#so here have this piece of art that got me through a rough patch

[sheliesshattered]

https://juliabsss.artstation.com/

[sciderman]

Hi! So I've followed your blog for a few years now and just caught bits and pieces here. But I was wondering where I can find the whole story? Like is it a patron thing or webtoons? Cause I love what you do with the characters and I just saw the most recent art of them having torn up the stuffies of the other then sewing them back together and now I am desperate to know what happened.

I'm sorry to hear that you've been having a rough time lately ❤️ I only just got out of a really rough patch in my life and it's easy to feel like the world is ending every day. I don't really have any solutions for you other than keep going ❤️ you bring joy to so many people through just being you and on days where you feel like you can't do anything, just being you and taking care of yourself is enough ❤️

I know you don't know me but my dms are always open if you ever need a listening ear or a safe space to just air stuff out❤️

bless you @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life! i'm actually in the process of archiving the blog on webtoons which is honestly really nifty, because i can separate the blog into neat little arcs for ease of reading... oh, so neat.

but if you don't want to wait, and want the entire feast right now, no matter how messy it is, it's been available to read in chronological order on tumblr! (advised you open it on browser)!

ask-spiderpool.tumblr.com/tagged/main/chrono

i really appreciate all your sweet words!! sending you so much love in whatever corner of the world you're in!!

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱? ⦒ ✶.*

pairing(s): ethan winters x afab gn reader synopsis: ethan can't sleep again. as his doting partner, you reach under the sheets, giving him temporary solace to his nightmares at the village. content: smut 18+ only mdni, soft dom ethan, hand & finger kink, sensual, oral (m! receiving), deepthroat, finger fucking, body worship, pet names, hurt/comfort, events in re8, mentions of trauma, nightmares, scars, stitches & prosthetics. a/n 2: please check out my friend @emilzke's ethan winters x reader work called 'rebuilding' which i absolutely love (she got shadowba-nned so give her some love thanks!) a/n: belated birthday gift to @obsolescent, one of my favourite people on this app! sorry this took so long! ! even if its not your bday anymore, hope you still had a good night lovely! enjoy! also inspired by this art of ethan. « 2.2 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

It all started from a little small talk, quiet reassurances of ‘how was your day’ shared intimately under the privacy of the moonlight and each other’s eyes until both of you drift into slumber. The bed, in which you rest together when night falls. Two bedside tables, lived in, and for a moment, a sense of normality has returned.

Ethan was restless in his sleep—a side effect from full-day’s work of software debugs and upgrades that he maintains on the daily. Or perhaps, something more. Something that happened in the village that he spends every minute trying to forget. And despite the passing of seasons, the memory lingers like persistent heat.

His hand fidgets under the covers, shifting fingers up and down in desperation to find yours, as if you might disappear, kidnapped by the shadows of his nightmares and he’s back there again, finding missing flasks, patching you together piece by piece like a detached puzzle. But what he’s actually looking for are parts of himself, that seem to still sit underneath the crumble and debris of the buried village.

“R-Ro…” Ethan’s voice hitches out—frantic, weak.

Through muffled strings of your sleepy breath, you rummage under the sheets to find his hand.

“My dear… It’s me. I’m here.” You turn around to lean into the column between his neck and shoulders, made perfect for you. The moment your hands meet, Ethan clasps them tightly, before relieving, loosening in your reassurance. “You’re okay now. Rose is okay.”

Ethan’s eyes open lightly and just like you promised, Rose is in the cot by your side, gentle baby's breath floating through the air. He brings you closer to his chest, just to nestle into your warmth as he peppers kisses on the crown of your head.

“Did you sleep?” You coo, hands running up his naked torso just to feel them against you.

“A little. I’ll go back to sleep soon. Just need a second.” His chest heaves in front of you, and from what you know about Ethan, his quickened heartbeat will only take a while for him to calm down.

You look up to see him, and find that his eyes are wide awake, simply staring at the ceiling, as if counting sheep to hypnotise him back to sleep. Through lidded eyes, Ethan sees you; and smiles at how you look. His hands move unthinkingly, bringing them to your face before he even realises he’s caressing it, sending a gentle shiver of warmth through your spine.

“Ah.” Ethan puts his hand in the air to stop him, chuckling bashfully. “Sorry for keeping you up. Get some sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“I’m awake now.” You grumble, catching his hand in the air back to your face, like a toy stolen from a child. You press his hand on your cheek, keeping him there, which Ethan has no problems with.

His hands are different now, you thought as you run your fingers down his hand, feeling every stitch, bump, and rough texture that ran along the back of his palms before hitting you with the cold knuckle of his metal prosthetic fingers along where his ring and pinky finger should have been.

What used to be the compliment getter for Ethan, through the bruise and burns had lost its natural shine, not even his superhuman healing speed is immune to the scars. But to you, the rugginess simply enhances his beauty. Stitches tracing like a map to a treasure, red patches of scar like cherry kisses gracing along the soft plush of his palms. You love it all.

Those are proof of Ethan's survival—That was all you wanted. To hear and feel his presence in the mundane. Side by side with the man you love. But to him, he lost something that day. A part of his soul ripped apart, still underneath the crumble and debris of that buried village.

“Do you need help sleeping?” Your half-lidded eyes can’t obscure your devilish glint in your eyes, hand rustling underneath the sheet, obscure him from the view of what you’re about to do to him. His eyes meet yours, staring right back in disbelief, but simultaneously unable to resist what you have to offer for him in this quiet night.

“Now?” He seems to be genuinely considering the idea. “What if Rose wakes up?”

“She won't if you keep quiet.” You bring his hand to your lips to pepper kisses on his hands, slowing as you’re licking the length of each finger. The pain goes away, replaced by lust, but only ever so slightly.

“Can you do that for me?” You pause, waiting for his answer, and he nods surely. “Good boy.”

Wasting no time to help to get comfortable, you dive your head under the covers just to resurface as a lump under the sheet. Ethan clears his throat in anticipation as you tuck your fingers into boxers, removing just enough for his cock to spring up and meet you in the face.

You run your tongue at the tip of his crest, swirling in small circles to tease his precum out of him, in which he squirms, pushing in his legs slightly before relaxing. It was difficult to see where you are in the darkness of the sheets, but you make do, finding where his crest meets his shaft and following it down the rest of his dick to find the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.

When his cock is wet enough to your liking, you meet his tip with the soft seam of your lips, taking his length inch and inch at a time as you tongue around his hardening cock. A low grunt escapes his lips, and you can hear his thoughts fading him as you play with him some more.

He places his hand on your head, blood surging down his body, not quite wanting to hurt you, or accidentally snag on your hair to make it painful.

That’s who your husband is, even when he’s enjoying, he would never want to hurt you. Or at least tries not to.

“O-Oh... m’ god, so fuckin’ goo- Nnh.” That is your cue to move in deeper, hopefully to catch him between words and leave him hitching his breath as you finish him under your nose. Your tongue clashes against his dick that only fills your mouth, eventually leaving no room for your tongue to explore him. The bobs of your head become more messy and difficult, and his whimpers only make you even more excited.

“L-Let m’ see you, babe.” Ethan stifles the words out, lifting the covers up, and you’re embraced by the light of the bedside lamp. A glimpse of Ethan’s silhouette and his round beady eyes staring right into your position that exposes you and the hunger you have for him.

With you now able to see, you catch how his eyes snap shut, brows twist in, feeling every single pulse climbing through his body. His hand that rests on your head grows tighter, one that is neither rough or gentle, just a reassurance and consolance of what you are going through. You feel yourself pooling from how lewd it all sounds.

“Fuck, how did I get married to someone like you?” Ethan whines, bumping his head into the headboard behind with a light thump, but he doesn’t care. You are right in front of him, and he’s taking in the sight of you in with every glimpse of attention he can offer.

The tip of the dick is at the back of your throat. Only now you feel the gag reflex—but you shut your eyes tightly, holding in a little longer until the feeling surely goes away. This is when you feel his hips jerk up against you, thighs widening to welcome you as he whimpers bitten pieces of your name until his spine shakes from the fervour of affection you have been pouring into him.

“G-Get off… I’m fuckin’ gon-gonna…” Ethan’s raspy groan erupts through the room, melodious to you, as his hand struggles to push you off, made weak for any movement from how your skilled lips have treated him.

Ethan falls back to the sheets, with one final grunt, unloads himself directly onto your tongue. And you accept, letting your sore jawline hang wide to receive the fruits of your labour. His hand untenses from your head, abandon to the side of him in order to recollect his thoughts.

You reach over the bedside table to retrieve the tissue box in order to spit out his cum for disposal. You roll back to your side of the bed, checking at Rose's slumber, and when you did you bring the sheets upwards, preparing for your sleep.

“Good night, Ethan.” Are your final words creeping a yawn before turning the lamp off.

Ethan pauses to catch his breath for a moment, then wraps his hands around you, coaxing warm kisses into your neck: “How’d you expect I sleep without tasting you first?”

“I’m on morning shift tomorrow. Need my eight hours.”

“You sure?” There it was. That sweet voice lined with a hint of mischievous tone. The one you can’t resist.

“I’m very sure.” You don’t hesitate, because you know it will give yourself an opening.

He runs his hand up your belly, slightly exposed from your lifted shirt, pressing strokes that almost feels like a massage. Ethan seems to know where to touch you every time to untense you. “By the time I’m done, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

You can be convinced. You can be convinced very much. Especially with how he reaches down to tease you, and knows how your body betrays mind, with how you have wet a patch in your underwear.

“Not very honest, aren’t you?” Ethan lets out an amused grin, as if returning the favour of what you’ve done to him at his barely awake state. “You’ll still get your eight hours. I’ll make you come in five minutes. Guarantee it.”

You roll your eyes and wave at him to go ahead, but secretly, your clit is pulsing at his forwardness, increasingly eager to let him please you. In which Ethan helps himself, running a teasing finger up the length of your cunt just to stop at your clit, swirling lazy circles which only earn a groan from you that Ethan has been desperate to hear all night.

“Etha-an… Hnng… B-Babe…” The feeling run into your veins, growing in need, knotting itself low in your stomach. He delivers as he promises with only his nimble fingers, through slick and slurp, explores the depths of you, finding the spot you desire with skilful ease. You let out a soft moan, closing your eyes to feel him filling you with his fingers alone, and encourages him to continue.

He spreads you, adding his second finger now, the cold metal of his ring finger, lacing them on the length of your cunt with practiced ease. The contrast between cold and warm only excites you more. Ethan dotes on your sweet voice, slipping the two curled fingers in and out through a perfect angle that pushes a muffled groan between clenched teeth.

“God, baby.” He takes that as a sign to continue faster and harder, jamming his fingers until the sound of your slick permeates the air, every muscle clenching at him. “You like it when my finger fucks you, huh?”

You let the sensation continue, allow yourself to completely give away control to the man you love. Let him take care of you, like you always do to him. Ethan is merely returning the favour. A slight pain enters through his sensitive finger that still aches from a past wound, in which he winces, and you catch on almost immediately.

“Y-Your hand…”

“Shh… Just be quiet and feel good.” He smiles, not intending to stop anytime soon. Ethan quickens his pace, before you start squeezing into his fingers, demanding urgency, speed through how your thighs close in, as if that would allow more friction on your naked skin.

You open your eyes now, and all you see is sincerity in his eyes, fixed upon you this whole time to make sure you are indeed enjoying what he’s doing to you. And somehow, that is the one action that tips you over the edge, rippling high moans through the back of your throat as you chase your own high directly between his fingers.

“Wow.” Ethan whistles, a bemused grin hanging by his lips as he feels your juices release, spilling on his fingers. “You came so much.”

Ethan brings his fingers up his lips, admiring his handiwork, dripped in your sweet juices, before putting them into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the sides of his slender fingers, savouring every part of his reward.

“Heh. Told you I just need five minutes.”

“That was ten minutes, Mr. Winters.”

“Maybe I can beat my record?” Ethan winks, quite terribly, frankly, and despite how his silly charms would normally convince you, this time, you are functioning with five hours of sleep.

“Don’t even try, Ethan.” He shrugs, slightly defeated, as he joins you into the cosy embrace of your shared bed.

...

“In the morning?”

“Are you serious right now, Ethan?”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. god i'm so feral for him, every night i'm plagued by the thoughts of ethan cradling me to sleep and whispering into my ear (yes this is a marriage proposal). tags: @valsthea @httpsuguru @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @obsolescent © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[jxckchxmpi0n]

Sweet Romance

Spiderman Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

summary: you haven't had a date night in mouths, so Ethan decided to make it up to you with a peaceful night in the park.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: Angst, Fluff, cursing, mention of blood, mentions of nsfw

did not proof read || m.list

You don't know how you got so lucky with him. His sweet chocolate brown eyes, his super curly hair. You look at him like he is a piece of art, and maybe because he is. The nights you couldn't sleep, finding him shirtless lying next to you, the outline of his back muscles casting shadows over the rest of his back. the moles that painted his pale skin.

The feeling of his lips on your body every day, even when he is messy and needy, he still knows how to look beautiful. How his hair will lay in different directions after waking up, the way his hands dance around your body, lightly touching yet roughly holding you.

He was your everything, and that's why it ruined you every night seeing him crawl through your window covered in blood, some nights he'd pass out before fully stepping into your room. Pulling him to your bed as his chest rose and fell slowly.

Your fingers danced on his body late some nights over every scar he had. tangled together in your sheets, you felt like crying. You don't want him to die. He means too much to you. You felt selfish as well, knowing how much he loves helping others.

"What if you stopped?" Your head rested on his bare chest, his eyes halfway shut from a long night. He could hear the fear in your voice as you spoke.

"Stopped?" he didn't want to argue tonight, not again this week. He untuked his arm from behind his head, turning so he hovered over you.

"Yeah, stopped. You know it's hard on me seeing you all bloody coming through the window. " Your eyes couldn't face his. The fear of crying was too strong. Your fingers traced a scar that laid under his collarbone, and his breath still hitches every time you touch him.

"Hey, y/n/n, look at me, love." his index and middle finger forced your chin up. his hand fully cupping the side of your face. "I know you want me to stop, but they need someone out there. They need me." his eyes were so big, looking between your own.

"I need you. I need you here in bed with me. I need you breathing, alive. I need you to not be beaten up into a pulp. " Your voice was shaking a little at the thought of seeing him like that again.

"I know, baby, i'm sorry. but i won't stop, at least not right now. " his voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, like his words were only meant for you. his fingers traced the outline of your features, pushing hair strains out of your eyes.

You couldn't speak, your voice would be too harsh, and he doesn't deserve that. closing your eyes, you nodded, his head fell down, falling to capture your lips. the sweet taste of your ChapStick mixed with the mint of the toothpaste. he didn't push hard. He just held your lips to his like it was the last because you both knew that some random kiss you share may well be the last.

A few weeks have passed since you've asked Ethan to stop. From there, he seemed to put some space between you two. At least during certain nights, you knew he had a rough night when you'd see him the next day, and he could barely stand without whining.

He didn't go to you the night he had it bad now, knowing how much it hurt you. He didn't know how to patch himself up right so you would fix the taped bandages anyway. Fewer words were said during the nighttime. He'd come and go and be back the next night. maybe you were right. Maybe he needed to stop because seeing how he couldn't hold you at night broke his heart.

He had an idea, though, a good one he hoped at least. It was no later than eight o'clock when a knock at your door echoed through. confused, you got up from the couch, Ethan's sweatshirt hugged your body. It was your favorite one, and he melted every time seeing you in it.

Peeking through the hole, you couldn't see much but flowers, a smile spread across your face. Opening the door, you saw Ethan holding your favorite flowers, an innocent smile laid on his face. When his eyes landed on you, his eyes rolled back, biting his lip as well as he saw you in his sweatshirt.

"What are these for?" Taking a few steps in, he leaned down, kissing the top of your head.

"These are for you, they're 'I miss you flowers' and 'I want to take you out flowers,' he smirked as he saw you blush.

"How thoughtful?" You turned, leaving him at the door. "I have other plans though Landry" he closed the door, taking quick pace steps to follow.

"And your plans are me," filling a vase he stood on the other side of the kitchen watching you. feeling his eyes scan your body. Oh, it's been a while since you've had him.

"Oh really." The flowers laid so neatly in the vase leaning in and smelling them, pollen filled your nose as the sweetness filled the room.

"Yes, and I want to take you out now." his arms went around your body, the warmth of his body poured into your back. "Come on, love." his lips brushed your ear as he whispered to you.

"Fine, but let me -" his arms tightened around you as you spoke, but his voice broke you up.

"No, don't change. go like this, I like seeing you in my clothes. " A chuckle came from your chest as you listened.

"Fine, I won't change," you faced him blush creeping on your face.

"Then let's get going," he pulled you by your arms towards the door. He was giggling like a little school boy. "I'll grab your shoes just head to the car." he pushed you out of the front door with an evil smile.

Ethan ran around your apartment looking for your shoes. Once he grabbed them, he ran out the door, swinging down the staircase. He landed near the car, causing you to jump. "Rah Ethan, you know I hate when you do that." he held his chest as he laughed. Apologizing, he kissed your head and helped you into the car.

"So first stop, we are going to go to the food trucks and get so much food." he looked between you and the road.

"Food trucks, huh?" The sky was dark, and the city was alive and bright with lights. You watched as different people filled the street, couples, families, laughing, smiling.

"Yes, because that's where we had our first date, you know." he parked the car, fully turning to look at you. The street light lit the car with a soft yellow hue, and fog started to roll in.

"I sure do remember." Your heart fluttered at how such a little sentence means the world to you.

He helped you out of the car and walked with his hand in yours. He knew he's been distant lately. Trying his best to give you the best night, that's all he wants.

"Listen, I'm sorry -" you looked at him with an intense stare, "I know I've been distant, and I know that it's been hard seeing me fight, but I just want to give you this night. Just to show you how much I love you, how much I adore you, how much I can't stand being away from you" he looked down at you with such love, his eyes melting into yours, his voice so soft and vulnerable.

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, you can't stay mad at him. He's trying, and that's what matters.

You couldn't speak your mind because what else is there to say besides, "I love you," a low whisper came from you.

He smiled. "And I love you so so much." His hands cupped both sides of your face, kissing your forehead, your nose, and then your lips.

Soft, slow, and smooth. That's what it felt like. His chapped lisps brushed yours as he held your head. His tongue danced on your lower lip, giggling as you broke the kiss.

For the rest of the night, you stopped at different food trucks, trying different foods, laughing smiling, and holding each other.

Hours had passed. It was just you and him in an empty skate park. He held your hands as you tried balancing on the board. "No, no, don't let me go," your laugh echoed in his ears.

"I promise I'm not." he took little steps guiding you around. "You are doing great love come on, let me let go"

Your eyes shot up at him, "Absolutely not!" You shared the same bright smile.

You messed around on the board for hours. You sat on it as his webs stuck to it, running around pulling you around.

"Ahh baby," he turned to sharp, making you hit a rock. Rolling off, you laid on the floor. He ran to you, worried he hurt you.

You were laughing, begging him to do it again. He huffed out a breath as he saw you weren't hurt.

"Come on, I think we should call it a night," he helped you up

"No no no this is too much fun!"

"Love, it's one am." The sky was dark yet light because of the city lights. Less people were around. The only ones left were you and Ethan. A few single people walking around.

"Fine, but I want you to stay. Stay with me tonight. " he shot his webs, grabbing the skateboard, holding your hand in this other.

"As you wish," he kissed your head and walked with you.

Your chest was light. Maybe after tonight, things will be different. Both of you realized the importance a simple night was for you.

Holding you again, feeling you tangled together in bed was something that he always looked forward to, and waking up next to you made him even more complete.

[spmcomic]

What made you wanna create your comic?

to be honest, it was a combination of things!

the reason i made the first scene is because it had been a long time since i worked on an art piece, and i wanted to spend a school break creating designs for blumiere and timpani and draw a short comic with the two of them interacting. i already had everything i needed with memory 1, so i drew a few drafts of the characters, a few one- or two-panel sketches of the pair and the father character, a few thumbnails, and then put together the three-page scene.

one of my friends commented on the post on deviantart and said "great work, can't wait for the next one!" at which point i said "oh this was just a one-off, i'm not going to draw more."

we can see where that got me.

by next week, i had a notebook full of doodles, concepts for the rest of the gang, more interactions, and little plot lines. some of the mini comics were five pages long and covered the characters discussing their relationships, their backstories… stuff that looks very different in the final comic.

i guess i just ended up having a lot to say! a month later, i had a basic plot outline- a list of questions and their answers. three months later (during arc 3-ish), i had the first draft of a complete script with all the moments i wanted to include, and i committed to pursuing that plot line. six months later (during arc 4), i had an idea that i REALLY needed to share, and i rewrote all of my notes and put all of my ideas in a defined order with a set number of scenes (about 300) to make sure i could take every step necessary to get there.

i'm excited to draw every scene along the way. every page has something i love in it. this comic is a joy to create and i want to show you guys what i've been thinking about. it's been with me through a lot of rough patches in my life. it's my favorite thing that i've made, and even after six and a half years i still feel really good about the direction we're going to go in. i have a complete third draft of the script with about 276 scenes and i'm happy with it.

i found other fan works i've read over the years very inspiring… i think two major fics that found their way into my work were blue sky (portal 2) (webcomic here!!) and handplates (undertale). when i read that stuff, i think to myself "i want to make something that good and satisfying, i want to make more things like this." so i work my hardest to make stories like those.

anyway, if you got this far, thank you for hearing me out. i'm glad that the comic has resonated with a few people. your kind comments and interesting and fun questions help keep me going when i get discouraged. i know my story doesn't have much shipping in it or anything, but i wanted to tell this exact story with these exact characters and that's what i'm gonna do. i'm grateful to have anyone along for the ride, and i'm so happy that i've gotten to meet everyone i've met, and make friends along the way.

[thedeliverygod]

Selling Merch to Raise Funds

I've continually been under rough times so tbh this may only be a temporary patch but I went through some of my various Kingdom Hearts merch and decided some merch that I will be okay parting with.

The prices were decided by finding the cheapest prices on ebay plus $10 for shipping built in because I figure that's relatively fair. Needless to say, I can really only take buyers located within the United States. Also I would need payments through paypal.

Formation Arts Sora: Timeless River Version $70

Formation Arts Sora: Space Paranoids Version $40

Formation Arts Sora: Halloween Town (KH2) Version $130

Static Arts Sora: $80

Bring Arts Terra: $130

Bring Arts Ventus: $270 (selling at a slight discount compared to what I saw on ebay because I want it to actually sell and not sit forever)

If these don't sell here on tumblr then they'll move to ebay. Not really sure of a time limit but I'll make an edit when I feel like I've put enough time/edit into advertising here.

Bring Arts figures will be packaged in their original boxes with all accessories. I *might* have the original formation art boxes still, but they were blind boxes and I think they got relatively ripped. All formation art figures will be dismantled into their individual pieces and wrapped and bubble wrap for safe shipping regardless. For the Static Arts Sora I am fairly sure I did get rid of his box so he will also just be bubble wrapped.

If you're interested please DM me!

As a final note just because it made me giggle, I took 13 photos for this post without realizing it and it felt like fate :]

[chiefwritesbook]

Writeblr Q&A

I have been tagged by @scifimagpie (ty for tag) so I shall attempt to answer these questions lezzgo

1. What motivates you to write?

The soup brain has too many thoughts & I have to get them out. Also spite because my asshole 8th grade English teacher said my writing assignment was only worth a C (he was the ONLY one btw I got consistently vv high grades before him) & my Chinese immigrant friend got marked down for not being good at English. Fuck you Mr English teacher

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

(idk have this one from early chapter 2 I guess)

“You mean to say that I was bait,” Talin said.

“Not the word I would use, but in a way, yes,” Red Wolf confessed.

“Why?”

“You have been on the throne for less than a year. If someone wants you dead this quickly, something is amiss. I’d like to find out what.”

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

My boy Red Wolf. He's just...yes. Autistic werewolf puppy. Could definitely kill me without hesitation or talk me to death with weapons knowledge. I would thank him if he punched me.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

I like not writing.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Worldbuilding, no doubt. I am simultaneously the best and worst at worldbuilding. You want a 2000-word essay on how languages & regional dialects evolved over time? I gotchu covered no problem. Want me to stop elaborating on how Hellhound magic is linked to the moon & actually write my sequels? Absolutely not.

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I think the writeblr community is chill. Like y'all are just here for a good time and I can 100% respect that & get behind it. I get to write unhinged answers to these questions & not feel bad about it bc I don't have to self-impose ridiculous societal concepts such as 'maintain a professional image on social media'.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Scrivener? Am I allowed to say Scrivener even though I use at most like 2% of their features. I am the kind of person who if given nothing but a notes app & a two-hour uni class to sit through will hammer out a full chapter in those two hours instead of paying any attention to class. On the other hand if you want me to actually write during my free time I'm sorry I'm too busy procrastinating writing with art & procrastinating art with gaming.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

This is not a wise question to ask me (see: question 5) unless the goal was to make me sit here for ten minutes typing out an entire essay's worth of worldbuilding word vomit, in which case well played. However for the sake of my own free time & sanity:

The legal system in Kies Tor is probably the single greatest thing I've ever constructed & it plays a crucial part in the plot & was built off the early British/European court system as well as my own special interests in law & criminology. In short it's trying its best but it's also deeply fucked up and I love making the fucked up parts fuck up my characters.

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Don't feel pressured to write. If you're staring at the same thing for weeks/months on end of course it's gonna get stale. Heck this Q&A post is the most I've written in weeks.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

@witch-king-of-angstmar ofc (no pressure to answer tho) but other than that I never know who to tag. I have social anxiety what is an interacting. If you see this on your dash consider yourself tagged

[postgamecontent]

'Drova - Forsaken Kin' Switch Review

Well, this is neat. Homages to Japanese turn-based RPGs and tactical RPGs are pretty common these days. Games inspired by Bioware's old Infinity Engine computer RPGs also aren't terribly uncommon. But Drova is something else. It's a 2D game from an overhead perspective, I suppose coming off like Diablo with a bit more of a pixelated look. Hearing someone describe it as "pixel-art Gothic" helped the pieces come together for me. Yes, that's pretty much the feeling here, in more ways than one.

Dire world full of moral ambiguity and little in the way of joy? Check. An open-but-not-too-open world to explore, full of interesting detours that are almost always worth taking? Yes. Action-based combat where you're likely to get shredded until you know which fights not to pick? Mm-hm. Lots of interesting systems to dig into if you feel that-way inclined? Naturally. Jank? Oh goodness, you bet. Drova is a big game with a lot to do, and it's one that rewards those who prefer their video tourism to be dangerous and unguided.

Chasing a couple of druids on their stupid quest, you end up in a hostile world where the survivors are doing their best to stay alive. Naturally, there is some disagreement among them about how to go about things, leading to two opposed factions. Your choices and decisions will see you throwing in with one or the other, and that will affect the narrative and which quests, skills, and other things are available to you. Basically, there's enough here for two playthroughs. Each one is going to take you more than twenty hours, so that adds up to a lot of game.

It's a game that more or less leaves you to your own devices once it teaches you the basic ropes. You are free to wander and die, and you will. It autosaves often enough, but you'll probably want to make your own saves just to be sure. The interactions with NPCs are interesting and the overall plot is compelling. The combat is a bit awkward on the Switch, and you can tell it was designed around a mouse-and-keyboard interface. You don't get a ton of real options in battles, despite how many appear to be there on the surface. It's more about making sure you don't get in the wrong fights, don't get outnumbered, and whether or not you're strong and well-equipped enough to go the distance.

It took me a while to get into Drova. It was really buggy at launch, which probably didn't help matters. It's had at least one big patch since then and that got things into a far more stable state. Setting that aside, this was a slow burn initially. I couldn't quite figure out how the game wanted me to proceed, and it took some time to get the lay of the land. I'm glad I stuck with it through the teething pains, though. I don't think this kind of experience is for everyone, but there's something to an RPG that will let you be an idiot and pay the price for doing so. There's a solid atmosphere here, too.

Drova - Forsaken Kin has its share of rough edges, with some clumsy control and UI choices, and more bugs than I'd prefer to see, even post-patch. I think a lot of its choices (and they are indeed intentional design choices) aren't going to go over well with some players, as well. If you can stick with it through its awkward early hours, I think you'll find this to be a really good game to hunker down with. It rewards exploration, and its swift punishment for excessive bravado only makes it that much more satisfying when you get away with it. On top of that, you get an intriguing story set in a well-realized world. I'd probably advise playing this on PC over Switch, but if a Switch is all you have and this sounds interesting to you, I recommend giving it a go.

Switch Score: 4/5

[cethlyarlo]

Aw!!!! Thank you so much for the tag!!!! Love you, buddy 🥰🤟

1. Are you named after anyone?

Nope, not that I know of!

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last year (2022) around August-ish, I think

3. Do you want kids?

Yeah, I adore kids and would like to raise some of my own!

4. What sports do/have you played?

I snowboard in the winter, and in the summer I do armored combat (my friends and I dress in real regulation steel armor and bash each other with steel maces). Both are a ton of fun and I've only had two concussions (both minor, thankfully)!

5. Do you use sarcasm?

It's forbidden knowledge to me. I can barely understand it no matter how obvious someone can be. That's a fire I won't touch.

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone?

The lightness (or darkness) in someone's eyes; the clarity or murkiness; intelligence or vacancy. I know this sounds weird, but it's less of a physical note and more of a mental observation of their vibe. I still smile at and am kind to everyone though. You never know who might be going through a rough patch.

7. What's your eye color?

All of them. I've got that sectoral heterochromia in both eyes, so they just look like a garbage pizza. That or my cat ate colorful fruit snacks and hacked them all back up. Sorry for that crime of an image lmao.

8. Movies with sad or happy endings?

A solid ending that's on par with the story. I love a well written plot with an ending that lines up with the nature of the story itself. Sad or happy, it doesn't matter. I'm watching for the ride and to receive all that's given- whatever that may be.

9. What talents do you have

I can learn things very quickly and can figure things out (like tangible puzzles) with ease. I can say the alphabet backwards, recite the Greek and Elder Futhark alphabet, and I'm good at memorizing things, like the periodic table or songs in different languages. I'm also good at color stuff, like balancing out a room for interior design or when making art.

10. Where would you like to live?

I'd like to live in New Zealand for a year or two. Same with Scotland. Maybe Canada or the US also, the nature is gorgeous there.

11. What are your hobbies?

I have a ton, but here's a lil handful:

I blacksmith (not a bladesmith nor do I do farrier work), make chainmail, make steel armor, I sew, crochet, felt, embroider, I make things out of leather (that includes armor), I collect fancy and rare rocks, I like to listen to audiobooks, I play video games, I make (and listen to) music, I play a variety of instruments, I'm learning how to sing, I carve wood by hand (rocks too), I love renaissance festivals, I make sculptures out of a variety of mediums (lately it's been tiny castles with cement and pebbles), and I really like to write 😂

12. Do you have any pets?

Three cats!!! One is mine entirely and I love him to pieces. I also have some Amano Shrimp

13. How tall are you?

How *short* am I?

155cm, or ~5'1"

14. Favorite subject in school?

Science and math. Boy am I a nerd for both of these, gosh darn.

I'm not in school right now so let me dazzle you with a random assortment of obscure facts and esoteric knowledge.

15. What is your dream job?

Right now, a TIG welder that gets paid really well for table work so I don't destroy my back by 35 lmao. I am two of those things and it's not paid well lmao. I'm happy with my joby-job at the moment, but I follow the serotonin with that too, so

No pressure tags:

@oftenlyshitposting @kalevalakryze @rainestorm-days @fulcrum-art-fox

15 questions, 15 people

Thx for the tag @marauders-everything2

Starting a new post, it was too long. Slightly modified some questions.

1. Are you named after anyone?

Nope.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Don't remember, probably yesterday.

3. Do you want to have kids?

No thanks :)

4. What sports do/have you played?

My parents tried putting me in a bunch of shit when I was younger so I've done: swimming (for some years, still not great at it lol), surfing (quit after like 2 months), kizomba dance (hated it), another type of dance, contemporary dance (I liked it but the place closed), and we went skiing several times (which I love). If horseriding counts, I did that for a year. Currently not doing any.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yeah, sometimes. But I'm also quite direct and straightforward. Only "straight" I am.

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone?

Their fashion style. I love going up to strangers to compliment their outfits!

7. What's your eye colour?

Dark brown.

8. Movies with sad or happy endings?

I love movies with uncertain, ambiguous endings, in which the meaning is up for debate (like Inception).

9. What talents do you have?

Fast at absorbing information (sometimes), hypercreativity, great at bullshitting in academic tests/essays, good at making accents and voices, ummm... Can't remember more.

10. Where would you like to live?

New Zealand. It's pretty and one of the least problematic English-speaking countries (wanna live somewhere where English is the official language).

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing fanfiction and original stories (more like my passion), playing The Sims 4, drawing digitally (haven't in a while though), singing?

12. Do you have any pets?

My parents have 3 dogs (no breed) and koi fish. I want a cat :')

13. How tall are you?

165 cm or 5'5" for the Americans.

14. Favourite subject in school?

At college. Don't really like any of my current classes. Ig English C1.2 because we studied the Broadway play Hamilton. Although I haven't learned anything new.

15. What is your dream job?

Writer/author, would also like to do voice acting. Maybe a psychologist too, haven't decided if I'll take a second college degree.

No pressure tags: @siriuslystarbucks @starsandmoonys @whoopsiesnodaisies @star4daisy @starchaser-lily @half-cold-coffee @cazzythefrogking @starsarestories @my-beloved-fandoms @my-castles-crumbling @reggiecantswimm @artbyace @literallytoogaytofunction @rosemelodyshah @theres-an-endless-starry-sky

[symphonyofeternity]

Hii, Xerophi here, and I sculpt things for fun. I don’t post much in general, but I’m flattered some of you want to follow me and I’m super blown away that people thought it looked official?! I’m into clay these days, so if you don’t mind seeing some clay art floating around every now and then, welcome aboard! 

This is a making-of post, and I’m mostly putting this out there to encourage people to try their own hand at making figurines! It’s also not really a tutorial, though if anyone’s curious I gratuitously watched some Youtube videos that cover most of the way a figurine gets sculpted and put together.

Tl;dr!

Materials:

Super Sculpey Firm (Gray) (about 95% of the project) + Premier Air Dry Clay for patch jobs (when I deemed the polymer would suffer brittleness from further baking)

Tamiya Polyester Putty for patching over cracks, imperfections on the surface

Armature wire- Gotta have a skeleton!

Various Tamiya Acrylic paints

A block of wood to mount figurine to (lol)

Tools:

Pretty typical clay sculpting tools 

Airbrush

Paintbrush

Sandpaper

Long post ahead!

To be honest I’ve always been really interested in how anime figurine garage kits (unofficial, unassembled, unpainted figurines) are produced, but unfortunately, most of the details are in Japanese, so I settled for following a bunch of makers on Twitter and did my best to piece together steps from their postings. Unfortunately I’m not skilled enough yet to go the full way of making molds and resin casts for a piece like this but I think I can say I’ve finally leveled up with sculpting figurines in general with this project! I learned a lot along the way. 

I started with his face. And it was not good. The hat too. Proportions were a bit difficult to maintain when I approached it from such a piece-wise method, so I tossed them both and just... completely redid them the next day using the body as reference.

I pondered a lot about what expression I wanted him to have. Since Legends Arceus gave us the brilliant gem of seeing him smile after battle, I thought it was a largely bittersweet thing to be able to witness. I wanted to preserve the intensity of his expression, but also allow the joy of battle to shine through. So... at certain angles, he does appear to have a bit of a smile! 

A rough addition of muscles to the armature. Clay works remarkably like skin and muscle too, stretching and flexing as I pose him. This let me envision the way his tunic would flow over the torso. Made it look a biiiit tight on him…;) Once the tunic was done, used some 91% alcohol to smooth surface imperfections over the clay, then I tossed it sans arms into the oven. Wasn’t sure how I wanted the arms yet. Legs were easier, Ingo’s pants are a little looser at the bottom now than they were in BW.

Grew a brain and remembered I had perfectly good reference material to size and proportion against and wouldn’t it be cool if my figurine matched the same scale as the Best Wishes Partners series?

Dunno what BW Ingo thinks of his raggedy counterpart though. Prolly nothing good?!?!

Got some sculpting mesh wire and cut and formed it in approximation of how I wanted the coat to be shaped, temporarily stuck it to the body, and then carved the rips and tears in before baking. Removed the mesh after its job was done, you can see the diamond grid pattern it left at the bottom of the coat. No worries, there’s magic for that later.

Top of the coat is sculpted directly over the tunic, and the collar is done in a similar fashion to the coat, clay over mesh wire, mesh removed, then the piece is glued on.

He gained a small metal peg at the back to help temporarily hold up the bottom half of the coat along with some helper tape.

The coat was the main reason why I decided I wasn’t experienced enough yet to attempt making a mold and resin cast. I have no idea how I’d even cast such a thin piece to begin with.

Hands! I took a small piece of clay, flattened it into a square for a palm, and sculpted the fingers individually with a piece of metal in each to stick to the palm with. Damn the Best Wishes figurines for the gloves- meanwhile I’m here trying to get knuckles, bones, and nails to show up because they went hard on his hands in his design so I decide to as well. I also finally settled on paying homage to his iconic over the shoulder pose, finally baking the arms into place. 

The first iteration of the Sneaseler warden bracelet got added. It turned out far too thick to fit in his sleeve with the hand attached, so I wound up having to make a second one (pictured) to replace it. The base of a Hisuian Pokeball got added and later touched up to stupid levels of detail. (You can’t even see most of the damn bracelet in his sleeve >:( why did I work so hard)

I struggled with getting the coat to meet smoothly across the seam, but turned out I didn’t need to. Tamiya putty turned out to be an insanely good filler and masker, I could have done fine after gluing the pieces together but I only realized this at the end. Of course if I were making a proper garage kit, it’d be bad form for me to send people something they’d have to work so hard to attach properly.

At this point I didn’t want to bake the polymer any more, too much baking and it gets brittle, and I was already working at a tiny scale and with really thin pieces, so I brought in air dry clay (Premier brand), which is reasonably capable of sticking to polymer with a little water, and sands very smoothly later, to help fill in too large gaps. 

Lowest point of the project visually- I’ve never used Tamiya putty (the yellow stuff) to this extent, but I’ve seen some Japanese artists literally slather their whole project in it before seemingly sanding or carving it back down to detail. I have no idea how they manage that except what must be a shit ton of patience, but I tentatively went with the leap of faith, using it wherever I felt imperfections. The underside of the coat, marred by the mesh, got filled in at this point. 

Tamiya polyester putty is a two part putty that cures in roughly an hour and is sandable to nearly a polish. It cures to a hard surface that is easy to carve and incredibly easy to sand, hence why it gets used to fill in imperfections and cracks. It works its way into these places very nicely too, as it basically starts in a cream form.

I sanded everything until it got smooth and flat again, then airbrush sprayed over it with Mr. Finishing Surfacer 1500 gray. This primer has the nice additional feature of settling into small areas of imperfections and smoothing them over as it dries. Places where imperfections show up were continuously patched with the Tamiya putty, sanded, and primed over until I was satisfied.

Still wasn’t happy with the length of the legs or the tilt of the head since I messed up the neck by making the wire connection too tiny to rely on, so his head kept wobbling or turning (or fALlING-). Fortunately nothing’s glued, not even the legs, so I can adjust his height and add/subtract clay to my liking until the pose is good.

Drew in guidelines to the pattern on his coat. Added the buttons, realized he had too much of his coat still to warrant subtracting the lost button, so I shrugged my shoulders and rolled with it. 

Using painter’s tape, I masked anywhere I didn’t want to spray, then airbrushed in the black, then brown. The primer turns out to be the perfect shade of gray for his palette, so I just masked over it to keep it in the places I want. Skin got a bit of realism added to it by shading it in lightly with dust ground from a pastel, then sprayed over with finisher to seal it in.

Printed out the Pearl Clan symbol, cut it out with an xacto knife, and glued it on. My printer sucks, so I darkened it with some paint. It helps at this point the paper juts up just a bit so I could carefully paint over it without touching the tunic below. Added some finisher spray over it to make sure it sticks. 

Nuked the left leg last second, and replaced it with a longer version, because I was unable to stand (haha) the poor positioning of the original. 

Aaaand he’s done! 

One of the most important lessons I learned during this was not to over do it. If I started struggling, started making more mistakes than usual, I just straight up stopped then and there. I wanted to make a piece I could be proud of and forcing myself when I was clearly done mentally wouldn’t be good for me or the end result.

I’m happy to answer any questions or talk about figurines and sculpting! I’m entirely a hobbyist but I felt like it was difficult finding good information on how to sculpt anime figurines in general so if anyone’s curious about this stuff, I’d love to bounce some thoughts on the topic.

Iiiin the meanwhile I want to work on a Sygna Suit idea for Ingo and Chandelure next! Maybe finally give Emmet some love too after xD, Now that we have the butler bros I feel like we’re not gonna see anything else for them for a while longer =A=

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

WINTER WARMTH

__________________

Hi, everyone!! This is a part of the Citrus Dome Snowed In collab! I’m so thankful to be a part of this round and super grateful for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten and @tomurasprincess for letting me be on the masterlist! I’m so excited, but I’m not super proud of this one, so please feel free to give feedback.

Masterlist Here!

Go see everyone’s super awesome fics and art pieces they worked so hard on!!

ART BY @brttpaige on Twitter🖤 Go check out her artwork, she’s fantastic!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x reader

The local news station hailed it as “the storm of the century,” and they weren’t wrong. You’ve watched the snow pile up beyond the window, building from a light dusting on the grass to literal knee-high drifts. And it shows no sign of stopping.

The place you’re stranded is stocked up on groceries, you’d charged every electronic device to your name, and you’d cranked the thermostat as high as it would go until the inevitable happens —

The power goes out.

So now you’re stuck indoors, with only a certain someone for company. The same someone you’ve been pining after for ages. Snow stacks up higher and higher outside. As the cold seeps in, and you both drift closer, you realize this was somehow the one thing you hadn’t thought to prepare for…

The snow outside was pretty at first, but now with the doors and windows to your small cottage-type home half covered, it seemed almost oppressive. With the power outage, there was no television to drown out the quiet, only deafening silence and the movement of your new roommate, Sero Hanta.

It didn’t start this way, you hadn’t always obsessively paid attention to his mannerisms. At one point in time, he was just a hero working for the same agency you provided medical care for. You were just support staff, until a dumb villain thought you were “important” and kidnapped you, leaving the heroes you saw as coworkers to rescue you. After that, the agency wanted you to live in the adjacent apartments, but you refused. Magically, two days later, Sero Hanta approached you asking about your spare room under the guise of his lease running out. You thought it seemed a bit suspicious, particularly that this gorgeous man had “nowhere else to go”, meaning no significant other to take him in. Of course, you agreed, being a nice person and maybe bit naïve. He moved his stuff in, didn’t make much of a fuss, and mostly left you to your own devices. That is, until you noticed some... abnormalities. The lingering glances, the newly installed security cameras, the not-so-subtle ideas to spend time with you of having meals together or watching movies, making sure you’d eaten or slept... He cared too much. He was so perfect- gorgeous, tall, easygoing, had similar goals as a rescue hero, funny, and he cared. He cared for you, which made living with him so much harder. You found yourself enjoying nights with him, wanting to sit a little closer, wanting to impress him with new dishes to make for dinner, ditching your ex’s sweatpants for cute sleep shorts, relishing in fantasies of his protective nature and dominating stature with your hand between your thighs... You thought you were going to choke when he started walking around in only gray sweats or a towel after his shower. You tried your best to keep eye contact, not stick around too long, not encroach upon his comfort in his own house. You failed to notice the smirk on his face when you quickly excused yourself or when you turned away too fast after being caught staring.

Sero had originally taken this as an assignment, although he did have a bit of a crush on you from the times you’d patched him up after rough shifts. He thought of himself as your own personal hero, but that mindset soon turned into more than just an assignment. He was protective over you, and he found himself getting defensive if you even mentioned another guy. He had tried flirting within reason, just making dinners and watching movies, but he got cocky when he had walked past your door one night and heard your little whimpers. He decided to test his theory, wearing his sweats lower than he normally would and walking back to his room in a towel, and delighting in strolling past your room to hear your muffled moans and the vibrations of the toy you never used to use. You were getting desperate, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t boost his ego to hear his name through the walls. This, however, was NOT something he’d planned on.

Everything was fine, being stuck in the house together was nice, until the power went out. The heat somewhat remained in the house until night, when you curled up on the couch under every blanket you had and he layered on an extra hoodie and lounged next to you. He looked cold...

“H-Hey... Sero? Um... You look cold. Do you want a blanket?”

“Hmmm, but then wouldn’t you be cold too?” He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well... Maybe... But that’s okay! You need to be warm too!!” God, you’re so sweet.

“I mean... You could always come over here, we can be warm together!” He stretches out his arm and beckons you over, inviting you to curl up next to him. You shift over, spreading the blankets over your roommate and hiding your blushing face under the pile of softness, keeping at least 3 inches of space between you before he rests his arm behind your head.

“Thanks, y/n, this is uh... nice!” He hides his disappointment at your perceived rejection, going back to look at his phone.

After 20 minutes of scrolling, you can’t take it anymore. He smells so good, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’M GONNA GO TO BED NOW. Uh, goodnight!” You basically shouted, too loud to be natural. You abruptly stood up before slightly shrinking from the frigid air. When did it get so cold in here?

“Hey, it’s really cold... We don’t really have a ton of blankets, and I’m worried you’re going to freeze, so maybe we could sleep in my room tonight? Just for, ya know... body heat?” He sounds nervous, like he expects you to freak out and reject him completely.

“Well... I-I guess that’s smart... You’re right. So... Let’s go?” Holy fuck, you are so nervous. You were originally escaping to your room like you normally do, too horny to continue hanging out with Sero and retain your sanity, but now you’re sleeping with him?! What the fuck are you thinking?!

He gathered the blankets and lead you into his room, holding the door for you before plopping down your nest of fabric. You stand awkwardly in the center of the room, waiting for something you have no idea what. Sero unceremoniously strips himself of his hoodies and sweats and climbs into bed, seemingly out of habit, before turning his attention to you and holding the blankets open.

“Are you coming?” He smirks, putting on a confused voice that doesn’t quite match the mischief in his eyes.

“I-...” FUCK, he’s beautiful. Lean muscles flexing with every movement, shaggy hair falling over his face, and holy... The tight black boxers are NOT helping the whole “too turned on to function” situation.

“Oh... Sorry, I read somewhere that skin-to-skin contact is better for warmth. You’d probably know better than me, I guess.” He grins, as though this entire thing is nonchalant and completely normal. “I can help you if you’d like~”

“Uh nope, yeah, you’re right!! I’ll uh just... Can you close your eyes?” You are panicking. Every insecurity you’ve ever had is coming to bite you in the ass. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how much space your body takes up, remembering everything those stupid bitches in high school said about you.

“Y/n, you’ve seen me in that skin tight hero suit and you’ve patched up most of my body. It’s totally fine! PLUS, you’re sleeping in my bed, am I gonna have to close my eyes the whole night??” He jokes, not knowing that your shyness isn’t rooted in principle, but fear. Upon seeing your face, his smile falters and he autocorrects, “You know, I think you’re beautiful, but if you want me to turn around, I promise I will.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine. It’s okay. Wait- did you just call me beautiful?” You try to cover your shocked expression as you take off your sweater and slide off your fuzzy pajama pants. Sero is thankful your head is stuck in your sweater as his jaw practically drops. Oh fuck, he’s screwed. His eyes follow your curves from your chest, down your sides, to the pouch of your tummy and the plump fullness of your thighs... If he thought he was having trouble focusing before, there’s no way there’s gonna be enough blood in his brain when you’re half naked next to him... Speaking of... Shit, he’s hard... Okay, it’s fine, just tuck it in your waistband like you did back in school...

You climb into bed as quickly as you can, still keeping a few inches between you and Sero until he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You squeak in surprise and he chuckles, “You can’t be warm unless you’re over here! C’mere.” He nestles his face into your hair and splays a hand across the curve of your lower back. Feeling very naked and very nervous, you shift in his hold and snuggle closer to the heat he gives off, but halt your motions when you feel him twitch against your thigh. Neither of you are breathing, praying the other didn’t notice the rock hard length pressed between your bodies. Somehow, in the time you spent essentially playing dead, you both fell asleep cuddled together.

Over the course of the night, you had shifted to straddle your leg over his torso and he had turned on his back with his hand resting on the space between your thigh and your butt. Sero was the first to stir from his slumber when he felt you move against him, a small whine escaping your parted lips as your hips rolled against his. Oh... OH... Is y/n-? oh fuck y/n is dreaming... and grinding on me... fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good... He tries his hardest to go back to sleep, but the feeling of your sleeping body brushing up against his cock keeps him wide awake. He was trying to stay perfectly still until he heard your tiny whisper “Hanta~”... His hips involuntarily thrust, drawing out the most sinful moan from your throat as the head of his dick added friction on your clit that woke you up. You start to move away, embarrassed and hoping to check that he’s still asleep, but Sero’s grip tightens around your thigh and presses you harder onto him.

“Good morning to you, too~... If you needed my help getting off, you could’ve just asked, babygirl~” The lust and sleep clouding his voiced, combined with the steady roll of his hips makes you whimper and tuck your face into his neck.

“Awww so shy~ You were moaning my name earlier. Why don’t we see how loud I can make you, princess?” He speaks lowly as he flips you onto your back, hovering over you.

“I- I... Please.” You breathe wrapping your legs around his waist and stare up at him, wiggling your hips and sliding your hands up his biceps.

“Can I- Can I kiss you? Are you sure you want this? I’ve had feelings for you since before I moved in and I just... I never want to hurt you.” Cupping your cheek and searching your face for any hesitation, Sero starts succumbing to his own insecurities. He never wants to hurt you, and he knows he isn’t the flashy hero some of his friends seem to be... He needs to hear you say it.

“Sero... Yes~. I want you, please kiss me... I feel the same way. Please~...” Upon hearing your confession, Sero slotted his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet, gentle. Breathing each other in felt so right, so natural, and you followed his lead when he slid his hold to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His hand drifted down, following the curve of your breasts, tracing your sides and resting on the pouch of your tummy. Just as you were starting to feel self conscious, Sero groans and moves to kiss your neck, mumbling “You’re so beautiful, y/n. Fuck, so perfect. You feel so soft, I need you so bad~” The whimper he draws from you when he sucks a deep mark into the column of your throat is absolutely lewd, you can barely believe it came from you. He kisses his way down your body, leaving hickies along your skin and squeezing every inch he can get his hands on. You look down at him, his eyes dark with lust and admiration as he leaves opened mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, making you more needy than you thought possible. He strokes his thumb along your clothed slit and moans at your wetness.

“Fuck- you’re so wet for me, angel. I want to taste you, you’re so cute like this. Let’s take these off, yeah?” He looks to you and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, asking for permission and grinning like an idiot when you lift your hips to help him. Before you can say anything, he’s prying your legs open and diving in, moaning as he laps your slit and sucks your clit into his mouth. You run your fingers through his hair and grip him, pulling him into you and grinding against his face. His groans send vibrations straight to your core, pinning your hips with one arm and sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt.

“M-more!! Oh god, please Sero, just like that- I want more!” You moan so prettily for him, but he wants something more. He releases your clit with a pop and leans up, stilling his fingers inside you and wrapping his free hand around your neck. The pressure and dominance has you clenching around his fingers, and he takes notice.

“You either call me Hanta or Papi, nothing else. You understand? I want you to say my name when you cum.” He commands, and sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh you like that, huh?~ I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Why don’t you tell me what you want, baby?~”

Your brain goes hazy when he leans in and places little love bites on your neck and collarbones. “PAPI~! Yes, I love it! Please fuck me, I want to feel you, I need moreee~” You pant as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you unbearably empty.

“Oh baby, I’ll fill you up, don’t worry. But first, why don’t you suck my cock?~” He strips himself of his boxers and flips the two of you, pulling you on top of him. He’s so long, just thick enough to stretch you and reach every amazing spot inside of you. The sight of his hard length has you drooling, anticipating feeling the weight of him on your tongue. You give the head a few kitten licks, relishing in the way he groans and twitches in your hand. He laces his fingers at the base of your head and lets you set your own pace, wrapping your plush lips around him. Bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick and swirling it around the head- you love seeing his reactions. The way his breathing increases and his hips buck when you hollow your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this, you can’t help but rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Luckily, he notices how desperate you’ve gotten and pulls you up to straddle him with one hand still on your hair and the other gripping your hip, calloused fingers digging in and massaging the fat there.

“As much as I want to cum in that perfect little mouth, I think my baby needs to be filled, yeah?” He fists his cock and strokes the head through your wetness, gathering your slick and making you involuntarily grind against him. “Beg for my cock, babygirl~, tell Papi what you want.” The smirk on his face is utterly sinful, teasing you and enjoying the fucked out expression on your beautiful face.

“PLEASE I want your cock, I wanna be full, just fuck me already!!! Please stop teasing me Hantaaa~” Just as you grind your hips down onto him, he thrusts into you, cutting off your pleading with a needy moan. “Ah~ fuck- so full, so full, oh my god! Yes Papi~!”

“Oh shit angel, fuck- you feel so good.” Hanta grabs your hips and helps you slowly fuck yourself on him, “Just like that, baby, just like that. Ride my fucking cock. Fuck- you’re so tight...”

The dirty talk pouring out of Hanta’s mouth, combined with the stretch of his hot length stirring up your insides, you find yourself embarrassingly close to climax already. Your first orgasm hits you like a train, completely knocking the air out of your lungs and causing you to collapse onto Hanta’s chest. He seizes the opportunity to flip the two of you, holding you underneath him and fucking you into the mattress.

“Ah ah ahhhhh~ Hantaaa~ I can’t! I can’t, I just came, it’s too much!!! oh FUCK Papi!!!” You feel the tears welling up in your eyes from the overstimulation and pleasure.

“Yes you can, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, you’re such a good girl. I know you love it, I can feel your pussy flutter around me. So honest, angel. You’re so perfect like this- fuck.” Hanta grips the back of your thighs and pushes your knees to the bed, hitting even deeper within you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust and makes you scream out, nails digging into his back, and egging him on.

“Come on, mi amor, cum with me. I know you can, I can tell you’re so fucking close... Cum on my cock, that’s right. Cum for me.” His long fingers reach down and rub quick circles on your clit. He leans in to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sending you over the edge into your climax. Your vision goes white and you clamp down around him, cunt spasming as you squirt all over his thighs and abs.

“F-fuck!!! That’s so fucking hot~ I’m gonna- Ah~” He fills you to the brim with his sticky release, the warmth spreading through your core and coating your walls. Hanta releases your legs and lays on top of you, sweaty bodies pressed together until he comes down from his high.

“That was so amazing, angel. You were so good for me. Such a pretty baby, all mine...” He pulls back to kiss your temple and rolls over, petting your hair and lightly scratching your back.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me... I always want to be yours.” You giggle, bubbly at his claim on you and still buzzing from your high. You curl up into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. “Mine.”

“Mmhmm, all yours.” He breathes a chuckle and places a kiss to your hairline. “I’m glad I can warm you up, lovebug.” He smiles as your breathing evens out, falling asleep with you in his arms.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Constellations

Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1250

Warnings: Smut. Incredibly fluffy smut. 

A/N: For @deanwanddamons​ 2K Challenge! My quote was “I want to play a game.” Thanks so much for letting me join in on this, and congrats! 

Her fingers graze his skin, trailing up his shoulder blades, skating over the knobs of his spine, and Dean smiles into the pillow.  

“What’s the game today?” he asks sleepily. There’s no rhyme or reason to the touch that he can tell. Sometimes she traces words into his skin, spelling out secret messages just for him. Sometimes she tries to guess the stories behind the scars — she always kisses them afterward, sweet and reverent.

“Making constellations,” she answers. “Stay right where you are for a sec.”

“Don’t think I could move if I tried.” 

He loves this about her. She plays games and sees beauty in his skin, and she marvels at the tiny everyday wonders: freckles, sunsets, coffee. She always points out wildflowers on the side of the road. If they’re walking through the woods she’ll stop and turn over logs and exclaim at every salamander as if she’s never seen one before. She compliments strangers and makes faces at children and always sings in the shower. 

Dean didn’t have that innocent, childish sort of wonder in his life — not until he met her. Face down enough gods and monsters, you start to get a little jaded about the everyday things. Spend too much time focusing on the darkness in the world, you start to lose sight of the light that shines through. 

She rummages through something on the desk, for a second, and then she comes back, straddling his hips again. She leans forward, draping herself over him, breasts and stomach soft against his bare skin. It’s such a random touch, and there’s nothing inherently sexual in it, but Dean has yet to find a way of making contact between their bodies that doesn’t turn him on. 

“This one here, we’re going to call it Impalus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. The ink is cool on his skin. “According to ancient myth, it was the mighty chariot of warriors. Instead of sending its broken pieces to the scrap yard, Zeus hung them from the heavens.”  

“Feminine ends in A in Latin,” Dean mumbles. “Still just Impala.” He’s no Sam, but all those years of reciting incantations and poring over spell books have taught him a couple things. 

If he was in her place, he’d make some snarky comment about that, call him a geek, but she just hums in agreement and brushes her lips over the patch of skin. 

The marker tickles as she draws another new constellation on his shoulder. Dean doesn’t mind. 

It seems appropriate: connecting the dots, taking scattered pinpricks of light and weaving them together, giving them meaning, turning them into more than they were. 

Dean has always tried to hold onto scraps of joy, snatches of family dinners and the moments when the perfect song comes on the radio, but sometimes he used to lose track of the good memories. Sometimes they got swallowed in the darkness. 

These days, it’s different. She draws his attention to the joy, and now he can’t stop seeing all these little sparks that illuminate his life. This morning alone: the smell of bacon when he woke up — the smile on her face when he wrapped his arms around her — the way her voice echoed off the tile as she stood pink-cheeked in the steam — and this, right here, right now: lying in their bed, his legs tangled in sheets, and the fact that they smell like her, because she’s woven herself into every part of his life all the way down to the cotton fibers that brush her skin at night. 

There are so many tiny everyday wonders that Dean never would’ve noticed before, and then there’s her, tying it all together, taking the scattered fleeting moments of joy in his life and turning them into a story. She makes it all mean something. She shows him pictures in the stars when he’s forgotten to look for the light. 

She’s tickling his ribs, and Dean laughs, tries to buck her off, rolls over onto his back. She straddles him, naked, eyes lit up with mischief, and Dean tickles her right back. 

It’s playful until it’s abruptly not, and isn’t that always how it goes with her? One moment she’s batting away his hands, shrieking with laughter, and the next moment he’s resting his palms on her belly and reeling with the enormity of what they’re doing. 

Then she’s kissing him, soft sweet mouth plush and eager on his as she laces their fingers together and pins his hands to the pillow, and — 

“God, that’s —” he chokes out, as she rolls her hips. 

“Fuck. Dean.” 

— and then she’s squirming, rocking until he’s pressed right between her legs, slotted in against slick heat, teasing the length of him without letting him in. Her mouth is open and red, and she’s still pinning him, so he can’t capture her lips, but he strains against her grip, leans up and gets his mouth on her nipple to tug it between his teeth. She makes a dirty desperate noise and lets go, reaching down between them to guide him into her, and as soon as his hands are free he wraps his arms around her and pulls her down, running his hands over every part of her he can reach. 

He crushes her to his chest as she squeezes around his cock and gasps into his mouth, and it feels so good he’s seeing stars. She grinds down on him, hips swiveling, clenching hot-wet-tight like her body is trying to suck him in deeper as she works herself up. 

He loves the way she looks when she doesn’t give a fuck how she looks. He loves the way her muscles shift, the way her tits and ass bounce and jiggle, the way her skin shines with sweat — it’s art. Dean wishes he could paint or sculpt or do anything that could capture the agonized, ecstatic look on her face, because it’s art. She’s art. 

She’s moaning, rough and filthy. Her cunt is silky-soft and dripping as she squeezes around him, and she curses like a goddamn sailor: “Motherfucker — so fucking close, Dean — don’t you fucking dare stop — fuck, I love you.” 

Sacred and profane all at once, like the best art is. 

Dean has a fistful of her soft hair and a ribcage full of this hammering swollen thing that used to be his heart, and he’s so in love with her he can’t think straight. 

She’s close, close enough that all she can do is move, less coordinated and more frantic by the second. Dean rolls his hips, grinding into her, and then she shudders and shouts as her orgasm hits. The living heat of her body ripples and spasms around him and sends him over the edge, and the world dissolves into white light, bright enough to blind him. 

Dean’s seen miracles in his time. He’s seen things that shook the earth and rattled the heavens, and somehow the biggest miracle is the fact that he made it through to this moment: cradling her close, stroking her skin, imagining the microscopic spark of life inside her as the last faraway star completing a massive constellation… Dean can’t see the pattern yet, can’t figure out what shape it’ll all take, but he knows she’ll be there to help him make sense of the story. She always knows how to connect the dots. 

.

.

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If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

[deareddie]

you drew stars around my scars

for @grcywvren and @nymika-arts

buck/eddie, 1.5k

warning: depictions of violence and blood

When Eddie was six years old, he fell off of his bike for the first time.

His knees had hit the pavement hard and fast, scraping themselves raw and stinging with bitter regret at having ever removed the training wheels. He remembers looking down at his previously unblemished skin as the blood ran down his leg and painted it red, and for a moment, being too stunned to even cry as he was forced to face the fact that the world he'd felt so close to conquering as he sailed down the street, pumping those pedals, was not quite as kind and malleable as he'd thought.

It was only a split second, of course, before his juvenile brain had fixated on the much less profound fact that he was hurt and bleeding, and he'd cried for his mother who came rushing out into the street. He remembers the way she fretted -cleaning the dirt and loose stones out of the wound and patching him up carefully, all the while muttering that she really hopes this doesn't leave a mark.

He wonders what that past version of his mother would think of the person standing in the mirror in front of him now, notches all over his skin from all the ways that same harsh world has tried to fight against him since.

He finds himself idly tracing the scar on his wrist as he stares at his reflection, trailing soft fingertips over the rough flesh and remembering the way the bullet had whizzed through the air; cut through the darkness and struck right into the bone. He's curious to know if his mother ever registered the mark. Or if she'd one day become so desensitized to his pain, after years and years of it, that every time he came home with a few new ones she didn't even bat an eye. He wonders how many it took to get to that point.

His hands move next to the white line along his left palm, pale and stark against the rest of his skin. This is one he'd given himself, years ago, trying to cut open a wounded soldier's shirt and slicing his own hand open instead. It bled heavily, running out of the cut in crimson streaks, but he'd barely even registered the pain, bandaging it up quickly and returning to his work. No time to fuss.

Finally, he moves his fingers up to his forearm. To the still-healing cut that he'd acquired on a call just a few weeks ago, when a piece of debris had fallen from the ceiling and ripped through the fabric of his jacket, slicing into him and causing warm blood to trickle down through the sleeve. Hen and Chimney had patched him up easily, and he hadn't thought much of it after that.

There are others; marks all along his body, from cuts and scrapes and wounds from the war, some of which even he can't remember the stories to. It's almost funny, really, in contrast to the way his six-year-old self had sat and stared at his injury, that he's now got such a collection he can hardly differentiate between them.

He supposes he can't blame his mother for becoming familiar with the violence against him when he himself has done the same.

Eddie's not sure how long he stands there, contemplating his past as vague, distant memories fill the back of his mind. But he's broken from his thoughts when the half-open bedroom door swings towards the wall, making room for the man standing in the doorway. He glances at Buck over his shoulder, trying to shake all thoughts of pain from his head and come back to the present.

In an attempt to do so, he asks, "Is Christopher asleep?"

Buck smiles, the upturn of his lips laced with affection. "Out like a light," he says.

Eddie can't help but smile back slightly at the image it creates in his mind. His son, fast asleep just down the hall. Safe in this home, right where he's supposed to be.

"I remember the days when he wouldn't even let you read him a story."

Buck laughs, filling the room with something a bit warmer than the cold swirl of memories that Eddie had been caught up in. "Well, that was before he found out that I can do the funny voices."

"How times have changed," Eddie muses.

"Indeed," Buck hums as he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him, looking pleased at the thought that time has worked kindly in his favour. To bring him closer into this family; to make him a part of it. 

It strikes Eddie, sometimes, just how different his life is from what it was less than a year ago. That just ten months previously, the way Buck is moving to stand behind him in the mirror, curling playful fingers around the hem of his shirt, was nothing more than a distant wish. A desire kept hidden beneath layers of apprehension.

But somewhere along the line, that changed. At a certain point he drew himself out so thin with his longing that everyone could see right through him, until he had no choice but to tear his emotions from where they'd bubbled to the surface and pinned themselves to his sleeve and lay them out bare, before Buck caught a good glimpse of his transparency.

His desperate confessions had been met with Buck's own against his lips, and here he stands now, gazing at the reflection of their joint shape, pressed together to spell out their future in a simple truth; this is their life now, and this is their life for as long as they can keep it safe.

It makes him strangely grateful for everything that came before it. For every scrape and bruise and outpouring of blood that made him who he is; led him to Los Angeles, to the 118, to the person standing behind him. And he knows it's not right to feel thankful for his own pain, but there's a part of him that thinks he wouldn't be him without it.

Buck's fingers move upwards, pulling the t-shirt up and over his head, displaying more and more of that damaged skin as he goes, and Eddie can't help the way his breath catches ever so slightly in his throat when he catches sight of his newest scar.

The mark on his shoulder -still red and raised from where the bullet made its impact, with a matching one on the back from the way it had ripped right through him. Buck's gaze follows his in the mirror and lands in the same spot, concern in his eyes melting into understanding as he recognizes Eddie's train of thought. A small sigh escapes Buck's lips as he remarks, "Almost a year now, huh?"

Eddie nods soundlessly, images of blood and flashing sirens and frantic eyes suddenly filling his mind as he stares at the circle of rough skin. This is one that he could never forget the story to; could never forget the way he fell, the way hot searing pain had rippled through his body, the way Buck had crawled beneath the truck, rushed towards him and-

-touched him. Just like he's doing now. But this time, as Buck's fingertips move up to trace the now-healed wound, there's no pressure to his touch. No desperate fear trying to keep Eddie's life force inside. No, the way he touches him now is almost reverent. Like he too is remembering the day that this was the most sensitive part of Eddie's body, and is now in awe that the skin is still warm beneath his hands, blood pumping through his veins exactly where it's supposed to be.

And here's the thing; Eddie is used to violence. To war and wounds and horrors beyond most people's comprehension. To events that leave a mark in more ways than one. Hell, there was a time when he knew the cacophonous sound of spraying bullets better than he knew his own son's voice.

What he's not used to is this; the gentle caress in the aftermath. The whisper of another person's skin ghosting along the site of impact like it's something fascinating. Something to be worshipped. As though the scar is more than ugly, garish skin; it's a mark of survival, of a life given a second chance.

"You're a wonder, you know," he hears himself say, as Buck tilts his head down to press a kiss to his shoulder.

Buck hums. "I'm just glad you're here, that's all."

Eddie forces back the lump in his throat at the simple adoration lacing the words. Swallows back the emotion threatening to spill from his lips and says, "Me too."

Buck smiles at him in the mirror. Eddie turns in the circle of his arms and presses a kiss to those upturned lips, overwhelmed with gratitude at whatever force had given them the opportunity to have this life together.

Buck's hands move from his shoulder, down to his hands and squeeze as he suggests, "Let's go to bed."

And so they curl up together in the same space they've spent countless nights, completely entwined and secure in each other's embrace. Safe behind these walls, away from all things that hurt and scar.

[yikesharringrove]

Sweet Little Mango

Rewrite

Read on Ao3

Chapter 2

Smut

-

“I want you to spend my next heat with me.” Steve didn’t look at Billy at all when he said it, nervously playing with a loose thread on the bottom of his t-shirt, two darkening patches blossoming high on his cheeks. His voice was a good attempt and pained casualty and his shoulders were closing up around his ears.

They were sitting in Steve’s front room, Steve pressed against the opposite armrest of the couch to Billy, looking like he was doing his best to shrink into nothing rather than hear Billy’s response.

“Are, are you sure?” Billy knew Steve had never spent his heat with an alpha. He knew pretty much everything about his Steve now. “It’s intense. Like, really intense. You have no control over yourself.” What he was really asking went unsaid.

Do you trust me enough for this? To take care of you?

Something cringed in Steve’s gut as he thought of another omega spending their heat with Billy.

“Yeah, I know how heats work. I’ve had them.”

Billy huffed at Steve’s defense and bratty tone, reaching out to pinch Steve’s side. Hoping to lighten the tension racking up Steve’s spine.

“I meant with an alpha, numbnuts.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, finally looking up to meet Billy’s eyes across the couch, squirming slightly in his seat.

“Bill, if you’re not up to it, that’s fine. I know it’s like, a lot.” He sounded defeated, but his eyes were big and betrayed how much he wanted this. How much he was wrestling with himself not to beg and plead for Billy to take care of him during his most vulnerable time.

Billy reached out, pulling Steve across the couch to bring him onto his lap, not letting Steve shy away from this conversation like he obviously wants to.

“I just wanna make sure you’re ready. That I’m the one you want for this.”

Steve shifted, turning to face Billy better. He pushed Billy’s hair off his forehead, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He studied Billy’s face for a moment, his eyes drifting along the freckles splashed on Billy’s nose, following the harsh line of his jaw. He was killing time. Trying to read Billy to see if this was all Billy worming his way out of doing this with Steve. Doing this for Steve.

“You’re the only one I want for this. I’m a big boy. I can think for myself, you know.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” Billy wrapped his arms around his waist, absolutely loving the way Steve melted into his chest, his arms coming up to drape over Billy’s shoulders. “Just want you to be sure.”

“I’m so sure. Want you.” Steve leaned forward, pressing his lips to Billy’s neck. “Want your knot.”

Billy groaned.

Steve’s words went straight to his gut, lighting a fire inside him. Steve could feel the rumble of the noise deep in Billy’s chest. It was fucking hot. He was already starting to get a little slick between his legs.

“We should talk first. Set boundaries and get shit established while you still have your functional brain.”

Steve hummed, still planting hot, wet, kisses to his neck.

“Or we could go for a practice round.”

Billy made a desperate noise in the back of his throat, his grip on Steve’s hips tightening just that much.

And before Steve knew what was happening, Billy had swung them around, Steve pinned underneath Billy on the couch.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

-

Billy nearly growled when he opened Steve’s front door a few days later.

The house was bursting with Steve’s smell.

Hot, sticky, honey lavender, all issuing from upstairs and making Billy go something close to feral.

It made Billy rock hard in his jeans.

Steve hadn’t been in school that day. Each of his teachers was given a notice from the front office at the beginning of the day.

Steven Harrington is excused for the week due to: heat.

Billy climbed the stairs, taking in lungfuls of the sweet smell. He wanted to bathe himself in it. To bask in the heady scent and never smell anything but this ever again in his life.

Billy dropped his overnight bag just inside Steve’s bedroom near the open door.

His mouth was watering as he looked at Steve.

Steve was completely naked, laying in the center of his big bed, curled up in a nest of soft pillows. He was sweaty, and whining, grinding slowly on the pillow shoved between his legs.

It was like looking at a beautiful painting. The most erotic piece of art he’s ever seen in his life.

The pillow between Steve’s legs was soaking wet as he desperately writhed against it, moaning and panting and begging.

Billy hardly even registered getting undressed. All he knew was that his eyes refused to leave Steve’s perfect body as he kicked off his jeans. He knew Steve’s skin was probably sensitive, and the rough feeling of denim brushing against him might irritate his skin to the point of being painful.

Billy climbed onto the bed, pushing one hand up Steve’s soft hip, rubbing gently up and down his side.

“Alpha?” Steve whined, his voice high and breathy, his hips stuttering in their desperate pace against the pillow.

“Yeah, Sugar. I���m here.”

Steve’s hips snapped, and his back arched, and Billy’s eyes went all kindsa dark as he realized Steve just fucking came from rubbing off against a pillow.

Steve rolled onto his back, looking up at Billy with hazy eyes.

And he chirped.

Billy swung himself on top of Steve, parting his shaking legs to settle between them, picking up the soaked pillow like it was something precious. It was covered in his slick and smelled like the sweetest sugar Billy had ever encountered, stinging his nostrils and making his mouth fucking water. He brought it close enough to his face to get nothing but that scent. Steve’s desperation apparent, even through his slick.

Billy took another deep lungful of the pillow before tossing it over his shoulder.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this pent up and hard before, and all he wanted was to shove his rigid cock into that sweet smell and never take it out.

Billy leaned over Steve, pressing their bodies close, and began to softly mouth over Steve’s jaw.

And he let himself purr. Let the sound reverberate from deep in his chest, pressing his teeth against Steve’s neck in a tiny hint of what could be.

Steve melted.

He bucked his hips against Billy’s, pawing at his chest.

“Alpha, I, I want you .”

Billy’s never heard Steve sound like this. All needy and small and ready to beg. It all went right to his dick.

“You got me, Baby.”

“Want your knot .”

Billy leaned forward to latch onto Steve’s neck, sucking a dark bruise onto his skin, grinding their hips together, feeling the sticky wetness between Steve’s thick thighs.

He peppered kisses and even more bites onto his body, leading himself down. He focused briefly on Steve’s nipples, lapping over them until Steve was whimpering. Steve had told him his whole chest became extra sensitive during a heat, and Billy didn’t want to waste the opportunity to make a mess out of Steve.

He moved even lower, dragging his tongue all over Steve’s flat stomach, scraping his teeth over his hip bones.

He sucked bruises onto his inner thighs that matched the nasty ones on his neck, marking Steve all over.

Steve was incoherent, mewling and making these breathy little gasps, his fingers shaking slightly as they curled into Billy’s hair, holding on while Billy took him apart.

“Please,” Steve breathed, tugging just once on Billy’s hair.

Billy relented, licking up Steve’s thigh.

He sucked on Steve’s little cock, flicking his tongue against the sensitive tip of it. Steve was breathing heavily, one hand trailing out of Billy’s hair and skimming over his shoulder, searching for Billy’s hand.

It was cute.

Steve wanted to hold his hand.

Billy linked their fingers together, stroking his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand.

He pulled back from sucking Steve’s dick, ignoring his twitching little cock to move lower, licking a wide strip up his cunt.

Steve was fucking soaked. His slick covered Billy’s chin almost immediately, and Billy lapped it up, savoring the taste.

“You’re so wet, Baby. Been thinkin’ of me?”

“Yeah,” Steve was all breathy. “Thinking of you, Alpha.”

Billy grinned, and dived back in.

He licked up and down Steve’s slick opening, pressing his tongue inside of him. Steve was grinding his hips against Billy’s face, pressing into his tongue, spreading his legs as much as he could to allow for Billy to lick as deep as possible into him. Billy fucked him with his tongue, only pulling away to rub his tongue over Steve's stiff little cock, sucking it into his mouth and brushing his lips against it.

Steve’s hand squeezed Billy’s like a vice, his hips jumping, the fingers in Billy’s hair going tense.

“Wait, Billy, I’m gonna, Billy!” And he came for a second time since Billy’s been there. His hips bucking wildly, his slick gushing out, covering Billy’s chin, and adding to the wet spot on the sheets below him. Billy tongue fucked him through it, his own cock hard and heavy between his legs. He was trying his best not to rut into the bed underneath him, waiting to fuck Steve into next week.

“Billy, Alpha, I, I want you .” Steve was babbling, semi-incoherent begs for Billy.

Billy gave one final obscene slurp, pulling back and wiping his face.

Steve started pulling at his hair and clawing at his shoulders, trying with everything he’s got to pull him up. He was making these wild little chirps, actual words getting caught in his throat.

Billy huffed a laugh, and let Steve pull at him until they were back to level. Billy hovered over Steve, planting his elbows on either side of his head, and looked him right in the eye. Their cocks brushed together, and Steve gave a shuddering moan, one hand snaking down to grip Billy’s dick, lining the flushed head of him up with Steve’s dripping entrance.

Steve was stuttering through a string of pleasepleasepleaseplease, trying to push Billy inside of himself, his fingers trembling against Billy’s cock.

Billy kissed his cheek, and sank inside.

“Oh, fuck .”

Steve was even hotter than usual, so fucking tight.

Billy could feel even more slick gushing out, covering his own hips.

It was a mess. It was hot. It was probably the best sex anyone has ever had in the whole history of fucking.

Billy drew out in one smooth motion, adjusting himself slightly before pushing back in, pounding their hips together with a smack.

Steve shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Like that, Alpha. Just like that.”

Billy kissed his other cheek.

Steve’s skin was burning, slick with sweat, and flushed a beautiful red color.

Steve wrapped his arms and legs around Billy, coaxing Billy to keep slamming into him, keep fucking him.

He lost track of how many times Steve came, how many times his legs shook and he chirped up high in his throat and writhed against the sheets, looking like a mess and a beautiful fucking thing about to melt into the damp sheets.

But Billy could feel heat pooling low in his gut, could feel his knot beginning to swell.

“I’m close, Pretty Boy.”

“Yes, yes. Wanna take your knot. I need it .”

Billy gave two last harsh thrusts, bullying his knot inside Steve.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve whimpered, his eyes wide as he stared at Billy, his chest heaving.

Billy wiggled one hand between them, clumsily brushing his thumb over Steve’s cock a few times, in no way matching the rhythm of his own thrusts, just trying to get Steve there.

And Steve came one final time, squeezing Billy so fucking tight, his body sucking Billy in. Billy could just pull Steve closer, shoving both arms underneath him to hold Steve as close as possible, kissing all over his blotchy face, growls and hums rumbling uncontrollably in his chest.

Steve had one hand tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, the other holding Billy’s hip, his thumb stroking over his skin lightly.

Steve buried his face in Billy’s neck, breathing in his scent and licking all over him, chirping tiredly and brushing his lips over the sensitive gland on Billy’s neck.

And he blew his load, spilling out deep inside of Steve.

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

Lady in Gold

It’s just a date at the Neue Galerie. That’s all it is, right?

Rating: M

Word count; 3,062

Warning/Includes: fluffy fluff, exhibitionism, slight choking, fingering, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink if you squint I guess?!

A satin tea dress, a mellow golden. It flowed to just below your knees, and it had been paired with nude block sandals. A simple yet elegant jewelled clip held a side of your hair back and you felt.. beautiful. This date had been planned for a while, he had said to meet him on the corner of 5th and 86th Street; you would look out for him, he would be in a brown suit. The night was young, the sun just beginning to set over the skyline. You’d wonder if he would be there earlier than you, or if he was barely going to come at all. These must be normal nerves, the churning feeling flowing around your stomach; it was just a date.

Clement and peaceful, the last streams of daylight laid upon your skin as you leant against a tree outside the building. Skimming your eyes against the array of people departing and arriving at the gallery; they finally landed on the tall figure ambling towards you. A soft smile, reflective aviator glasses and the brown suit. It was him. His own masterpiece, he gave a small wave as he grew closer. The faint scents of coconut, coffee and cologne overwhelmed your senses as you managed to stutter out a soft ‘Hi Matthew’.

‘Y/N hey! I’m glad you found this place okay, sometimes people end up on the wrong end of the mile.’ he exclaimed, waving behind him at the never ending street.

‘I’m that person, what should’ve been a 15 minute walk turned out a hell of a lot longer.’ you giggled out.

‘Well hey, we made it in time for the private slot, should we head inside?’ you nodded, and intertwined your arm around the one he held out for you. There was a way that he held you tightly against his side that felt as though you were fragile and he didn’t want you to fall and break. As he mentioned to one of the guards inside you were here for a private viewing, you couldn’t help but stare up at him with veneration. A king couldn’t hold the grace and charm he could.

You’d been meandering for a while, stopping to talk about Werkstätte accessories and admiring the vintage fashion. You were excited to get to the portraits. A favourite of yours was on display, Klimt’s portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer. Filled to the brim with facts and knowledge on his art, there was a passion in your eyes as you tugged his arm towards the exhibition you’d been waiting for. Placing your clutch bag on a nearby seat you almost skipped up to the portrait.

‘Wow,’ you breathed out, ‘it’s even more beautiful than I imagined. The gold just hits different when it’s not on a phone screen huh.’

He stood behind you a few steps, observing and listening to your spirited words and facts. The way you vehemently expressed yourself started to get into his bloodstream, every time you said something new, turned to look back at him; goosebumps arose across his forearms and the back of his neck. He sauntered quietly and slowly closer to you, gently placing a hand on each of your hips. Inhaling abruptly, you didn’t stop exuding truths about the painting before you.

[[MORE]]

‘The painting was handed down to Adeles family members, but the Nazis stole it in 1941. After quite a long journey through multiple agencies, it was bought in 2006 and displayed. I’m literally speechless that it’s in front of me - ah!’ Matthew had pulled your hair to one side as you were speaking, slowly leaving open mouthed kisses to your exposed neck. His grip had tightened on your hips, subsequently beginning to run one hand up your body; the fingers coming up to grip your chin and turning your head to look back at him.

‘Do you know how beautiful you sound?’ he muttered, eyes travelling from your glossed lips up to meet yours. Maybe two centimetres between each set of lips and breath fanning against each other had changed the mood immediately. ‘It, uh, it really is my favourite piece. I could stay here and look at it - all- all night.’ Stumbling over your words, you kept your gaze on Matthew, as he lowered his hand a little; the slender yet gentle fingers contradicting themselves by squeezing the sides of your throat slightly.

‘I could say the same thing about you. This pretty dress, on such a pretty girl. I know which lady in gold I’d rather stare at.’ Smiling gently, he pulled you closer and pressed his lips against yours, breathing getting deeper when you whimper against his mouth.

Reaching your arm behind you to hold the back of his head, his other arm held you flush against him. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t rough; but it was a higher level of passionate that you wouldn’t usually show in such a public area. You wondered if there was a subtle message in Matthew reserving the museum for a private tour, instead of the romantic gesture it had seemed to be.

‘Was this your plan the whole time? To win me over with my favourite art and fuck me in the middle of the gallery?’ you breathed out, pushing back into him and curving your hips upwards into his. The satin of your dress was thin enough to feel the coarseness of his trousers and the cool metal of the belt holding them up. Matthew’s breath hitched beside your ear and he bit down on your lobe. Quickly clutching at your hips again, he ground his hips down into you and mustered out a small grunt at the contact. ‘I bet you’d like that huh? Already pushing up against me, needy little thing.’

The quiet moan that left your lips woke you up out of the sudden delirium you had fallen into, remembering where you were. ‘We’ll get into trouble.’ Matthew let out a condescending chuckle into your ear, a hand beginning to ruche the fabric upwards at the front of your dress. ‘Your body tells me you aren’t at all that worried, y/n. I bet you won’t feel as worried once I bring my fingers a little higher hm?’ He read your body language like a book. You were leaning into him, your hips bucking and following his hands. You were completely under his spell, entranced by the gentle but somehow rough feel of his fingers growing closer and closer to where you wanted him. Until he pulled them away.

‘No fuck please-‘ whining, you turned around to see why the sudden halt on his movements. He’d walked a few steps backward to the leather spectator couch in the middle of the room, sat down with legs spread; watching to see if you’d get the hint. ‘Come and sit on my lap baby. I want you to be comfortable when you’re talking.’ He smirked, knowing full well his actions were going to cause your brain to falter and words to fade away. Slowly walking towards him, you lifted your dress slightly to be able to straddle yourself across his lap; frowning when he spoke a stern, ‘no.’ He wiggled his finger in a circle, indicating he wanted you to face away from him.

Two could play at this teasing game.

Spinning around gently, you still lifted your dress before sitting down on him, giving him a slight peek of the white lace garments underneath. Judging by the way he pulled your hips down hard against him, you knew he saw the underwear. Leaning your back against his chest, he flopped his chin against your shoulder and gave a sweet peck on your cheek. All of these cute gestures couldn’t foreshadow the sheer vulgarity of what he was about to do; if there had been anyone in the room with you, they would’ve thought you two were adorable. He leant back, pulling you with him and the front of your dress up to mid-thigh. Trailing his fingers underneath the thin, yellow material, he ran his middle digit along your slit, feeling the damp patch that had formed on the even thinner lace. ‘I knew it. Filthy little slut. Was it me or Klimt who did this huh?’ he chuckled, gripping your hip when you tried to push against his finger. All you could let out was pathetic whines, and attempt to manoeuvre his finger inside you.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you sweetheart. You were spitting out facts a minute ago, where have all your words gone?’ he said, the condescending tone not helping your situation at all. ‘Please, I need, fuck, I need your fingers Matthew please.’ you begged, head falling back into his shoulder and hands gripping his arm that was around your waist. ‘Wow, you managed to ask so nicely too. Good girl.’ The sudden dominance he portrayed had you completely at his mercy, feeling nothing but a dull throbbing inside that you knew he could provoke. Stroking up and down your lips slightly to gather up your essence, he hooked his middle finger inside you so deep, so harshly you mewled out loudly; Matthew promptly covering your mouth and smiling into your hair. He nudged his index finger into you, curling the two together up against the spot that made your legs tighten around his wrist. He pulled them back open again and held them in that position, trusting you to be quiet. He wasn’t messing around; quick to thrust and curve his fingers upwards until your thighs began to shake against his arm. ‘Shit Matthew, i’m close already, please.’ you tried unsuccessfully to say it quietly, but the feeling he brought you came on so intensely you felt he needed warning. ‘Fuck yes, you’re so good to me. Letting me play with your pretty cunt right here in the open. Are you gonna come for me? I want you to fucking break baby. Come.’ He sped up his fingers, the wiggle of his fingertips against the spot, mixed with his palm grinding against your clit; the uncivilised words he growled into your ear had you gone. The hand returned to your mouth as you moaned and whimpered too loudly, bucking against his fingers, arching your back and gripping your fingernails into his legs as you came.

Matthew bit his lip and smiled into your neck as he drew out your orgasm, cock at its hardest as he felt your cunt tightening sporadically around his fingers. He needed you here and now. This beautiful woman spread across his lap, desperate and needy under his touch. How tight you got when you released onto his hand, the way you breathed out his name. If he could take you like that in this room, he’ll take you on his cock now too. Withdrawing his fingers from you and abruptly pushing them into you mouth, he pushed your hips forward a little so he could pull himself out of his trousers. You’d barely recovered from the intensity of the orgasm when you tasted yourself on your tongue, moaning around his fingers and curling your tongue around the tips. ‘Gonna take you right here baby, can’t wait anymore. Can you lift your dress a little higher for me?’ Trembling out a moan, you bunched your dress up around your hips, letting the spare material fall to the front so as not to expose yourself too much, which seemed ridiculous given the previous activity. ‘That’s it pretty girl. Sit yourself down on me, I want you to take as much as you can okay?’ the condescension had left his voice this time, his voice had become lower and exuded urgency.

Matthew lifted up your hips whilst you balanced your hands on his knees, bringing your legs together in between his. He grasped the base of his cock, pulling the lace to the side before coating himself in you. Pressing against your hole, wanting you to do the rest. You gasped as you glided down onto him, the lips parting and taking him in entirely. He was so thick and hard, you had to wiggle your hips side to side to fit him inside. ‘Shit, you’re so fucking big Matthew. Can’t take it all.’ He was just past halfway and already you felt so full. Matthew’s eyes had hooded and glazed over watching your pretty pussy taking him in, he ran a hand over your exposed cheek and gripped it tightly, pulling you down further.

‘Yes you fucking can, you can and you will. I know you can do it baby. Make me feel good, that’s it.’ You cried softly as he had you bear down completely on him. He was fully inside you, pushing against your cervix. It felt so good even just sitting still on him, let alone the pleasure it brought when you pulled up and back down again. His hands pushed and pulled you back and forth slowly and gently onto him, hitting special parts of you with every thrust. ‘Matthew please, please I just-‘ ‘Please what baby? Fuck-‘ ‘I just want you to fuck me properly please.’

He purred out a deep moan and laid back against the couch, you laid flat upon his chest again. He spread his legs a little more to give him leeway to fuck up into you easier, the pace at an allegro. Rolling his eyes back and biting his lip, he couldn’t get over the entire position you were both in. This wasn’t discreet anymore; no one could see where the two of your bodies met, but he was fucking up into you so hard, one arm wrapped tightly around your stomach, your head against his shoulder with the other hand covering your mouth. It was obvious this man was fucking this woman in the middle of an exhibition, in a gallery in New York. ‘God you feel so fucking tight around me, I can’t hold on much longer. You close for me?’ He sputtered out into your ear, looking at your face to see you nodding and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. ‘Want you to rub that pretty clit for me, make yourself come on my cock. Use me, I’m all yours baby.’ he said through gritted teeth, growing closer and closer to just letting go. He wanted to feel those spasms around his cock before he did though. You held onto the hand over your mouth, and used your other hand to rub quick and hard circles on your clit, teetering on the edge. Tears began to line the brim of your eyes, everything becoming super overwhelming. Being fucked in front of your favourite painting, out in public, by the sexiest man you’d ever seen and felt, the strength of how he held onto you, pushed into you had you right there.

‘You’re right there baby, I can feel it. Let it fucking go for me, good girl, that’s it.’ The deep, raspy voice in your ear was all you needed to burst out in pleasure. You rubbed faster, matching his thrusts just as your body shuddered against his, your toes curling in the heels, your moans being muffled by his hand. ‘Fuck baby, that’s it, what a good fucking girl coming on my cock like this, you’re gonna make me fucking explode baby.’ Matthew grunted into your ear, bucking up harder but sloppily as he reached his peak. You pulled his hand away and turned to meet his eyes; his pupils dilated beyond belief, hair messy where you’d tugged on it before, lips swollen where he’d bitten them so hard trying to keep quiet. God he was so hot. ‘Come inside me Matthew, please. Come inside me, I’m yours to fill please, fuck I need to feel you like that please.’

Quiet but desperate moans and cries left his mouth once you begged him for his come, his hand gripping your face as he brought your lips to his, silencing himself as he spilled inside you. He hadn’t come this much in a while, but the way you told him you needed it brought it out of him. Your lips were pressed together so hard, more of a muzzle than a kiss. The feeling of him slightly spilling out of you made you involuntarily clench tighter, maybe a natural instinct to want to keep him where he belongs. Matthew slumped back, his head dropping onto the black leather. ‘Let’s hope this stays in hm?’ after a few minutes absorbing what you’d just done, you spoke quietly, slowly going to stand up off of him. Smiling lazily, he let out a hiss when his cock slid out of you, falling onto his stomach, still slick with the mixture of you both. Adjusting your underwear and smoothing out your dress, you watched as he tucked himself away, sitting himself up properly and running his hands through his hair. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to stand between his legs, eyes shining with love and admiration as he looked up at you. ‘You really are so beautiful, y/n. Nothing in this gallery compares to you.’ Matthew whispered, stroking his thumbs out across your hands. You blushed and lost eye contact for a second, gazing at the artwork sprawled across each wall.

‘Thank you. I think one thing could make me a lot more beautiful though.’ You smiled and glanced towards your bag. Matthew imitated your smirk and grabbed it, pulling out the two sets of rings inside. The two of you slotting them back where they belonged on each other’s hands, you kept a tight grip on Matthew’s hand as he stood up in front of you. Twiddling with the wedding rings on your finger, you looked up at him beaming. ‘Much better actually, Mrs Gubler. Let’s go grab something to eat?’ he held out his arm the same way he did walking you in, except this time it was mostly to aid you in walking because you were staggering a little.

As you passed the guard who’d let you both in, Matthew turned back towards him. ‘Thank you for helping us out tonight. Can officially say we crossed a few things off our date night list.’

Slapping his arm, you dragged him away blushing profusely. It left you thinking; What would the next date night entail?

[littleoldrachel]

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.