Nemo stretches out on the towel thrown over sun-warmed pebbles. The pair of them by some miracle have found a quiet spot. Although, there’s still the ever present sounds of others who have also decided to take part in the age-old British tradition of heading to Brighton in the summer mingled with the crash of waves and cries of gulls.
They turn to face Gerry. His t-shirt lies somewhere at the foot of their towels along with two pairs of gothppropriate (but not so much beachppropirate) boots and their socks leaving him clad in fishnet and copious amounts of suncream.
He smiles lazily, reaches out to lightly run a thumb over a freckled cheek before they give him an equally lazy kiss.
And then there’s the clatter of pebbles as Gerry moves and braces himself over them.
Nemo manages a giggled “Hey,” before he kisses them, still lazy.
Nemo sighs, lost in the softness of his lips.
“You know what I want?” He mumbles against their lips before he steals another kiss.
“What?” Nemo snorts as they gently cup his sun-warmed face as he grins down at them, an errant lock of black hair has escaped his ponytail.
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Pulling this from the vault bc someone left a comment on it and I'd forgotten I'd written this
But does anyone want a fic I wrote originally in 2021 that's a roleswap villain au chargestep fic in which Ortega is the son of a kingpin dethroned by one of her underlings who takes up the moniker Hollow Ground
So Heavy Metal Cindrella gained an extra chapter I guess? AO3 So here it is for me and at least one other person who wants this (one of them being @daraasum who enabled me)
CW: Alcohol use
Elio had brought him a beer.
And then a couple more for good measure but the bar hadn’t really been the right ambience for catching up so.
They’d ended up back at Elio’s place, and there’d been a couple more beers, and a fair bit of talk and it’d started feeling like they’d only seen each other yesterday and maybe the beer had done a lot of heavy lifting Eddie had started to feel… relaxed.
(For once)
Even if he’s trying not to think too hard about things like Elio’s hands as he toys with the tab on his beer can, his throat as he swallows, his tongue flicking over his lips.
His lips.
Fuck
“So…” Elio tilts his head as he leans back, one arm behind his head and he tries not to think too much about his hair of all things, “You’re sticking around then?”
He tenses his hands, as he remembers how soft those blonde waves feel.
“Yeah,” He clears his throat and shrugs, “Gonna try at least,”
“Good,” Elio sighs and Eddie swallows again as he gets a glimpse of stomach as his as his cut off t-shirt rises up , “Hoped you’d come back,”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” He shrugs and then grins, “Why wouldn’t I? Not everyday someone tall, dark and handsome comes my way,”
Oh boy.
He fiddles with the tab on the beer can, there’s a weird metallic noise he can never describe properly as it shifts up and down until he presses a little too hard and, oops the metal tab disappears into the bottom of the now empty can.
“Mind if I crash here?” He abandons the can on the coffee table, joining the others.
Elio snorts, “Of course? Wouldn’t be much of a host if I kicked you out at this hour,”
“Thanks,” He swallows, “This seems like a real comfy couch,”
“Oh,”
“What?”
“Sure if you want the couch but” He leans in closer, “I do have a bed,”
Eddie…
Eddie has several things wants to say, wants to do but they all seem to come at the same time, too fast and so he does none of them.
“Eddie?” Elio swallows, “Shit,” His eyes widen, “Sorry, I… we don’t have to do anything,” He sighs.
(But he does want to do anything, he wants to do so many anythings)
“I just,” he leans back a little more, “Ugh, sorry I… thought” he shakes his head.
And as often happens in the life of Eddie Munson.
Eddie Munson goes fuck it.
It’s not graceful but he for a lack of a better word, he pounces. Elio pressed into the armrest of the couch as he leans over him. Eyes meet for a brief moment, (those eyes) before Eddie pulls him into a beer tinged kiss (those lips), shuddering as Elio’s fingers (those fingers) get a grip on his hair.
The kiss seems to be an eternity but also isn’t anything near long enough.
They break for air, both panting.
“Yeah, you do have a bed,” Eddie grins down at him as Elio runs a thumb over his bottom lip and then.
23. holding hands under the table, if you're up for it!
AO3 Touches Ask Game
Hoots is busy tonight, Ronan’s mind awash as the slightly too loud music, the telepathic hum of (mostly) happy minds in various states of intoxication and the conversation happening around them compete for attention.
They try to keep their focus on the rattle of ice against the class as they fiddle with the straw in their soda (their third)
Spirits are high, Steel’s even cracked a smile or two. Of course spirits are high, Rangers have saved the day (or at least the next few hours) helped by the ever mysterious Sidestep.
They take a long sip of the soda, carbonated sugar hits their tongue like Ambrosia.
Although, at the rate things are going the ever mysterious part is getting hard to maintain, harder to escape the newshounds and other hungry onlookers eager for their pound of flesh each time they-
“And then just when I thought ‘Meirda! Will this-” He pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect as he groans, “Pinche cabron shut up,” There’s a slightly too enthusiastic shoulder shove his usual energy bolstered by residual adrenaline and several beers, “Ronan knocked him out!”
Ronan takes another sip, maybe too much, the bubbles burn slightly but they manage to swallow it down.
Yes
Ronan had knocked him out.
There’d been little resistance, paper thin layers of ego, easily torn as they’d reached out and then
THUMP
Out like a light.
Ronan looks at their hand, fingers flexing
And it would’ve been so easy to snuff him out completely.
Ronan swallows, slips the offending hand under the table.
“Yeah,” Ronan snorts, “And I thought you were in love with the sound of your own voice,”
(Was that a smirk from Steel?)
Their hand broaches the distance between them and brushes gently along his knuckles.
“Ouch!” He feigns shock but he’s laughing and squeezes as Ronan links their fingers with his.
Ronan catches Themmy’s expression as they glance over the rim of their soda glass.
AO3 Sacred Romantic Prompts
Early era Sidestep (and as is often the way this prompt has been sitting around for... a while)
Ronan has realised two things.
The acrid sting of antiseptic in the back of their nose still puts them on edge
He looks… softer when he’s asleep (even with the bruises and cuts) and that also puts them on edge
He winces as he opens his eyes.
“Ronan?” He croaks
“Marshall,”
“Meirda,” Charge groans and swallows, “Feels like I was hit with a truck,”
“You were hit with part of a truck,”
He laughs and it turns into a groan as seemingly instant regret hits.
“That wasn’t a joke,” Ronan adds.
There’s a quirk of his lip as if he’s going to chuck in a retort but he instead sighs.
Silence, or at least something close to silence hangs heavy over the pair of them as the various monitors around him beep and whir, something else Ronan finds sets them on edge and they tense their bruised knuckles on the edge of the chair and the slight twinge of pain seems to help keep them in the present moment.
“Ronan?” The soft look of concern brings that tension back even as they tense their hand tighter.
“What?”
“Are you ok?”
“I’m…”
“I get it,”
“What?”
“Hospitals,” Charge sighs, “You’d think I’d be used to them by now, considering,” He snorts, "I Remember when I was… three I ended up in one because I managed to smack my head into the corner of the coffee table,” He points to a spot just above his left eyebrow, “Somehow it didn’t scar,”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah,” He sighs, “Well kinda, mama filled in the details at a later date when I’d ended up in the hospital again, when I was a little older”
“What… what was that for?”
“Crashed my bike,” He pauses, “I think it was when I crashed my bike, or did that happen after when I fell out of a tree?” He risks another chuckle, “Fellow frequent flyer?”
It takes Ronan a moment to catch onto the meaning.
“I-”
He catches his lip, and winces, “Sorry if it’s a-”
Ronan shrugs, “I guess?”
“We can trade war stories another time, maybe over beers,”
“I don’t drink,”
“Well… beer for me then… and-”
“I like cherry cola,”
(Why does volunteering that information feel like handing over nuclear launch codes? Even though actually cherry cola is their… third favourite soda)
“There we go,” Ortega grins, despite the split lip, “Beer for me and cherry cola for you,”
“Yeah… maybe,”
The door is right there, probably one of the easiest exit routes they’ve ever had, just need to give some variation of ‘I should go’ and be on their way.
“You… you wanna stay for a while?” He sighs and before Ronan can stay anything, “There’s actually a pretty good tv in here,” He glances towards the remote sitting on the small table next to the hospital bed.
Ronan passes it, they could-
There’s a brief clunk as the tv turns on and-
“We are still at the scene where earlier today The Rangers aided by a mysterious hooded-”
-click-
“Oh no kids! Dr D. Kay has stolen all the fruit and vegetables this looks like a job for-”
-click-
-Guitar riff- "Hey ghouls! It’s Tungsten bringing you the sickest face melters and we’re turning it up to eleven with the newest release from Year of Hell”
-click-
“The question we’re all asking here is how economically viable is it to keep investing in these… heroes”
-click-
“You’ll never defeat me! I am The Dark Lord of Chaos!”
“I haven’t seen this for years,” He passes Ronan the remote and they put it back down.
Ronan looks at tv as an animated dark armoured figure looms, the picture slightly grainy. Cel animation sharply contrasted over a painted background.
“I’ve… never seen it,”
(At least… Ronan’s pretty sure they’ve never seen it although a twinge of familiarity does prod somewhere in the back of their mind)
“You’re missing out,”
“It looks…” Ronan watches as it cuts to a stiffly animated scene of a golden haired boy lifting a sword and an overlay of… sparkles? covers the screen as a musical sting swells. “Terrible,”
“That’s what makes it good,”
The golden haired boy lets out a battle cry, now transformed into a sparkling knight and well they might as well see how this turns out.
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AO3 They're Dating Prompts
(Although this is written pre relationship funnily enough)
CW for weed use (which you can thank/blame @ml-nolan for that suggestion) and just implications our boy Gerry is going through it (tm)
Gerry had greeted Nemo outside the tube station with just a simple “Hey,” but the brief sag of his shoulders had come across as a silent, “I’m so fucking glad to see you,”
(A sentiment Nemo as much as Nemo doesn’t want to think too hard about they have to admit they’re still getting used to)
Neither of them has said much.
That’s not unusual. Most of the time falling into what both of them would class as comfortable silence, and today a certain pleasant haziness that smoothes out the sharper edges of Nemo’s mind is kicking in that would make that comfortable silence downright cosy.
But
“Gerry,”
“Yeah?”
Nemo pauses, they could just say something mundane, safe. Sort of topics that are tailor made for talks in parks in later summer afternoons that last for hours without meaning anything but also meaning everything.
But
The question rubs like the awkwardly aligned seam on the toe of their sock that they’re becoming way too aware of right now. Must like they’d become way too aware of how the dark circles under his eyes seemed darker, the way he was clinging onto his rucksack strap tighter than usual, and how Nemo swears those grazes on his knuckles they’d spotted when he’d lit his joint weren’t there the last time they’d met and just a general… heaviness around him.
“You ok?”
“I’m-” Gerry takes a swig of his coke, too much, he splutters, swallows, groans then mutters “Fucking bubbles,”
Nemo somehow manages to swallow the giggle.
“That bad huh?” Nemo offers a grin over their own can before they take a swig with way less disastrous consequences.
Gerry snorts.
Gerry sighs.
Gerry starts to fiddle with the tab on the can before he turns to Nemo with a shrug, “I don’t know,”
“You don’t know?”
“Yeah,” He downs the rest of the coke without incident before he settles down on the grass, propped up on his elbows, “I don’t know,”
Nemo manages a quiet, “Oh,” before they join him.
He starts to laugh.
“Not as if I even know what okay means anyway, so how the fuck would I even know if I'm ok-”
Nemo tenses, “Sorry-”
“Shit…” He mutters, “I didn’t mean it like that… It’s ok you asked if I’m ok even if i have no fucking idea what ok even means…”
“Ok?” Nemo interjects.
They both laugh, longer than they probably need to, both of them suddenly feeling light as feathers and candyfloss and other metaphors they can’t quite remember right now.
Gerry clears his throat, “I’m… not used to,” He makes a vague hand gesture, “This,”
Somehow Nemo’s slightly addled brain works out exactly what This means, “All I know is everything has been…” They feel a sour twist in their stomach as he pauses, “Completely fucked since day one, I’ve been completely fucked since day one-”
“Ger?” Nemo’s eyes widen.
“Fuck,” He mumbles barely audible, “Sorry,” He pauses, “Look I’m… are we at the stage of digging into our respective dark nights of the soul and comparing notes?”
Nemo raises an eyebrow, “You do remember how we met right?” And sighs, an unspoken “And what I am-”
“Yeah,” He pauses then snorts, “Guess we kinda skipped a few steps,” before he lies down in the grass.
“Lucky us,” Nemo mutters as they join him, the grass soft under their fingertips (really soft) as they trail their fingers through it.
There’s another pause, a long one where Nemo has been paying quite a lot of attention to a very… cloud shaped cloud.
“I do know one thing though,” Gerry breaks the silence.
“Mhmm?”
“I… I don’t want to get into any of that” he sighs, “Not… right now, I’m actually feeling pretty good right now,” He chuckles, “And don’t want to waste it” He breaches the space between them to brush his little finger against theirs, Nemo turns to look at him, “That I want to spend time with you, being around you… it… helps?”
“Makes you feel normal?” Nemo offers up.
“Nah, Fuck normal,” He grins, “It makes me feel… okay,”
@blasphemous-lies-and-deceit suggested some slowdancing in the kitchen so here it is, I'm still trying to wrangle myself out of whatever writer's block I've been stuck AO3
“How the fuck have I lost a spoon already?” Nemo sighs as they continue their fruitless search of the fairly sparse cutlery drawer. It’s new residents a matching (but cheap) set rather than a mish mash of leftovers from several generations of students, “I-”
Their thoughts derail as they feel the tickle of soft hair and the press of Gerry’s nose as he nuzzles their cheek as he lightly grabs their hips.
Nemo smiles, turns around and stands up on their toes, “What?” They grin up at him as they lace their fingers around the nape of his neck.
“Just making the most of this,” He pulls Nemo closer as he smiles down at them.
“This?” Nemo tilts their head.
“That it’s just us,” He sways them slightly.
He sighs against Nemo’s lips as they pull him into a soft kiss. Rests his hand on the small of Nemo’s back and takes their hand in his.
He takes a step.
Nemo follows.
They’re both light on their sock-clad feet as he leads them around the small kitchen, chuckling as he raises his arm to encourage Nemo to spin before he pulls them in for another kiss, longer this time.
He reaches out and hits the play button on the CD player on the kitchen side. (One of the first things unpacked into the kitchen)
He starts to lead again, fingers laced with theirs as Ministry’s Every Day is Halloween starts to play. Their eyes meet as Nemo shares a glance and a snort that’s a commentary about the suitability of Ministry for slow dancing that he meets with a grin before Nemo rises on their toes to kiss him once more and then-
“Ger!”
Nemo chuckles against his lips as he squeezes, the hand on their lower back having drifted lower.
'coffee in bed' as part of the 'soft™ fic' prompt meme
AO3 A Soft (TM) Fic Prompt Meme
Something short and simple here, also was in the mood to write some she/her Gerry (Gerry in my stuff is genderfluid)
Nemo spoons coffee into a black mug as Gerry rests their chin on the top of their head, her long frame lazily draped over them.
“Morning,” Nemo mumbles as they cup Gerry’s cheek.
“Morning,” Gerry sighs as she leans into Nemo’s palm and lightly scratches her cheek.
“Gerry!” Nemo bites down on a chuckle that escapes as a snort as they’re pulled into a hug and she sways them both slightly, “I’m trying to get the kettle,” they sigh with faux annoyance.
She gives a playful hmpf of protest as she holds Nemo closer, “Come back to bed,” she whines as she nuzzles into their soft, dark curls, “Please,”
“Hmm,”
“Pretty please?” Gerry pouts and loosens their grip and her attention shifts to the crook of Nemo’s neck.
Nemo catches their lip as Gerry nuzzles before they turn around. The sight of Gerry with sleep-rumpled dark hair falling over her shoulders and a lock of it in her face and the hint of an eye tattoo on a pale shoulder just peeking out from under the well-worn loose t-shirt fills them with familiar, sugar-sweet warmth.
They smile and stand up on their toes, lace their fingers at the nape of her neck, “How about you go back to bed?” Press a kiss to the tip of their nose, “And I’ll bring coffee?”
“Fine,” Gerry sighs theatrically as they gently squeeze Nemo’s hips.
Nemo presses another kiss to the tip of her nose before Gerry pulls them in for a soft kiss and chuckles as her hands slip lower and squeeze.
