hours he holds you like this, allowing the strain to run from your body and bones in a trickle of tears and a few more gasping whispers of explanation, frustration, and overbearing upset.

When your breathing, if even slightly eases back to a calmer, familiar pace Atsumu pulls back, his hands slipping down to attach into yours after easing them from the tight grip around his jacket’s warmth that had kept you anchored to him.

Carefully, he begins to smooth small shapes across your skin, his eyes meanwhile meeting yours, gentle gaze watching over you like the moon watching over the earth before he opens the car door and ushers you both inside, giving you an affectionate smile before leaving and making for home where he would be able to give you all his love once again.

Silently, Atsumu opens the car door in the driveway to your home, his affectionate hand extending out toward you which you take gladly and let him lead you into the house and to a seat where you fall into the reassuring cushioning.

This sudden comfort and the sensitivity of Atsumu’s actions as he dips down to relieve the shoes from your feet before gifting you an encouraging grin ekes a weak smile from you, almost as a thank you for Atsumu’s care. As a small meaningful thank you for the drink he makes you after putting away your shoes, and the fact that he then brings you a pair of your comfiest clothes to put on, and eventually for the love you feel from him as he once again swaddles you in the sturdy support of his arms and supportive embrace.

From your side Atsumu moves into the most comforting position, one where your legs lay across his lap therefore allowing you to bend into his shoulder, your hands clenched around the neckline of his shirt as you press closer into his warmth.

You don’t want another round of tears, so you turn to Atsumu, wide imploring eyes staring up at him with a desperation like no other situation than this. Quickly Atsumu sees you and turns his touch from running circles over your hand to instead laying calm fingertips to your cheek, which he smooths over with his thumb, the subtle contented feeling blooming over your face managing to comfort you – or perhaps it was the way he looked at you with such significant compassion and love.

The next thing you know is the plush kiss of Atsumu’s lips, it’s not wanting, rather it’s soft and filled with meaning, the gentle shine that fills your body being an indicator without words that Atsumu is there for you, through everything, no matter what. He’ll stay by your side, whispering consoling words and letting his skin be to yours - as you would do for him - for as long as you’ll need him.

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