#little drabble ig ]

[eyesforfuma]

thinking about self absorbed K who enjoys watching himself in the mirror while he fucks a bit more than fucking you sometimes

while he does enjoy fucking you (why wouldn't he? you are his little precious pleasure toy) he just loves to fuck you on all fours right in front of the mirror, making sure he has a clear view of both your pretty face and his, he loves when you moan his name and praise him on how good he is at filling you up

"why don’t you tell me how much you enjoy how I fuck you, huh? say it, use your words, tell K how much you love it when i pound into you and fill you up" he says as he pushes his hair back with his hand, never taking his eyes off the mirror

he would groan when you call him handsome or pretty and he uses that as a motivation to pound you even faster and rougher, becoming sloppy and messy which is not usual for him but something about the words "you look so handsome while you make me yours" coming out of your sweet mouth makes him dizzy

he knows how good he looks, he loves watching his muscles flex and even takes pictures sometimes of how good you both look, all sweaty from hours of pleasure

"come here" he would say as he gently pulls you by your hair, pulling you close to him, pressing his chest against your back while he is still inside of you, one arm holds you tightly while his other hand cups your cheeks forcing you to look straight into the mirror "don't you think you look pretty being used like this? flushy cheeks, can't even hold yourself together, mumbling nonsense, coming all over my cock over and over again, being so good for K" while he whispers that into your ear you know he is not even looking at you, both your eyes and his are always focused on his face, on his pretty lips saying all those nasty things and his veiny arms that hold you in place

[pegging-satan]

Out of all of them the most friend-shaped guy is, surprisingly, Sylus.

Due to the nature of his job, demanding he has to socialise with a lot of different kinds of people, thus allowing him to mould his personality into whatever he deems will get the job done at the moment. As a result he doesn’t really have a “default” personality, it totally depends on who he’s around. Therefore, making it so that he is very easy to hang out with. He just matches everyone’s vibe perfectly, thus making them feel safe and comfortable enough to let loose.

Which results in him becoming like a refuge for the cold, uptight Linkon doctor. He senses the vibe, and behaves accordingly. It’s kind of like getting a cat to like you, except this time the cat is 6’1 and speaks in a soft monotone. Zayne thought he’d be insufferable to be around, but he’s actually surprisingly chill, and doesn’t force his company upon him. Which piques his curiosity, and he can’t help but chase after the metaphorical feather on a stick.

Sylus approaches him with the same cautious attitude you’d approach a scared, feral cat; you could even call it a little bit of overkill, but crows are very smart creatures. And for all their cunning, cats are pretty dumb when there’s no danger lurking around. Then how could this kitty resist when this crow was dangling his irresistible, iridescent feathers in front of his eyes? To chase after it is instinctual.

That’s how a crow traps a cat.

Not so much a “trap” as it is a comfortable embrace, that he’s free to break free from any time, but he chooses not to. This crow wasn’t bad company after all.

[speedyshark95]

this was supposed to be just a sketch... ended up colouring it and writing a drabble for it

valentines post ig??

drabble under the cut:

Okay so i havent written a fic before, like ever. Aside from practice writing for school assignments. So please dont mind this if its shit :)

Post race lialex?

Williams finally, Finally has a car that can be somewhat competitive. Alex feels a wave of relief wash over him as he parks his car in front of the p2 board. He had to fight for it, and fight for it he did. After the season he had last year, he wouldn't even dare dreaming of making it on the podium again. But here he is, p2 after defending for his life the last 20 or so laps. 

When he got out of his car. That's when he saw it. P1.

The pink helmet with the red bull logo on the sides, shining proudly in the sun. There he stood, on top of the red bull car with a big red 30 on it, fists in the air as he just won his first formula 1 grand prix. Against all odds, despite what almost everyone was saying, Liam won the Australian grand prix. His boy disproving the entire world and showing just how good he is, just how much he deserves to have a place on the grid.

Alex feels like he couldn't be happier in that moment, seeing Liam jump off of his car and realising Alex is right there, right there with him. After all the hardship from back when they were teammates. From unfortunate crashes they couldn't do anything about to exceptional wins with the team. This felt like something really special. Time seemed to slow when their eyes met, Liam runs at him giving Alex the most bone crushing hug he has ever experienced.

Yeah, Alex is proud, he knew his boy would pull it off in the end.

[starry-sophrosyne]

... @toadettely @sopping-wet-cat-wizard y'know, april fools is over, BUT...

"No, what am I saying- That's too mean, I can't do that-" "Fufufu~ But I can~"  (｀▽ ´) // "YOU-" (/｀ᗣ ´ )/

(also for reference bc GUESS WHO CAN PEN- XD /hj /lh /silly):

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(TW: blood/gore, death, car crash incident, graphic imagery)

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S&S: There is a world where Brent never meets Eevee. There is a world where he wakes up one morning, yawning as he rubs his eyes. He'd been somewhat exhausted by his gaming session with "Sofist" last night, not that it was unenjoyable. He gets ready for the day as per usual, nothing out of the ordinary. It's all regular, for now, that is. Walking out of his apartment, he raises an eyebrow at the suspicious amount of cars stuck on the local road. Oh well, a crash of some kind? He shrugs and continues walking down the road. Ducking under some construction, he carefully avoids all the prying eyes and workers, taking his shortcut to the cafe. What he sees when he turns the corner, however? Well..

It's graphical, distraught to say the least. He can see the limb of somebody, splayed across the road in a pool of blood. He winces. Damn? They'd been sloppy setting up the perimeter apparently, blocking it from normal eye-witness view, but not from here. Either way, he couldn't make out too much between the ambulance and the police cars stationed in the intersection.

As for the authorities, he can make out them questioning certain people and speaking into their walkie talkies. Their faces are far away but filled with concern as they discuss with each other. Meanwhile, the paramedics tending to the body on the ground, and.. For some reason, he pauses. It's not in any of his good interests to watch this, to get involved with some random traffic incident of an unfortunate civilian, and yet? Something tugs at him, opposing his normal desire to stay out of conflict and general indifference/apathy. He doesn't know why, why this moment specifically?, but it doesn't.. feel.. weird. It's weirdly urging, instead bringing him to stop in his tracks. As he choicely watches the paramedics ready the body bag, he catches a glimpse of the poor man who had faced the consequences.

His hair was curly, coifs of coffee brown tinged with blood. His facial hair was the same color, and his gaze relaxed. His eyes were partially closed in a stereotypical thought of sleeping, with a glint from the sun revealing his hazed over green eyes, devoid of any brightness. What catches Brent's eye immediately, however, is his bright purple coat. Most of it is soaked with crimson gore, now a dark maroon, but even still. It's such a stand out, he can't help but wonder how the man even got hit in the first place.

After a few more seconds, the guided feeling seems to go away, and he turns his head away from the scene. (Unbeknownst to him, he'd been watching for, comparatively, far longer than a few seconds.) Best to move on, for whatever reason he felt compelled to watch EMTs deal with the body, almost as if he was making sure they would properly take care of him. It was weird, but whatever. He didn't have enough time to stay around and see him get sent off, realizing he was late for his shift. Despite his sudden spike of empathy, it was just another day, just with an unfortunate incident. He prayed for the man though, as he finally set foot onto regular sidewalk. May his soul, and whoever he is, rest in peace, for meeting such an untimely end.

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

Walking into the cafe, the door closed behind him with the bell's signature jingle. Vern's head shot up, his face twisted with a hint of concern as he rushed over to Brent, who'd barely placed his bag on the desk before Vern grabbed his shoulders, gripping them firmly and causing Brent to jolt a bit out of surprise.

"Brent! Oh my god, you scared me-" "?" "-I saw the crash nearby, and you- came in a few minutes later than you normally do, and- oh god I'd just thought the worst!" Vern could hardly control himself from his ramble, spilling out his emotions, but he paused when he noticed the rather amused look on Brent's face. Brent only chuckled at him, despite the severity of the situation/his anxiety. Vern gave him a dirty look, but let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance relief, glad to know his friend was okay.

As Vern let go of his shoulders, Brent starting unpacking stuff from his bag. Placing his log sheet and charger down in the little table within the break room, Vern asked:

"Why were you late anyways? You normally show up before I even get here. Did something.. actually happen while you were getting here?" He added tentatively.

"..." He paused, his hands tightening around his laptop, contemplating if it was worth it to tell Vern. About the man he'd seen, eyes hazed over in death, body dull and cold, hair stiff with dried blood. It was something in it of its own right, something that he wished he hadn't seen. But at the same time, the death of this random civilian weighed heavier than it should've in his heart. He didn't know why, but still, maybe it was the sight of his eyes; ones that pierced his soul, staring at him even after passing. They were so.. cold. Almost as if they were blaming, in hatred. His blood chilled, thinking about it all, and a heaviness set in the room. Oh. Man, he'd never felt this way before. He'd just witnessed death, hadn't he? How was he acting like this was all okay?

He held in a sigh, settling for a tight exhale as he shook his head, not looking up from his stuff. No, it was best not to trouble his more emotionally affected friend with his.. issues. Were he to tell Vern, he'd likely become more aggrieved than him. Even still, looking up and noticing Vern's still apprehensive gaze, he feigned a small smile; keeping it up even as he looked back down in the black expanses of his duffel bag, now empty. He couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "I'm serious dude, nothing happened. Don't worry about it."

"... Alright, if you say so." The air was thick with tension, the silence being left unbroken. Vern's footsteps were soft as they padded against the tiled floor, the door slowly creaking closed behind him. One last glance behind his shoulder, before he fully shut the door, putting on a smile to greet the guests that had entered the cafe. Meanwhile, the room had become dimmed sightly with the waning sunlight as the light from the cafe dissipated. Brent stared down once more, as if questioning the true morality behind what he'd seen. With a sigh, his shoulder slumped. Sitting down onto the rickety foldable chair, he put his head in his arms, on top of the table. He wasn't ready to go out. Not just yet. Not while the green eyes of someone haunted him. He couldn't just go and pretend everything was okay, even he had no damn idea why the death of some random stranger had messed him up so badly.

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

Vern found him struggling to think of positive messages to write atop his orders for the rest of the afternoon. Brent did not come out of the break room for a long time, and even once he did, he was silent as he worked. Nick didn't come in for coffee that day.

[junkissed]

some quick updates !

first, i just turned in my last final so i'm officially on winter break woo!!!!! :D i have been DYING to start writing again and now that my responsibilities are out of the way i finally can :)) i can't make any promises how often i'll post because life is still busy in other ways, but i have more down time rn and i'm so excited to get back into writing <3

secondly!! if you've been following me for a while you'll know that i'm in a collab with my dear friend mars @onlymingyus called the king's gambit, and after a long break we've finally started working on it again!! it's by far my longest fic and i am so so excited to finish this collab that's been almost 2 years in the making. we are planning on making a new masterlist and taglist soon so please keep an eye out for that, and feel free to send asks if there's more you want to know! there is no release date yet as we're not finished writing but we appreciate your patience so much and i promise we are going to get it out soon!!

my wips (including tkg) are updated here :)

[the-2nd-random-kid]

so i thought a little too hard abt nanami today

I love him.

He looks at blue skies and white, fluffy clouds. Eyes drawn to twinkling snowfall and mirror blue iced over puddles. He thinks of glass—how similar it is to ice, and how you’d sometimes never know it was there in the first place until you slam against it.

He feels the cold of an iced treat in the summer, firm metal staircase railings that sting his hands. He feels echoes of sugar that coat his mouth after indulging a little too much in sweets, of how he wishes to brush his teeth just to feel that echo again without harm.

He feels the savory tastes of garlic and oil chased away by mochi and cake. Feels crumbs wiped away at the corners of his mouth, only to be replaced by icing and juice.

I can’t have him.

There’s blood on his hands. Both someone else’s and his own. The last time he loved someone so strongly the world became them, they lost the ability to stand. He couldn’t look at his face. His heart had been cleaved in two.

He knows full well that someday that cleave could be literal.

I still want him.

But how could he put him through that—the only guarantee being that he would not be the one left alone in the end. He couldn’t do that to him. Would never want him to go through that again.

I love him.

He stares at the skies until his eyes burn. Sinks his hands into ice-cold snow until they go numb. Dares not to touch glass, lest he dirty and stain it.

He savors cool sweets in the heat, lets his hands linger on railing until they grow uncomfortably warm. He lets the sweetness stay on his tongue, always on the verge of rotting his teeth.

He lets cakes and cookies and mochi be shoved one after another into his mouth, despite the complaining. Wishes that the icing was wicked away by lips instead.

[lili-loves-whump]

Can i convince you to do loser pt 2? Love your writing!

ahhh thank u thank u it’s always nice to receive asks. If u have any suggestions I’m always open xx

lili-loves-whump presents:

Loser Pt. 2

part 1 suckers

Hero wasn’t sure what happened. They blinked slowly, figures fading into view.

Villain’s copycats merged into one whole criminal, complete with a chasm between their brows (AN: HA WHERES MY ROTTMNT FANS AT) and a worried expression in their eyes.

“Vill’n?” They slurred, rolling over slightly. Their ribs rubbed against the couch springs, and even though Hero wanted to cry out, their energy wasn’t there.

Their tongue felt like a dead weight in their mouth, so they didn’t use it, even as Villain came rushing over.

“How are you, Hero?” They mumbled.

Hero’s eyes fluttered. They were dizzy; nauseous. They wanted to train and sleep and eat and throw up. They opted for a slight nod and grinned.

“Lies,” Villain snarled, goodheartedly.

Hero tried to shrug, but their limbs were incased in concrete, so they opted instead to blink heavily. The criminal seemed concerned. Hero hoped Superhero wasn’t. That would be bad, very bad indeed.

They’d beat the crime-stopper up, cut their knees and shave the skin off their palms in a way that looked like they’d sliced the scabs off their hands. They’d tease them, lock up their rations, they’d-

“Hero?”

“Something was wet. Were they crying? Hero closed their eyes and another tear slipped down their cheek.

They tried not to startle as Villain wiped it away, surprisingly tender.

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

As Hero reopened their eyes, confused, Villain ran a hand through their hair. They looked off to the distance, guilt clouding their pupils and casting a shadow over their face.

“I should’ve seen the way you looked winded after the simplest fight, how you’d adjust how you sat because it was never comfortable, when you’d push yourself so far you’d run from the fight to sit near a bubbler and lap at it like a dog.”

Hero flinched. Superhero used to call them a dog sometimes.

“Run, run, run, dog,” they’d taunt, blowing a whistle. “You flinch and cower like a dog- might as well have a dog’s speed too.”

Hero pursed their lips. They still couldn’t speak. Villain was looking at them now.

“I’m so sorry, Hero.”

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 29 - Tending to Non-Human Whumpee’s Non-Human Parts

The tide was low, leaving the shore a stretch of jagged rocks and slick, muddy patches. Rescuer picked her way carefully along the shoreline, eyes peeled for the lobster traps she’d been tasked with checking. She never expected anything else among these rocks aside from seashells and driftwood, but today, something caught her eye, half-concealed by a cluster of boulders. She would have missed it entirely if the sun hadn’t reflected a strange silver-blue that drew her attention and curiosity.

Expecting to see something glass or metal that someone had left behind, or perhaps that had floated over after being dropped off the side of some boat, Rescuer clambered toward the shimmer, and was stunned at the sight that met her.

A merman lay sprawled on the rocks, unconscious and deathly still. His tail - gradient of grays and blues, the source of that reflected sunlight - was pinned to the muddy ground between the rocks by a harpoon, the shaft jutting out obscenely from the wound. His skin was visibly dry, rough and peeling along his arms and chest, and his lips were cracked and colorless. The gills on his neck fluttered weakly - moving, but barely.

Immediately Rescuer dropped to the ground beside the merman. It was extremely doubtful that he had crawled this far onto shore on his own. He probably had been stuck here since high tide. The blood streaked along the rocks had long since dried and blackened, standing testament to how long he’d been on dry land.

Her first priority, then, was getting him unstuck. She knew that leaving an object embedded in a wound was the rule, but this was different. He needed water - fast. If she didn’t act quickly, he wouldn’t last much longer.

She grasped the harpoon, trying to steady herself. She had never been in the position of needing to save a life before, let alone a non-human one, and the situation had her trembling with nerves.

"Sorry about this," she mumbled, bracing herself. With a single swift, forceful motion, she yanked the harpoon free, wincing at the squelching sound it made upon its exit. Blood welled up from the gash, dark and viscous, but she couldn’t address it yet.

Ignoring the slick blood that found its way onto her hands, she grabbed the mer under the arms and heaved, dragging him toward the water’s edge. He was heavier than she’d expected, and her muscles strained and burned as she lugged him ungracefully across the rough ground. When she finally reached the water, she collapsed into it, taking a moment to enjoy the refreshing cold before returning to the task at hand. With a grunt, she pushed the mer further, until his head and torso were fully submerged, leaving his tail still sprawled out on the shore.

Through the rippling water Rescuer could see the mer’s gills flare to life, gulping in all it could. A relief to be sure, but the work wasn’t finished. His tail was still bleeding heavily, clouding the water around them.

With a vigorous tug, she managed to rip a strip from her shirt. It would have to do as a makeshift bandage. Trying not to jostle the mer too much, she wrapped the strip around the wound, tying it off tightly. The bleeding slowed, but didn’t stop, and she chewed at her lip, unsure of what else to do. She had gotten him back in the water, yes, but she knew he still needed more help than she could give.

Her attention returned to the mer’s face when a few bubbles of air from his mouth broached the surface. His eyes peeled open, then began darting around, confusion and fear clear as he took in his surroundings.

Then, for a moment, his gaze locked on Rescuer. Before she could say anything, he jerked away from her, plunging fully into the water. “Wait!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t go! You’re hurt, you need - !”

It was no use. He was already swimming away, his tail lurching erratically through the water, leaving a trail of red in his wake.

Rescuer tried to wade out after him, but of course, the mer was much faster in the water. His form quickly became a blur, then disappeared entirely beneath the waves. She was left standing there, nearly waist-deep in the surf, knowing there was nothing left for her to do but unwilling to turn away just yet.

What if he didn’t make it? The thought gnawed at her. He was too injured to swim far, and she didn’t know where he could go for safety. If the wound didn’t finish him off, something else might.

@augusnippets

[poltergeist-punk]

a bit of a study of my favorite fugitive and criminal <3

ref

[johnslittlespoon]

The Fuse To My Fire

[NSFW | WC: <2000 | Curt Biddick/Gale Cleven/John Egan, Hotel Sex, Post–Algeria, Pet Names, Overstimulation, Begging, Fingering]

“You can barely keep your eyes open, baby,” Gale coos, on the verge of teasing, and a whimper slips out before Curt can stop it.

“Just one more,” he breathes out, eyelashes fluttering as he rolls his hips. "Please."

[AO3 LINK]

[raitrolling]

It's been a busy few weeks for Ropikk Alaysi and the rest of the staff at Aeon Racing...

[guzmapkmn-archive]

Are you guys ready for the FIRST OFFICIAL VALUESHIPPING FIC!!!!! Yes, after a little over a year. I have finished my first one. Everyone clap and cheer!!!! 👏

[petrichorium]

Shocker to absolutely nobody even after that tantrum this morning I am still getting pregnancy related asks & replies! Maybe I should change my askbox message

[worldly-diversity]

○ 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕝𝕖 ○

          ⤷  『  Arno Victor Dorian  』

When Arno first encountered Bellec and was shown the power that was hidden within his blood, he could not have imagined the sights and hardships that would follow his choice to ally himself with the man and his order.

Any connection to his father had seemed worthwhile back then, especially considering that connection had saved him from certain death within the crumbling Bastille. And yet, though he had been given the chance to save many lives in the process, perhaps that death would have been the kinder fate afforded to him.

There had been no end to the strangeness on his journey to becoming an Assassin, and in his quest to reunite with Elise. A hidden sect of powerful people pulling the strings, their obsession with ancient relics that as it turned out were far more powerful than he could have imagined, hidden lineages in not only himself but also monsieur Germain who had suffered from unbelievable visions that had rendered his mind… Well, it was a difficult thing to comprehend even after having lived through it.

The rise and fall of Assassins and Templars both, all centered in Paris and yet there was one thing that he felt had been the most difficult to overcome throughout it all… That being the pitfalls of his own mind. Or at least that was what he considered them, for what else could they be?

He's thankful it didn't happen every time, but high profile and high import kills had always had a certain effect on him. It was as though within a split second he gained a great understanding of the person whose life he had just taken… He knew what their actions were likely to have been in a given situation, and on occasion he could unearth the memories relevant to the quest he was on.

Such a thing surely could not be normal, and his retreat had been affected the first time it happened, to be ambushed so suddenly with such a wealth of information that it made his head throb miserably with the density of information received. The first time he had all but stumbled towards safety and received a scolding from Bellec for his troubles, no doubt the other having thought his reaction had come from the blood that had been shed by his hand.

Arno had to adapt quickly to not be phased by what was happening to him, the visions that he could puzzle out later but could not share with anyone else. After all, the one time he'd tried to figure out if Bellec experienced something similar he had been brushed off and his subtle questioning attributed to drink. He had never asked again.

Perhaps he would never know why he sees the things he does, or learns the hidden secrets of his enemies as their blood cools on his skin. All he knows is that he cannot share ability this with anyone, and that the only way now is forward, as it has always been.

[morefromthisworld]

something that every part of vergil goes through, with varying responses depending on who he is at the time.

this fic is probably "vergil" vergil, or the child one. the lack of acknowledgement of anything pertinent, only focused on recovering, and dante, and fighting.

i dont think v would recover so quickly, spending a lot more time in that confused state of just, observing his surroundings, without really being able to piece together what any of it means, and being completely unaware of himself in any form. i really liked the touch of him coming to in like a half devil trigger state; v would feel really physically dysphoric in this state, being more mentally attached to his human side, but be unable to control himself and would just become lost in the feeling, potentially reaching full sin devil trigger before dante places gentle but firm hands on his trembling shoulders, finally bringing him back to reality. the entire devil trigger would fizzle away in a moment, and he would stumble forward, crashing into dante just a little (with a surprised yelp from the latter), before regaining his balance and bearings. at this time hed probably be more apt to find space alone and wind down from the feeling slowly, with something like meditation, as opposed to running through the excess energy with fighting. there would be a lot less snarkiness, though its pretty much his only coping mechanism, so its more that theres less communication in general than it is hes being nicer

the nightmares are actually used to the feeling of amorphous half-existence (nightmare himself resides in that state, so its not much difference for him), so its more of a strange flashback to an existence that they arent anymore.

shadow might be the most destructive (aside from nightmare, who is always destructive), as hes the most used to existing amorphously, and feels suddenly trapped in a strictly human shape. hed try to change shape, to his cat form, or to something, but the end result would probably be mindless flailing, regardless of environment. would come to if something broke loud enough, or if someone shouted nearby (at him or just in shock ? 😭), to which he would probably completely isolate himself, now stuck in a strange sense of dysphoric stiffness, really not appreciating being human shaped. would probably hole up somewhere private, curl up in a "devil trigger cat ball" of sorts, and take a nap.

griffon on the other hand would be scared of the feeling, spending the moments in confusion desperately trying to regain his bird shape; jerky, awkward movements, ruffling and rustling of non-existent feathers, maybe even one or two awkward attempts at flight (which are hilarious to witness, dante attests), before he realizes hes not lacking shape, its just different now, human. would also probably feel dysphoric about not being a bird, but he would cope by taking it out on others through teasing and instigating (probably mostly dante, as hes most receptive to vergils mockings).

Sometimes Vergil doesn’t remember who—where, when, what—he is. He wakes up, heart pounding, cold sweat beading at his temples and sliding down his lower back. And the darkness of night, once comforting in its simplicity, has become a suffocating thing. An embrace he doesn’t want and cannot escape from.

It happens the first night he sleeps at Devil May Cry.

He tumbles onto the floor, the blue glow of a partial devil trigger casting enough light to see his immediate surroundings. A couch. Leather. That’s what he had been lying on. A small fridge. Plants in various states of health. Jukebox. No annoying neon brightness; it’s been unplugged.

That last thing pricks his memory. He’s the one who yanked the plug out of its socket.

Hey! A familiar voice yells in his mind. Man, be careful with that.

An order to follow. No, not quite. Not the right voice. And he doesn’t need to follow orders anymore. That was someone else. A different part of him, long discarded. He is what remains. He is a towering being of pure power. He is crumbling, weak and helpless. He is a culmination of what has been separated. He is—

“Vergil.” The same voice from his memory. At first there are just bare feet on dark wooden slats, then Vergil’s eyes slide up and up and up. Dante yawns, scratching the skin above boxers dotted with strawberries. “Thought I heard you scrambling around down here.”

More than heard. Dante must have sensed the rush of demonic energy. The two of them have always been particularly aware of each other in that regard.

“Your couch is too small,” Vergil says. He’s in a defensive crouch and can’t seem to relax into anything else. “If these are the limits of your hospitality, I pity your paramours.”

He takes a slow breath in through his nose and holds it. Every night and every morn, some to misery are born. His lungs don’t yet burn but he releases the air from his mouth in a steady stream. Every morn and every night, some are born to sweet delight. His breathing still hasn’t evened out. Once more. Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless—

“Oh, that’s real funny. ‘Cause I could’ve sworn I offered to share my bed until we got you hooked up with a mattress.”

“I don’t share, Dante.”

“Then don’t complain about my awesome couch.” Dante pokes Vergil’s stomach with his toes.

Vergil whips his tail at Dante’s ankles in immediate retaliation. It doesn’t faze his brother in the slightest. Undeniable excitement flashes in Dante’s eyes as he jumps back, one arm up to guard against the next merciless flick of Vergil’s tail.

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on.” Dante’s crooked grin is infectious. “Let’s go out back. Nero will be here in like, five hours and I don’t want him to get on my case about smashing up the joint.”

Vergil hums, standing in one smooth motion. His hands are not as steady as they should be, but the air is cool and he’s wearing one of Dante’s ugly graphic tees with a pair of loose sweatpants. Perhaps the lingering shivers will be mistaken as a natural consequence of late night’s chill.

But from the way that Dante’s sharp gaze bores into him…perhaps not.

“I have no plans to smash your place of business.” Vergil crosses his arms, pulling his tail back to wrap around his waist. “Though I wonder if Nero would even notice. It’s disastrous in here, Dante. Do you ever clean?”

Dante clicks his tongue, waving away the criticism. “We just got back from Hell. The kid’ll forgive a little clutter.”

“There are no less than twenty empty beer bottles within my reach.”

“And you didn’t think to throw ‘em out?”

“It is not my job to clear away your mess.”

“Right.” Dante’s smile edges towards rueful. “It’s usually the other way around.”

Vergil, oddly enough, finds himself amused. Trading barbs with Dante is a treasured pastime. He’s become immune to the sting. For the most part.

“Lashing out at me because you’re worried Nero will disapprove of your slovenly habits…” He trails off, tilting his head in a way that feels natural until there is no brush of dark hair against his cheek. His tail tightens around him. “Childish.”

Dante points at him. “You’re one to talk! There’s a guy in this room who’s concerned with that kid’s opinion of him, and it’s not me.” Then, because Vergil can’t help bristling at the truth of his statement, Dante adds, “We gonna fight or what?”

It is the only thing that might make Vergil feel like himself again, so yes. He has the Yamato in hand before the door closes behind them. Dante laughs, the sound growing darker as he releases his demon. Orange-red joins blue in lighting up their small portion of night.

It’s exhilarating, even if they’re both pacing themselves, wary of causing too much property damage. 

“Is this helping?” Dante asks as their swords clash, a spray of sparks briefly obscuring his face.

In answer, Vergil shoots a summoned sword at his mouth. Dante catches it between his teeth because he is an absolute madman. Vergil expected nothing less.

When dawn breaks, they call a draw. Vergil follows his other half back inside and together they gather the copious bottles, and pizza boxes, and general detritus that have seen fit to call Devil May Cry home for countless days. After chucking it all in the trash, they get dressed and take a trip to the nearest supermarket to grab juice and—at Dante’s insistence—cheap pancake mix. Because being a good uncle has to start somewhere.

Vergil flips the bag around to read the suggested recipe as they walk back, early morning sun chasing away the trembling remains of last night’s lapse in memory, and thinks about what he can possibly say to Nero when that poor child arrives.

Because being a good father has to begin somewhere too.

[also on ao3]

[rivalmelty]

i better be seeing a ms. agatha christie or any member of the order next week or so help me god