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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 24 days

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Midnight Rain Ch. 4

Rich Mans World Series | Man After Midnight Series

Donations | Thoughts & Feelings | Chapter 3

“It was fucking wild Seb. She acted like she was her regular old self again and I just know she’s gonna crash and burn it all to the ground.” Brooke said as she helped Seb cook dinner. “Maybe she is just getting back to her normal self Brooke…why is that such a bad thing? It’s been almost 4 months since she lost her child, why does she have to remain in this constant state of depression and wanting to kill herself?” Seb turned asking her as a thick silence fell over the kitchen.

“I’m not going to kill myself. I lost my baby, that alone will keep me fighting for some while. I have boxes that need donated, Seb if you could handle that or call Anthony or someone, I don’t care who. Just get someone to take care of it. The rest of the items not being donated will be moved to my new apartment across town.” you said causing both Sebastian and Brooke to turn and look at you. “You two can take over the lease here…I don’t want it any longer.”

“Y/N…I don’t think that’s such a great idea.” Brooke said walking around the island to you. You looked at her, squaring your shoulders. “While I appreciate everything and I do mean everything you and Sebastian have done for me Brooke, I don’t need pity…I don’t need a mother hen standing over me, making sure I don't cry at the drop of a hat. I need a right hand girl who's going to gut the guy responsible for killing my child. If you can’t provide that service now, then guess what? Move along and I’ll find someone better.” You weren’t vicious in your speech, you were stern. You…you were back. “I packed up….her room as well. Donation boxes are in the hallway, if we could get that taken care of before I get back that would be great. I worked on this all night, I am not changing my mind, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m going to go meet a friend for coffee, I’ll be back later.” you said as Brooke tried to interrupt you multiple times.

“Wait, a friend?” It was Sebastian's turn to follow you. “Are you meeting Chris?” he asked as you grabbed your purse and headed for the hooks that held the keys. “No, I am not. I haven’t spoken to Chris since he left yesterday. I said I was meeting a friend. Not my…” you stopped short before turning to look at Sebastian. “I’m meeting a friend at the Starbucks down the road, if you need me, you may reach me on my cell phone, but unless it’s an emergency, then don’t try to reach me. If I need anything I’ll call you.” you said before snatching up the keys, and walking out the door without another word.

Sebastian looked at Brooke who stared back at him, “What are you waiting for! Grab your purse and let's go!” he said, huffing out. Like they’d ever let you go out alone to meet someone they weren’t familiar with.

“So, how are you?” you asked Steve as you both sat in a small circular booth in the back of your favorite coffee shop. Steve smiled while sipping the coffee before looking at you, “I’m good. Better now that we’re having this mini date.” he chuckled as you laughed softly. “A Mini date? If this is considered a mini date…what do you consider a real date?” you asked as he leaned back, smirking at you. “First of all, I’d pick you up, none of this…” he made a motion with his fingers, “driving yourself…you’re a lady, you should be treated as such. Secondly, we’d go to this nice little italian restaurant, I’d rent it out, so it’s just you and I…play romantic music, take our time enjoying dinner, dancing a little. Then, once dinner was done, we’d go for ice cream, then after enjoying an ice cream, I’d be the perfect gentleman and drop you off at your front door, a soft kiss, and then…I’d call you the next day to set up our next date.” he picked up his coffee as his eyes drifted away from you and out the window to your right.

You stared at him, realizing that you’d never been treated right, Chris never did this, he never treated you like this…you couldn’t recall the last date you went on with him. You smiled and raised your eyebrows as you brought the coffee cup to your lips. “Sounds like you know how to show a girl a good time.” you mumbled out after sipping the hot liquid. You welcomed the burning sensation in your throat, making it difficult to speak for a moment. Steve was incredible, he’d told you about breaking up with his long time girlfriend around 5 months ago, that he’d tried to go out a few times but found the women were really just dating him to get him into bed, which he did not do on the first date.

Steve also told you about his dog, a golden retriever named Boomer, and his fat orange tabby cat, Bernie, "Boomer sounds like a sweetheart," you remarked, recalling Steve's stories about his furry companions. "And Bernie must keep him on his toes," you added with a chuckle.

Steve nodded, a warmth spreading across his face as he talked about his pets. "Yeah, they're quite a pair. Boomer's always up for a game of fetch, and Bernie, well, he thinks he's the king of the house."

You smiled, enjoying the easy conversation and the genuine interest Steve showed in sharing these details with you. It was refreshing, a stark contrast to the indifferent and self-centered attitude Chris had always displayed.

As you both continued chatting, you found yourself captivated not only by Steve's stories but by his attentive manner and the way he made you feel valued and respected. It was something you hadn't realized you'd been missing until now.

The cozy ambiance of the coffee shop seemed to fade into the background as you lost yourself in conversation, the hours passing unnoticed. Before you knew it, Steve glanced at his watch and chuckled softly. "Looks like we've been here longer than I realized." You checked the time as well, surprised at how quickly the afternoon had flown by. "Time really does fly when you're having a good time," you replied with a smile.

Steve nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a flutter through your stomach. "I've really enjoyed today," he admitted sincerely.

"Me too," you replied softly, feeling a sense of contentment settling over you that had never existed before.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then reached across the table, his hand covering yours gently. "Would you like to do this again? Maybe for a... proper date this time?" You looked down at his hand on yours, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd love that," you answered, meeting his gaze with certainty.

And as you sat there, hands intertwined, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected moment, realizing that sometimes, the best things come when you least expect them.

Tag List:

@adriellej @auriel187 @patzammit @bval-1

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sagesolsticewrites · 7 months

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Sundress (Anthony Boyle x Reader)

In which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen

Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for this idea and for being my spicy Anto/Croz hypewoman <3 ily girlieeeee 👏👏 👏

content warnings: mature content (thigh riding, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, praise kink, swearing, Anthony Boyle being entirely too sweet and sexy for this world 🥴 (again: this is for mature audiences only!! 18+!!)

word count: 2.7k (ANTHONY BOYLE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME 😩)

Masterlist

You stand in front of your closet, fighting off a grin of anticipation.

The press tours for Masters of the Air and Manhunt had finally come to a close, and you had a few days of respite before your boyfriend went off to his next project.

Of course, with Anthony, this meant date night.

You linger near your reliable jeans-and-a-nice-top combos for a moment before the sundresses hanging near the back catch your eye.

The weather has been getting warmer, you think, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to wear these…

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snag one of your favorites off the hanger and change into it, twirling to see every angle in front of the mirror.

It complements your curves perfectly, hanging at just the right length that won’t make you nervous about walking up any stairs but isn’t too modest.

You make quick work of your makeup and jewelry, making sure to include the delicate necklace that Anthony gifted you for your first anniversary together, and before too long there’s a knock at the door.

Your boyfriend, fresh from some last-minute press responsibilities, was right on time.

You rush towards the door, the clacking of your heels on the floor surely announcing your excitement to Anthony as you fling it open.

“Hi,” you say, barely able to speak around your grin.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you in for a swift kiss— the first you’ve shared in weeks. Reluctantly, the two of you eventually pull away for air and he steps inside, eyes raking over your figure, “You look… absolutely fantastic.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, twirling so he can see how the dress fans out around you. “You don’t look too bad, yourself.” You add, eyeing the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down revealing entirely too attractive forearms and the patch of chest hair just visible underneath the effortlessly unbuttoned top buttons — bless his stylist, who had clearly attended the Austin Butler School of Buttoning Shirts — all complemented perfectly with sleek black pants.

“Thank you, my love. I’m, uh…” he trails off as he watches your dress settle around you, then seems to jolt back to himself after barely a second, “I’m just gonna go grab a jacket and then we’ll head out, alright?”

He returns soon, now armed with a black suit jacket, and you glance down at the sundress that now seems a bit too casual for what he’s wearing.

However, when you ask if you should change, his answer is a swift, decisive, “No.”

“You look stunning just as you are, darling,” he amends his sharp response, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before escorting you out the door.

Anthony is his usual gentlemanly self while you’re out: he pulls your seat out and waits for you to sit down first when you arrive at your favorite Italian restaurant, happily splits a dessert with you (though if you happened to end up with the bigger half, despite your insistence that you split it equally, well… it wasn’t a crime to treat his girl, was it?), and when Frank Sinatra starts playing on the speakers overhead, he jumps to his feet and extends his hand to you, twirling you around the floor with not a single care for the eyes watching when you gladly accept and pulling you in for a sweet kiss as the song ends, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you close.

“So… ready to head home, sweetheart?” He asks as the two of you return to your seats.

“I— yes, I guess so?” You reply, slightly confused. Normally Anto loved to keep you out with him for as long as possible; returning home directly after dessert was a rarity.

He scrambles to assure you that he would be more than happy to stay out if you want, but something about the way his fingertips dance over your knee under the table, toying with the lace edging of your dress, makes you agree that it’s time to call it a night.

The air between the two of you as you head home is thick and hot, the anticipation of something building.

And that anticipation comes to a head as you enter the privacy of your home, finding yourself pinned to the inside of the door as soon as it closes.

“Sweetheart,” Anthony nearly growls against your lips, hands firm on your waist as his voice grows increasingly more strangled, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I don’t—” You just barely choke back a moan. You haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but if it’s getting him to manhandle you like this after so long away…

“This dress,” he groans, bunching the flimsy fabric in his fists, “I’ve been gone for weeks, and the first thing I see is you in this little thing—” he moves as he speaks, from murmuring against your own lips to traveling down back to your ear and along your neck, “— and I take you out to dinner, and dessert, and dancing—” he punctuates each item with a light nip to your skin, making you jolt.

“—when all I really want to do,” he returns to speaking directly in your ear, his voice a soft growl that does startling things to your heart rate, “is see how pretty you look in this dress when I fuck you in it.”

Your entire body turns to jello, and the only thing keeping you upright is Anthony’s hands on your hips and his leg wedged in between yours. You can’t help but let out a sharp gasp when your core comes into contact with his leg, and his already dilated eyes turn almost entirely black at the sound.

“C’mere, baby,” he whispers, pulling you along to the bedroom, discarding his jacket somewhere in the house as he does.

You scramble to kick off your heels as you enter the dimly-lit room, your boyfriend wasting no time in untucking and unbuttoning his shirt from his perch on the edge of the bed.

“No,” he says sharply when your fingers move to the straps of your dress, “Keep it on.”

Your breath catches, biting your lip to stifle a moan as you realize he was serious.

He wordlessly beckons you closer, and you step forward obediently, standing between his spread legs. Pinching your chin, he tugs you down for a gentle kiss that’s fairly at odds with his dominating persona at the moment.

“This okay?” he murmurs softly against your lips, and somehow the gentle check-in combined with the events happening now are enough to make you even wetter than you already are.

You nod, adding a soft “Yes” when you remember he won’t do anything unless you’ve given a verbal okay.

That settled, he captures your lips in a decidedly more heated kiss, hands moving down to grip your hips as he adjusts so you’re straddling his thigh.

You meet his scorching gaze, practically feeling yourself melting as you realize what he intends to do.

“Noticed you seemed to like this earlier, my love,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking.

You quickly move to clutch at his shoulders as he drags your clothed core along his quadricep, mouth opening in a silent moan.

He huffs out a laugh, nudging your nose with his own as he bunches up the soft fabric of your dress.

“I was right, you do look very pretty like that,” he mumbles, “but I don’t even get to hear your pretty noises? C’mon, honey…”

He flexes his thigh, the new angle making you jump as you gasp, “Anthony, oh my god—”

“Just like that, sweet girl,” he growls into your mouth, scattering kisses all down your neck and chest as your pace speeds up.

A familiar tension builds just below your belly as you clutch yourself against him, throwing your head back and rolling your hips against his still-clothed thigh faster, faster, faster, Anthony murmuring soft praise and encouragement all the while.

“Anthony,” you gasp into his mouth, one hand clutching at his shoulder while the other buries itself in his dark curls as you feel yourself teetering on the precipice of your release, “‘M gonna—”

Your warning is cut off by a sharp, keening whine when Anthony grips your hips firmly, stopping their motion just before you tip over the edge.

“No, Ant—” you whine, struggling against his grip as your almost-orgasm fades, “Please, I was so close…”

“‘Msorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, rising with you as you stand on wobbly legs, “I promise I’ll make this next part worth it,” He murmurs teasingly as he gently lays you back on the bed.

He shucks off his shirt before climbing on top of you, giving you a knowing smirk as you eye the exposed skin, your gaze lingering on the fully-revealed chest hair and the wet patch just barely visible on his thigh. The bed dips with his weight as his limbs cage you in, one hand delicately tracing the curves and lines of your body, making you shiver.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, your hands eagerly traveling along his skin.

“If you’re gonna cum, sweetheart,” he breathes in a low, gravelly tone that sends heat straight to your core, “it’s gonna be on my mouth before anything else.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve truly actually turned to liquid, especially if the increasing wetness between your thighs is any indication, but your boyfriend proves you’re still deliciously solid, his lips tracing a path down your neck to where the tops of your breasts are just barely exposed by your dress.

Your fingers creep up to pull your dress down, to fully expose your chest so he can scatter kisses over every inch of you, but Anthony stops you.

His pretty brown eyes, molten with heat, meet yours as he stops you from tugging desperately at your dress.

“I told you, baby,” he says, keeping eye contact as he drags his lips over your clothed chest, paying special attention to your quickly hardening nipples peeking through the fabric before moving lower.

“Keep. It. On.”

You throw your head back, gasping softly as his lips travel down, down, down, along your stomach and hips down to your thighs.

He carefully slides the now irreparably wrinkled fabric up, flipping up the hem to reveal your hips and thighs and the lacy fabric covering your core.

He wastes no time in pressing kisses to you over your underwear, your hips bucking up into him as you chase the feeling of his mouth on you.

Little tease that he is, he keeps his mouth just out of reach as he peels off the soaked lace fabric

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, your own breath catching as he drags his fingertips through your folds and they come away dripping, “All this for me?”

You can only whine, having long ago lost the ability to form words.

He prolongs your torment by kissing a slow, torturous path up the inside of each of your thighs before finally — finally — diving into you, eagerly licking into your folds.

You let out a choked gasp as he licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans against you, his voice sending vibrations through your core, “Taste even better than I remembered.”

“A-Ant—“ you stutter out a warning, that familiar tension building once again.

You feel him grin against you, and lord if that doesn’t send all kinds of sparks racing through your body, a feeling that only intensifies as his thumb comes up to circle your clit, a litany of praise and encouragement falling from his lips.

“‘M not gonna stop you this time, sweetheart, just let go,” he murmurs against you, fingers and tongue working overtime on your core, “C’mon baby, please, wanna taste you—”

You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, Anthony dutifully guiding you through your climax.

You come back to yourself, shuddering, as your boyfriend pulls away to brush a gentle kiss to your hipbone, mouth glistening and eyes nearly black with desire.

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he groans, trailing back up to capture your lips with his.

You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The two of you stay like that for a while, Ant letting you recover, until the bulge pressing into your thigh becomes too much to ignore.

He gasps into your mouth as your hand moves down to palm at him through his slacks.

“Darlin’— shit, you’re ready for me already?”

As if your furious nodding wasn’t enough of an answer, you move your hand more insistently against him.

“Fuck, fuck, okay—” he hisses, moving off of you to rid himself of his his pants and boxers.

You watch, bottom lip caught between your teeth, as his length springs free from his underwear, tip already leaking.

He returns to hover over you, brushing kisses all over your face and neck as he strokes himself a few times.

You can’t resist touching him, and your fingertips grazing along his length has his eyes fluttering shut.

“Not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” he warns with a gasp, breath hot against your cheek.

You reluctantly retract your fingers, barely stifling a moan when his tip brushes against you as he positions himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock on yours, watching your face contort in pleasure as he slowly, slowly, enters you.

“You ready, darlin’?” He breathes against your lips after a moment to let you adjust.

The frantic “yes” that escapes you isn’t so much a word as a gasp, and your thoughts turn to static as he begins to thrust into you with slow, languid strokes.

Your breaths mingle, his exhales becoming your inhales, the thin fabric of your sundress providing a delicious friction as you feel every inch of him pressed against you.

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, increasing his pace as your breathing becomes heavier, “Fuck, I missed this, I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you whine into his mouth, your hand fisting his soft dark curls, “Missed you so much, Ant—”

His mouth closes the millimeters of distance between the two of you, crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss.

You let out a muffled moan as his hips grind against yours faster and faster, feeling your second orgasm of the night building.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” Anthony groans, hips stuttering, letting out a soft “fuck” when you tell him you’re almost there, too.

“C’mon, come for me darlin’” he grinds out against your mouth, “‘M right behind you, please, please, come for me, honey…”

You reach your second climax with a cry, Anthony muffling his own in your neck as he spills into you, thrusting slowly until he’s spent.

The two of you stay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, until Anthony lifts his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“So,” he says breathlessly, toying with the hopelessly wrinkled fabric of your dress, “You’ll be wearing these more often, yeah?”

You huff out a laugh. “If you promise not to ruin them, absolutely.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ll buy you a thousand more of these. Whatever you want. As long as I know there’s at least one in your closet for me to enjoy.”

He murmurs the last sentence against your lips, punctuating it with a long, slow kiss that has you grinning against him.

You bump your nose against his as he pulls away, your thumb stroking his cheek.

“Welcome home, honey.”

His gaze softens, pulling you in for another brief, gentle kiss.

“Thank you, my love.”

#winnie said one (1) thing about thigh riding anthony in a dress and the hornybrain took it and RAN fjskfj #hope y’all liked it ☺️#my writing #anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle smut #masters of the air #masters of the air cast #anthony boyle fic #anthony boyle imagine

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billy-joel-ultimate-song-bracket · 4 months

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Round 5 Poll 1

Please listen to both songs before voting!

youtube

Propaganda is allowed!

#billy joel #billy joel ultimate song bracket #round 5 #Youtube

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zaebeecee · 5 months

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To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 7/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

Chapter 7 art by @fletchingbrilliant

•••

Something of an interlude chapter and a bit shorter, sorry about that. Doctor stuff slowed me down today.

•••

Guillermo’s was a small cafe on the fifteenth floor of an office building in the Greed District. It was ludicrously exclusive, the kind of place that you had to really know someone in order to get into, and it served as close to real Italian food as you could find in Hell. It was one of the few decent restaurants that wasn’t seen as part of Rosie’s overlord territory, and often saw business from overlords, various high-ranking Hellborn visiting the Pride ring, a few of the Goetian nobility, and even (on one occasion, judging by the framed and signed photo on the wall) the famous imp clown, Fizzarolli. You needed a reservation, and it could take weeks or even months to get in.

Angel Dust had never once had to wait to get into Guillermo’s. No matter when he showed up, there was a table for him, no questions asked. This was because Angel had done the place a favor by keeping the Vees from attempting to interfere with it, a thing that could easily ruin any business. And the reason Angel did them such a favor was because the place was funded—and unofficially managed by—his older brother, Arackniss.

Their entire living existence, Angel and Arackniss had a difficult relationship. Volatile, and often violent, they had at least been unified in their shared hatred of their parents and had managed to become amicable business partners after the death of their father and Arackniss’s subsequent management of the Family Business.

Arackniss had never said it, but Angel was pretty sure that Anthony’s overdose had been the final nail in the coffin of their animosity, and now, they got along well enough for two guys with nothing in common who didn’t see each other for years at a time. It had its perks, especially since Arackniss was still tangled up in Hell’s mafia and had more connections than Vox had ports.

Family is family, I guess. Even down here.

Angel was taken to a table near the window the moment he arrived, and he warned them that Cherri was coming, both so they would let her in and so they could… well, prepare for her presence. This was one of their regular spots, after all—just because Angel never saw Arackniss, and just because they no longer wanted to kill each other, didn’t mean Angel wanted to stop being an annoying little brother who took advantage of big bro’s position—and while Cherri had never caused any real property damage, she had destroyed a few tables, quite a few place settings, and at least one old bitch’s ugly hat. Because of that, the restaurant had started taking special precautions when they knew she was going to be there.

There had once been discussion among the staff about banning both of them. Within a week, half of them had been silently replaced, and nothing more was said about it.

Cherri arrived ten minutes later, looking the same sort of artistic hot mess she always did. It wasn’t unusual for her to be late, generally because she either picked a fight on her way anywhere or had one picked with her, and she could never leave that fight alone until she had finished it.

“Oh my god I hate sharks,” she muttered as she slid into the chair across from Angel. “Hey, baby, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I just got here,” Angel said, grinning at her irritated tone. “How’s tricks?”

“Tricky.”

When the waiter came by, Cherri ordered a Bloody Mary, but Angel just asked for water. As soon as the imp was gone, Angel noticed her staring at him with one large and squinting eye. “What?”

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“Something is wrong,” she said. “You never pass up the chance to drink, and besides, you only wanna come here when something is bothering you.”

“I don’t always drink, and— wait, what?” Angel frowned. “The hell I do.”

“The hell you don’t,” Cherri said. “You always wanna come here when you’re upset about something because your brother owns this place and it’s like letting your big bro keep you safe.”

Angel barked out a laugh. “Oh, that is utter bullshit. Rack and I ain’t never been those kinda brothers.”

“Call it bullshit all you want, you still always have some kind of life-altering drama when you wanna meet here.” The imp came back, gave them their drinks, and then retreated; they always got the same food, so nobody bothered asking them anymore. “And you do, don’t you?” Cherri continued like she hadn’t been interrupted.

“…okay, first off, fuck you. Second, just because I got shit to tell you don’t mean you’re right.”

Cherri smirked, her cross-shaped pupil flickering a brighter pink in amusement. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Dish.”

Angel sighed, drumming one set of fingers on the table as he thought about how best to start. He could admit when there was a flaw in his own plan, and for all that he wanted Cherri to snap him back to reality, he hadn’t included the part where he had to actually tell her what the fuck was happening. “…it’s… I need you to give me your hundred percent honest opinion about someone. No holds barred.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not a problem. Who?”

Angel nodded. “…Alastor.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Alastor? Like, Mister Radio Face? That guy?” Angel nodded. “The last time I gave you any kind of opinion on him, you told me I was too hard on him because I didn’t know him.”

“…I didn’t say that, did I?” Angel asked, deflating a little.

“Oh, bitch, you did,” Cherri said with a humorless laugh. “And you were really adamant, too.”

Angel sighed and put his head in two of his hands, his other two arms folded on the table. “Just humor me, Cherri.”

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out, before she started speaking fairly quickly. “I think he’s a dangerous and unstable psychopath who’s probably never experienced a real emotion in his life and who gets his kicks manipulating everyone he meets for the hell of it. He’s mean, he’s violent, he’s untrustworthy, he’s completely unlikeable, and he smells terrible. The only two positives I have is that he’s as strong as he claims to be and he has a great radio voice, but otherwise, I wouldn’t consider him worth the powder it would take to blow him up.”

Angel sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you would say.”

When he finally lowered his hands, he saw Cherri watching him expectantly. As soon as she realized Angel wasn’t going to say anything, she asked, “Why are you so interested in my opinion on the radio jackass, anyway? You already know I don’t like him.”

“I know, I know, nobody does,” Angel said, unable to keep a level of distress out of his voice. “It… I need somebody to knock some sense into me, that’s all. And if I tell you why, I really, really need you to stay calm.”

“I make no promises.”

“Then I ain’t tellin’ you.”

“Fuck…” Cherri sighed and rolled her eyes, then crossed her arms. “Okay. I will do my best. Spit it out.”

Angel drew a deep, steadying breath. “He’s my soulmate.”

There was a scream at the next table as someone’s plate of spaghetti exploded.

“Cherri!” Angel hissed.

“I’m sorry!” she said, matching his tone, looking a combination of furious and in absolute shock. “But you… you have got to be fucking kidding me! The Radio Demon?!”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Angel waved his hands at her. “You told me you’d try to keep a lid on it!”

“The table’s still here, isn’t it?” Cherri placed her hands on the tabletop, like she was emphasizing her point, before she took a few slow breaths. “Okay. Alright. I’m fine, at least as fine as I’m gonna get. What happened?”

She did seem to calm down considerably as Angel told her about the night in the kitchen, going into more detail with her than he had with Husk. When he was finished, they sat in silence for a moment, Angel picking lightly at his food.

“And you’re sure he has one, too?” Cherri asked.

“Well, I saw it,” Angel said. “But… I mean, I got one and it activated when he touched me, don’t that mean he’s got one too?”

Cherri shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s not always… they don’t always come in pairs,” she said. “I mean, it’s Hell, right? Wouldn’t be Hell if everybody had a destined happy ending.”

“Ain’t it bad enough, bein’ tied to someone for all eternity?” Angel asked with a sigh.

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“We’re figuring out how to break it,” Angel said. “Val found out it activated, so if I don’t do it, the Vees will. Alastor’s friend Rosie says she can find a… a ritual, or a spell, or some shit that can do it. But she says we have to finish our bond, so we’ve started… hanging out, I guess. He’s makin’ me dinner tonight.”

Cherri blinked slowly at him. “Wouldn’t trust a single thing he called food.” Angel couldn’t help a small laugh at that, but it died quickly. “So… how does he feel about it?” Cherri asked, with an edge of danger in her voice that he found perplexing.

“I… whaddya mean?”

“You said you’re breaking it because of the Vees. How does he feel about it?” Cherri clarified. “He isn’t exactly shy about his opinions, I know you know.”

“Oh, he’s fuckin’ thrilled about the idea of breakin’ it. Can’t wait to get rid of the burden, I guess,” Angel said with a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave.

Strangely, Cherri said, “That asshole.”

Angel blinked at her. “Wait, what?”

She didn’t back down. “What kind of callous dick would be excited about breaking a soul bond with you??”

“I… thought you didn’t like him,” Angel said, one eyebrow arching.

“I don’t!” she declared in the same tone. “But that’s not the fucking point! How dare he consider a soul bond with you to be a burden on him! He’s the absolute worst creature that Hell had the audacity to spit out of whatever pit he came from, and you are perfect! He should be fucking honored that he got matched up with you!”

Angel couldn’t help it; he started giggling, his face heating up as tears welled in his eyes. He pressed one hand over his mouth. “Cherri…!”

“I’m serious,” she said, and she absolutely sounded it. “Ungrateful, disrespectful gripper. God, I should go blow him up for that!”

Angel’s giggles turned into laughter. “Stop stop stop don’t do that…!”

Cherri huffed in irritation and stabbed her pasta with her fork. “Well, I’m going to think about it really hard.” She hesitated, then looked up at him again. “You didn’t explain what you meant earlier.”

“About what?”

“You said you needed sense knocked into you. You didn’t say why.”

Angel looked down. “Right. I didn’t.” He sighed, folding his arms on the table again “I… I don’t know if it’s the mark, or… We went out last night. To a club. Rosie said it’d be a good idea for us to spend time together, and we both like jazz and dancing. So…” He shrugged a little. “And we had a real good time, y’know? Or, I mean, I did, anyway. I think he did. And I liked… I liked spending time with him. I like listening to him talk. He’s funny, and he’s charming, and he’s a kinda crass I ain’t really used to. He’s a good cook, he’s polite most of the time, he doesn’t… y’know.”

Cherri waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “He doesn’t treat you like a whore.”

“…yeah.”

“I guess he wouldn’t. He doesn’t seem to have interest in that.” Cherri tapped her fingers on the table. “…baby… I don’t have anything I can tell you that you don’t already know. You know who he is, you know what he’s like, and you know what will happen if you keep going this way.”

“I know,” Angel agreed softly. “But I… I can’t help it. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t want to—…” He sighed. “I think about breakin’ the bond and losin’… whatever this is, and I feel kinda like freakin’ out.”

Cherri nodded. “I get it,” she said. “But hey. Angel. After it breaks, you two can still be friends, can’t you?”

Can we?

I don’t know.

“I hope so.”

•••

Alastor was, above all things, a creature that had been molded for a solitary lifestyle.

That had always suited Alastor just fine, if one asked him. His mother said he had been a strange, wrong child even as a baby—“My little curse,” she had called him, with more affection than a being like him had ever warranted—and he couldn’t remember a time in his living existence that he had ever had someone he could truthfully call a friend. Hell was no exception to this, and for nearly one hundred years, Alastor had cheerfully stalked the streets of Pentagram City, leaving nothing but fear in his wake.

Except Rosie, of course, but she hardly counted. She was the overlord of the cannibals, and if he couldn’t make friends with someone like that, he supposed he was as hopeless as most believed him to be.

The knowledge of soul marks had been, at first, a shock. It hadn’t been long for it to turn into an insult, however, as Alastor wondered who could possibly have the gall to presume to saddle him with some doe-eyed, simpering creature who would be nothing but an inconvenience.

He had once told Husker and Niffty that, should his soulmate ever be unfortunate enough to find him, he would make sure they received everything that a bond with the Radio Demon warranted. As he described the dishes he would make with their organs, the tools he would make with their bones, and the clothing he would make with their skin… Alastor still remembered with open fondness the look of terror on old Husker’s face as his ears flattened and his wings shivered. Maybe he was imagining it happening to him, or perhaps, to whoever his bond tied him to.

And that was good. He should have imagined that. Alastor would not be any gentler with the mates of his pets than he would be with his own.

Even Niffty had looked almost disturbed, by the end of his speech.

Of course, for all his talk, Alastor had never truly wished to find his soul mate. Fun as it would be to make new boots out of their belly skin, it would still come with the knowledge that he had been shackled to someone, even for such a short period of time. Alastor had never seen the point of romance, always viewing it as ridiculous at best and a complete waste of time at worst, and to think of it as even more compulsory than the society in which he was raised was downright offensive.

He had not planned on Angel Dust stirring that pain in his mark. Even with its shape… Alastor had never once contemplated that it might be him.

Of course, he was reasonable enough to think that it could have simply been because he didn’t want it to be Angel Dust. There had been no way to anticipate the creature he had first met upon setting foot into the hotel, a figure he knew well simply through social mitosis. A porn star, an employee of the Vees. Easy to write off. Easier to ignore.

But then Angel Dust had… hit on him, so flippantly and casually, almost like he was making a joke. And when Alastor had refused, Angel Dust never lost his smile, just shrugging and telling Alastor it was his loss. Alastor had anticipated that would be the end of it—he had made it quite clear he was not a potential john, and couldn’t fathom any other reason for Valentino’s prostitute to interact with him—but it wasn’t the end of it.

Alastor was the Radio Demon. He had toppled the empires of overlords who had controlled Hell for decades, centuries, before his death. He was a figure that even those who did not know him ran from. He inspired more than fear, he inspired terror.

And, within a week of knowing him, Angel Dust had given him four nicknames (each more ridiculous than the last), he had suggested they film a pornography together as a commercial to attract guests, and he had tried no less than seven times to see how strict his five foot rule was. And, through it all, he had remained so infuriatingly affable.

It hadn’t taken long for Alastor to contemplate the pros and cons of killing him. The pros were many—chief among them that he wouldn’t have to put up with Angel Dust anymore—but the two cons outweighed the rest. The first was that he was the hotel’s celebrity guest and it wouldn’t have been good for Charlie’s project to lose him.

The second was that Alastor simply didn’t want him gone.

He told himself many things. Maybe he just found the spider amusing. Maybe he wasn’t worth Alastor’s time and knife. Maybe Alastor simply thought that the years of drugs and sex and whatever Valentino had done would make Angel Dust’s meat unfit for consumption. And because Alastor so rarely reevaluated someone once passing judgment on them, the fact that he was constantly reevaluating the spider was infuriating.

But it was the mark. It had to be. And soon, that mark would be gone.

“Rosie, my dear!” Alastor called as he opened the door to her emporium and strode inside, twirling his microphone staff with a practiced ease. The shop was empty—not unusual for this time in the afternoon—and he didn’t immediately set eyes on her. “Are you here?”

“I’m in my work room, Alastor!” Rosie called. Alastor stepped around the counter and dutifully followed the sound of her voice, finding her sitting on a couch and hemming what appeared to be a deep green formal gown. “Hello, darling, so nice to see you so soon,” she said.

“Yes, well, I find myself in need of your services,” Alastor said, setting the end of his staff on the floor and placing one hand over the casing of the microphone. “I’m going to be making quite the dinner tonight and I require some rather specialized ingredients. Where better to come but to the mistress of the culinary arts herself?”

Rosie laughed. “Flatterer,” she said, with a smile that told him it worked. “Just let me finish this hem and I’ll get you all set up. What’s the occasion?”

“No real occasion,” Alastor said, settling on a plush ottoman near her to wait. “I’m simply certain that Angel Dust has not had anything resembling a proper meal in many years, excepting the jambalaya I made the other night. I plan to rectify that.”

“Oh, it’s for Angie, is it?” Rosie asked with a bright smile.

Alastor was fairly certain he didn’t care for her tone, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. “Yes,” he said simply.

Rosie nodded, her smile turning to something… untrustworthy, Alastor would call it. “I hear he helped you cook the other night.”

“Yes, he helped me with the jambalaya,” Alastor said. “He was so very insistent, and he has so many hands, I thought it would be a crime not to make use of them.” Rosie made a humming noise, and Alastor stared at her. “What.”

“Oh, nothing, sweetie, nothing. Glad to hear the two of you are getting along.”

“As well as two such vastly different people can, I suppose,” Alastor said lightly. “But I will admit that the outing he suggested yesterday was quite entertaining. I knew he did something that some people consider dancing, of a sort, but I had no idea that he truly knew how to dance.”

Rosie laughed. “He got you to go out dancing, hm? I didn’t think you went to clubs.”

“I don’t!” Alastor said brightly. “But they had serviceable rye and their house band’s ability to play jazz was wholly inoffensive. Quite the surprise, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear you’re making a friend.”

Alastor felt the record needle in his head—more a metaphorical description than anything actually tangible or physical—skip for a brief moment, and heard her giggle as she registered the audio stutter that went along with it. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Of course you wouldn��t,” Rosie said, and despite the fact that her eyes were nothing but black voids, he knew she was rolling them. “But it took you three decades to admit that we were friends, and that was after you had been visiting me at least once every two weeks.”

“You are quite the conversationalist,” Alastor admitted. “Never thought I would find that in Hell, of all places.”

“It seems Angie is quite the conversationalist as well.”

Alastor squinted at her. “He hardly spoke when I brought him here. How do you come to that conclusion?”

“Because you had a good time going out and drinking with him,” Rosie said. “And you’re having dinner with him tonight. If you found him to be a bore, getting you to spend time together would be like pulling teeth, no matter how badly you want your bond broken.”

Alastor made a noise that was something like a growl low in his throat and looked away; he felt his ears flick backwards, and they ignored his mental urging to stand back up. “Yes. Well. …I suppose I appreciate his… candor, and he has quite the amusing sense of humor if you can get him away from more carnal topics. Fascinating perspective on life, as well; I’ll admit I never spent much time conversing with—” He cut himself off before he could say the first phrase that came to mind, both unbidden and unwanted.

With his kind.

No.

No, that was never something Alastor would use to describe another. Particularly not one that society viewed as lesser.

“With… what was the phrase he used… prostitution whoreses,” he said instead, doing his best approximation of Angel Dust’s Brooklyn accent and drawing a laugh from Rosie. “The kinds of people he has met, the sorts of jobs he has done… fascinating! He spared me the gory details, as it were, but the things people will pay actual money for seem to belong on quite the inexhaustible list.”

Rosie nodded, finishing off her seam. “Like I said. Friends.”

“You try my patience, my dear.”

“I know. Perhaps you should try it sometime.” He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a response, and she got to her feet with a bright smile. “Come along, then. I’m sure you’ll need to get back and start cooking, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Alastor said, gathering himself again before he followed her from the room. He had the mind to ask her about her progress on discerning the ritual to break the bond.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t know why he didn’t ask, but he didn’t.

It simply gave him an odd and unpleasant feeling. It was the bond talking, Alastor knew that, but knowing it didn’t make the sensation more tolerable. It was nothing like the feeling he’d had when asking Angel Dust if he would like to have dinner, a strange trepidation mixed with anticipation that made it difficult to even properly form the question. And the feeling when he had accepted…

Was it relief? Perhaps.

It wasn’t happiness. Alastor never felt happiness, not anymore.

But Alastor couldn’t imagine why Angel Dust saying yes would make him feel relieved. Of course Angel Dust would accept. He wanted this bond gone as much as Alastor did himself, of that he was certain. The thought was a different sort of unpleasant, one that he couldn’t put a name to. It felt like it would go very deep if he followed it, and where those depths would lead, he couldn’t begin to guess.

Of course, he didn’t blame Angel Dust for wanting to sever their bond.

He wouldn’t want himself as a soulmate, either.

•••

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