#i think it has somethin to do with the default eyes or somethin

[thedeafprophet]

......well i'd better figure out which mod is causing this glitch O_O

[toxicanonymity]

🔥 tinder

3.5k / stepdad!joel x f!reader / stepdad master

A/N: Picks up after Fandango. Nothing has happened with the Mom before this, so ignore that hypothetical drabble.

Warnings: I8+ smut, mdni. stepcest, big girthy age gap, angst. jacking off, groping, oral F receiving. P in V but not with each other. cheating on each other, kind of. graphically overhearing your mom and him have sex :(. Joel's state of mind when he did it.

"Firm handshake," Joel says, then takes a seat on the other side of you.  Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle.  He asks about your date.  Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming. 

Joel is weird after his introspective drive home from your apartment. When you get back to their house, he silently brings the TV in for you, biceps bulging through his thin undershirt.  He sets it up in your room and won’t make eye contact the whole time he’s in your room.  Seems like everything went to hell as soon as you asked about their marriage.  

“Joel.”  He doesn't look. He bends over and his shirt rides up as he plugs the last thing into the TV.  

“Joel, what the hell” 

“What?” he snaps,  “What do you want?”  

You’re not sure what to say, so your default sarcasm spills out.  “What, you can’t tell?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Somethin’ you need right now, or am I done here?” He tosses the remote control onto your bed. He won’t even get within three feet of you. 

“You don’t want me to answer that,” you say. 

He scoffs and leaves, closing the door behind him.  

-

Thanksgiving night, your mom gets home and the three of you eat dinner together.  She asks how the movie was.  Joel blushes and plays with his food, but you smoothly start telling her all about the Exorcist until she changes the subject since she doesn’t like horror.    

“I was thinking, honey, why don’t you come with us to Mexico?”

“I thought you were going for a conference,” you say.

“Yeah, well.  You know how that is.  They wouldn’t have it at the beach if they didn’t expect us to have a little fun.”  She looks at Joel.  Joel is staring at his plate.  She continues, “We were gonna add a couple of days, make a vacation of it.  You could bring a friend if you want.” 

You nod.  “Or just the three of us?”

“Sure,” she says.  Joel puts his fork down and sits back in his chair.  “Ate too much earlier,” he says and excuses himself from the table.  You don’t see him again that night. 

-

The next morning, you go black Friday shopping with both of them.  At most stores, Joel waits in the car sulking, pondering his life.  You buy a new TV for your apartment, a few new bikinis for the trip, and your Mom buys Joel a bunch of new clothes.  You’re going to miss the shrunken ones.   After you get home, your Mom leaves to do more shopping and Joel watches football in the ] living room. You put on a new bikini and go downstairs to model it for him. 

“Well what do you think?” you ask. 

He quickly scans your body, his eyes not lingering anywhere.  “Looks great,” he says flatly, then looks back at the TV.   

You sit down next to him, elbow on the back of the sofa with your head propped up in your hand.  He tries not to look. 

“Give me a break,” he says. 

“I just wanna know if you like it,” you say.  

“Said it looks great.” 

You adjust the cups of the top. “It’s not too much?” 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He refuses to look.   “Just get outta here, okay?”

“Okay, I have three more to try on.” 

“Please don’t,” he says and adjusts the crotch of his sweatpants.

“I dunno why you’re punishing me for your own feelings,” you retort. 

He sighs as though too tired to even try.  

“Maybe I’ll go on that tinder date after all.”  You’re still not planning on it at this point, you just want Joel to loosen up again and hope the threat might help. 

Joel scowls at you.  He knows he can’t tell you not to.  He knows it’s not fair.  “Would you grow up,” he says. 

Your laugh is short and silent.  “I’ll send the other suits on snapchat.” 

You go back to your room and try them on, taking videos and pictures and sending them to Joel. “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say in a low, sultry voice, then turn the camera to the mirror to show  your ass hanging out of a cheeky pair of boy shorts.  You take some even hotter footage and send it all in real time. 

Joel doesn’t open the snapchats right away.  But soon, you hear the TV turn off downstairs, then he goes up to the master bedroom and closes the door. 

-

You smile to yourself and put on a robe.  He’s totally about to jack off.  Sure enough, a minute or two later, Snapchat tells you when he starts watching your snaps.  You tiptoe into the hall to listen. You sneak as close to his door as you can get without giving yourself away.  You want to hear him do it unrestrained by your presence. 

“God damn,” he sighs and your nipples harden at the sound.  

“I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say through his phone, and he replays it.  “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.”  And again.  “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.” 

He breathes loudly and you hear the wet squish of his fist around his cock.  

“Uggghh,” he groans and you know he must be watching the one where you untie the top entirely and let it hang between your breasts.  Outside his door, you slip your hand into your swimsuit and touch yourself as you listen to him breathe heavily.  He audibly pleasures himself  while you put on a show and strip for him on his phone.  He’s so fucking hot.  

“Jesus,” he says to himself.  In snapchat, you must be pulling the swimsuit aside to show him your juicy cunt and how wet you are.  You brought your phone with you in your robe so you can see how many snaps he has left to watch. That’s one of the last. 

“It’s yours, Joel,” you say from his phone.  “Come and get it.” 

“Fuck me,” he sighs and the sound of his voice makes you lose control of your hand.  You put your hand on the door knob and open it. 

His phone repeats, “It’s yours, Joel.  Come and get it. . . It’s yours, Joel.  Come and get it.”  You see the reflection of the explicit video in his glasses.  He fumbles with his phone to stop it from playing again. 

“What the hell are you doin’ here,” he whispers gruffly with his cheeks pink. 

“If you’re not gonna come get it. . .” you say, putting your hands in the pockets of your robe and splaying them out to show your whole body. 

“Your mom’s on her way home right now.” 

“That’s what you wanna talk about?”  You take a hand out of your robe pocket and slip it into your swimsuit, dipping a finger into your pussy, letting your head fall back, exposing your neck as you bite your lip and touch yourself.  Then you snake your hand up your torso, between your breasts, to your neck.  You walk all the way up to him, stepping over a trail of shopping bags from the walk-in closet to the bed.  When you get to Joel, you put your fingers in his mouth and he licks them clean with his eyes closed.  Then you take his free hand and put it on your breast, slipping it under the swimsuit.  He does nothing to stop you. You start touching yourself again. 

He strokes his cock faster.  He wets his lips and breathes deeply as he palms your breast and watches you touch yourself.  

Then you hear footsteps on the stairs, and your Mom’s voice.  “Honey?” She must have left the garage door open while she was out.  No warning. 

“Shit,” he whispers, yanking his hand away from you.  He looks around.  You close your robe.  “Closet,” he says, pulling his pants up over his wet, hard cock.  

“No!” you whisper.  But when you see your Mom’s shadow arriving at the top of the stairs and Joel all disheveled with his lube right on the nightstand, you don’t see another option.  You’d have to cross the bedroom door to get to the bathroom.  

-

Just as you hide in the closet, your Mom enters the bedroom, and her paper shopping bags clatter against the door on the way in.  “It’s just you? Thought I heard someone.”  She’s headed your way with the bags.  This was so stupid.  So, so stupid.  You could have just tied up your robe and acted like you were getting something from their bathroom.  

Joel intercepts her.  “C’mere,” he says.  “Why don’t ya let me put those up later?” His voice has a seductive air about it and a pit opens in your stomach.  

“Joel,” she says accusatorily and laughs. “Were you watching porn?”

“What if I was,” he says.  Of course he’s still hard and pink in the face.  Terrible at hiding his humiliation.

“Hope you saved some for me,” she says saucily and your heart drops. She closes the bedroom door.  

This is a worst case scenario.  

You hear kissing.  So fucked up.  You plug your ears and dissociate.  What follows is a torturous symphony of breathing and moaning from both of them for the longest five minutes of your life.  You seethe, then you cry as silently as possible.  Of course he’s thinking about you - of course.  You gave him that hard-on. Is he doing it out of spite? Out of panic? Surely he could manage not to moan if he was only doing it because he felt like he had to.  He knows you’re RIGHT THERE.  Can he really  not control himself? 

While you’re still in the closet, you post one of your sexiest swimsuit photos on instagram.  Then you text Joel, “This is so fucked up. I don’t want to ever hear a word from you about my dates or instagram or anything else.”  You send him a screencap from Tinder where you’re confirming your availability for a date with Jacques.  “Hope you’re happy,” you add. “Fuck you.” 

When it’s over, your mom goes to the bathroom and you make your escape, wiping your eyes with one hand, holding your robe closed tight with another,  not even looking in Joel’s direction. You can feel him looking at you, though.  

-

You slam the door to your bedroom.  

Joel responds to your text, “You’re right, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

That makes you even more upset.  You want it to be his business.  You get in your bed and sob.  

“I dunno what to say,” he adds. “I didn’t know what to do.  If you can’t forgive, me I understand.” 

You respond, “You didn’t have to act so into it.”

He says, “I was trying to make it quick. I’m really sorry.” 

You don’t reply. 

“I wish I could undo it. I’m sorry.” 

You don’t respond. 

He asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Fuck no, you don’t want to talk about it. Why would you want to talk about it?  You stay in your room for a long time but eventually go to the kitchen to get something to drink.  He must hear you going downstairs because it’s only a minute before he comes down, too.  

“Hey,” he says.  “You okay?” 

How would you be okay? You don’t have anything to say to him.

He says, “I was gonna, uh, go to the gas station.  You want a drink or somethin’?” You don’t answer.  

You go back to your room.  When he gets back, he knocks on your door. You don’t answer.  He goes back downstairs and texts you that he got you a drink and put it in the fridge.  

The next morning, you come down for breakfast and he’s there.  

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.  You don’t answer.  He watches you pour a glass of orange juice in silence.  You drink it and put it in the sink.  He leans against the doorframe from the kitchen to the hall, blocking your way.  As you go by, he gently puts his hand on your chest and whispers, “Hey.”  You look down at his big, veiny hand.  How dare he platonically put it on your chest? You take a deep breath, your breast swelling into the heel of his palm. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “Please forgive me.” 

You laugh condescendingly. 

“Or at least talk to me,” he begs with puppy dog eyes. 

You return to your room without another word. 

Over the next few days, you go back to your apartment and Joel tries texting you casually.  He snapchats you too, but you don’t answer it.  

-

A few days later, you go out with Jacques to get your mind off Joel.  Joel remembers your plans.  He’s still thinking about it. 

“Have fun on your date,” Joel texts you.  The nerve.  If Jacques is hot enough in person, you might give Joel a taste of his own medicine in terms of what Joel has to overhear.  You’re glad you hadn’t decided the location when you sent Joel the screencap, lest he show up.  

Jacques is hot.  You go out to dinner, then bring him home to your mom and Joel's house instead of your apartment. The two of you sit in the kitchen first and you make him a drink.  You continue your conversation from the date.  His voice is deep and smooth, but not as sexy as Joel's. You can’t help but compare everything about them.  You and Jacques take your drinks to the living room to watch a movie.  You sit in the middle of the sofa and Jacques sits by your side. 

-

Before you've even picked a movie, Joel walks in. He spreads his feet and crosses his arms, pushing out his biceps with his hands underneath them. Then he just stares at you.  He looks like he’s trying to restrain himself.  

"Joel," you light up insincerely. "This is Jacques." 

Jacques gets up and shakes Joel's hand.

"Firm handshake," Joel says flatly, then takes a seat on the other side of you.  Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle.  He asks about your date.  Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming at the edge of his nose.  You lean back against the couch since they’re trying to talk to each other. 

Joel asks, "So what'd ya talk about? Any common interests?" 

"Oh yeah, we both love horror movies," Jacques says. 

"Nice," Joel nods. "She tell ya we went to see the new Exorcist?" 

"Um, yeah. She mentioned it was good." 

Joel chuckles, then looks at you. "It was good, huh? You'll have to catch me up before the next one, sweetheart." He gives your thigh a squeeze and winks at Jacques. Then he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Where ya from, Jacques?"

"El Paso," he says.  Joel doesn't hide his surprise. Then Jacques adds, "My parents are French." 

Joel nods thoughtfully. "Am I sayin' it right? Jock? Or is it Jack?"

"Jack is fine."

"Nice." 

-

You interrupt them. "I don't think Hulu's working in here. C'mon Jacques, we can watch in my room."

"Now hold on, I'll fix it for ya," Joel offers and puts his hand on yours, reaching for the remote control. 

"Nah," you say. "Wanna try out my TV in there anyway."

“Alright,” Joel mumbles.  He runs a hand over his beard.  If he didn’t feel so guilty, he’d be losing his shit right now.  You’re sure of it.  He’s trying really hard to be fair.  You and Jacques get up off the sofa, then Joel stands up. 

"It was nice to meet you," Jacques says and shakes Joel's hand again. 

"You're the stepdad right?" Jacques removes his hand from Joel's death grip. 

"Guess I am tonight," Joel mutters.  

“Sorry, what?” Jacques asks. 

"Yeah, he is," you say, then look at Joel. "Where's Mom?" You ask. "Figured y'all were going to have some quality time."

"Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart," Joel says, then briefly massages your shoulder before walking away to the fridge.  

-

You and Jacques watch Equalizer 2.  

Joel texts you, “Don’t do this.” 

After about fifteen minutes you respond, “?” 

“Please,” Joel texts.  “You’ve made your point.” 

You don’t reply. 

“I know I deserve it, but I wish you wouldn’t.” 

In another twenty minutes, you see the shadow of feet under your door.  A few seconds later, there’s a soft knock. “Gonna make some popcorn, y’all want some?” Joel asks.  You tell him no thanks. 

Toward the end of Equalizer 2, Jacques gets handsy with you and you welcome the advance. He’s not bad with his hands, but you also don’t hesitate to exaggerate your sounds of pleasure.  But that exaggeration turns into real enjoyment.  You relish the opportunity to release all your tension into someone else’s body.  Someone who wants you unapologetically and would hopefully never make you hide in a closet.  

Jacques has a big one, too.  You close your eyes and pretend he’s Joel as you’re making out and his hard cock is grinding into your crotch.  You moan into his mouth, desperately wanting to feel Joel's beard against your cheek.  Jacques whispers your name and says, “I want you.”  He takes his cock out and wraps your hand around it.  You grab it hungrily without opening your eyes.  You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and your breath hitches.  Your body wants it.  

-

Then the fire alarm goes off.  You cover your ears and Jack puts his dick away. You don’t bother fixing your hair or skirt. 

“Sorry!” Joel yells from downstairs.  The smell of burned popcorn fills the hall.  It takes him a minute to turn off the alarm, of course.  Jacques opens the bedroom door to see what’s going on.  Then Joel comes upstairs out of breath and apologizes for the commotion.  

“Sorry ‘bout that, guys.” Joel hovers there in the door with one of his hands on the frame.  

You cross your arms on your bed, and Joel’s eyes fall to where the bedding is messed up.   

“Well, It was nice to meet ya, Jacques,” he says.  “Lemme walk ya out.” 

Jacques is confused.  “I, uh.” 

“Um, I guess I’ll call you,” you tell Jacques.  

Relief washes over Joel’s face and he asks you, “Your Mom, uh, needs a ride, you wanna come with me in a minute?” 

Jacques looks back and forth between the two of you.  “Yeah, guess I better go,” he says to himself.  

Joel walks him out.  

-

When Joel comes back from walking Jacques out, he tries to be casual, but his body is clearly tense.  

"Really think he bought that performance?" Joel asks as he pushes into your room. He closes the door behind him and leans against it with his butt.  He looks at Find my Friends on his iphone.  “She’s ten minutes away,” he says and pushes off your door to approach your bed.  

"What performance?” you ask. 

"C'mon, sweetheart.  You were fakin' it."  He lifts the comforter and sheets and inspects them. "Dry." 

Your cheeks burn. 

He sits down on the bed and picks up the unused condom still in its wrapper.  "Least you woulda been smart." 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you ask.  “Leave me alone.” 

“Can’t, sweetheart,” he murmurs and puts his hand on your thigh. “I can’t.” 

“Then do something about it or get the fuck out,” you whisper.  

He slides his hand up your skirt and slips his fingers right into your panties.  “That for me or him?” 

You roll your eyes.  “Shut up.” 

You lean back on your pillows and he gets between your legs.  He hikes your skirt up and pulls your panties down, then plants his face between your thighs, lightly caressing them from the outside with his big, masculine hands.  “Gotta be quick,” he murmurs into your pussy, then digs in.  He sucks and laps at you and inhales deeply through his nose.  Your hips lift into his mouth.  You whine his name. He pauses and looks up but doesn’t reprimand you.  He penetrates you with his tongue and moans into your cunt. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you breathe.  He devours you ravenously, moaning and sighing, until your thighs tense and your hips lift and you moan his name as you come in his mouth and he laps up every drop.  

He tears his head away and looks at you affectionately.  He’s panting and his face is dripping wet from the nose down.  He kisses your inner thigh, then gives you a hickey there on each side.  

The garage door opens downstairs.  Joel stands up and adjusts his joggers to accommodate his massive erection.  He’s still breathing heavily.  He wipes off his face.  He walks to your door and opens it without a word.  He turns around and looks at you, then closes the door behind him.  

-

THANK YOU for reading and thank you so much for your reblogs and comments! Now more than ever. PSA: definitely follow if you're into this, because i'm shadowbanned and not showing up in tags. this also means i can't make comments or send or receive DMs. follow @toxicfics for notifications and @toxicrecs for reblogs.

-

[the-himawari]

A3! Outing Event Translation - You're my first and last love. (9/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Azami: Alright, next! Misumi-san!

Misumi: Hereee! I’m ready for my makeup!

Sakuya: Have you finished your makeup, Hisoka-san?

Hisoka: …Yeah.

Sakuya: Let’s head to the waiting area then. I think it’s about time for the other team to head back.

Hisoka: Got it.

Sakyo: Sakuma, Mikage. Don’t snag your costumes, got it? There’s not much space over here.

Sakuya: Right!

Sakyo: It’s way more hectic than I expected.

Izumi: There’s no way around it. We decided that 4 teams would take turns performing the play after all.

Sakyo: That’s true. In any case, we were able to prepare all these costumes in such a short time.

Izumi: The students and members who guest star often put their feelers out everywhere. Thanks to them, we were able to borrow costumes from university clubs. Plus, other troupes gave us costumes that they were going to get rid of. That really saved our skins.

Sakyo: Makin’ the costumes from scratch would’ve been too much of a burden on Rurikawa. Remakin’ them was the best choice.

Izumi: Exactly. We didn’t waste any money either!

Sakyo: Ha, now you’re talkin’. The costumes aside, the scripts were also well done. The previous team had a great show.

Izumi: They really did. But Tsuzuru-kun mentioned that—.

Masumi: Tsuzuru and I came up with the ideas together. I also brought him topics from the other teams and asked him to write the scripts.

Izumi: Yep, that’s what I heard. That was also a load off Tsuzuru-kun’s shoulders.

Sakyo: I see.

Masumi: Hey, Director.

Izumi: ! W-What is it…?

Masumi: Do you have anyone you like right now?

Izumi: Huh!?

Masumi: …

Izumi: Umm… I like all our troupe members… I guess?

Masumi: (So in other words, Director doesn’t have a significant other…) …Thank goodness. …

Sakyo: You got somethin’ you wanna say?

Masumi: …Hmph.

Sakyo: Ah?

Izumi: You two…

Masumi: Keep your eyes on my acting. Don’t look away for a second.

Izumi: For sure. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got.

Azami: —‘Kay, next. It’s Masumi-san’s turn. We’re short on time, so hurry up!

Masumi: …

Sakyo: Masumi, that guy. He’s actin’ cocky.

Izumi: Fufu, I can’t wait. I’m sure Masumi-kun will put on a great show.

Sakyo: …

Izumi: Of course I’m going looking forward to Sakyo-san and the others’ acting too. I have faith in all of you.

Sakyo: …You might not be able to take your eyes off me either.

Izumi: That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.

Sakyo: Geez… now you’re actin’ all cocky too. I’m headin’ over.

Izumi: Great, take care!

-pause-

Izumi: (The stage is a certain mansion.) (A few long-serving butlers resigned from their roles, so three apprentice butlers have come to take their place…)

Alfie [Masumi]: “*Pant, pant*… sorry I’m late.”

Connor [Sakuya]: “Don’t tell me you got lost again?”

Alfie [Masumi]: “Yeah… I think I took a left when I was supposed to go right.”

Connor [Sakuya]: “That’s rough. This mansion sure is huge…”

Jude [Azami]: “Don’t go so easy on him. If he was late, then even we as students know what the head butler would say.”

Alfie [Masumi]: “! Right, where’s the head butler now…”

Eli [Misumi]: “No need to worry. There’s someone else who’s getting yelled at before you.”

Apprentice butlers: “Huh?”

Logan [Sakyo]: “How many times do I have to go over this, Elise? “I’ve told you countless times that the butlers who work here are prohibited from having relationships, haven’t I?” “Despite that, you… at this rate, we won’t be able to call any maids over to assist us.”

Elise [Hisoka]: “Say what you want. After all, they say that love isn’t something you choose, but something that you fall into.” “You can’t stop someone from loving someone. That’s why having that rule is pointless. Let me be free.”

Logan [Sakyo]: “I'm telling you to refrain from doing things that will bring disgrace to our master.”

Izumi: (Love is forbidden in this mansion. However, perhaps because of his easy-going nature, the senior butler Elise has always been embroiled in love rumours.)

Jude [Azami]: “…Huh? What’s going on?”

Eli [Misumi]: “Ah, is this your first time seeing it? That’s what always goes down at the Sanchez manor. It sounds like Elise made a move on another maid again.”

Alfie [Masumi]: “Huh…”

Jude [Azami]: “I’m surprised he didn’t get fired.”

Eli [Misumi]: “Despite how it looks, he’s great at his job.”

Connor [Sakuya]: “There’s no reason to get so angry then.”

Eli [Misumi]: “I feel you. Well, it’s fine since his partner is always a maid or work buddy. It’d be a problem if it was the young mistress.”

Alfie [Masumi]: “!”

Jude [Azami]: “That wouldn’t just be a problem. It’d be a huge problem. I won’t forgive anyone who makes a move on the young mistress, even if they’re a friend.”

Connor [Sakuya]: “Ahaha. I think even Elise-senpai understands that much. Right, Alfie?”

Alfie [Masumi]: “R-Right…”

Logan [Sakyo]: “I thought finally everyone was here. But you’re just gossiping, huh?”

Apprentice butlers: “!”

Logan [Sakyo]: “You’re already 5 minutes behind. Hurry to your positions.” “Alfie, you press the newspapers. Jude and Connor, you set the table for breakfast. Eli, you prepare the tea.”

Apprentice butlers: "Right away!"

Eli [Misumi]: “Roger that.”

Logan [Sakyo]: “Eli, don’t use that sort of language in front of the young mistress.”

Eli [Misumi]: “Got it, got it.”

Logan [Sakyo]: “Say ‘got it” once.”

Eli [Misumi]: “Gooot it.”

---

previous | next

[player1064]

reverse of ur outed!gary fic: Jamie comes out early in his career (all aggressively "so fucking WHAT??!!" about it). Cue closeted gary (who still hates scousers) trying (and failing) to ask for tips on coming out whilst still playing.

Jamie doesn't realise Gary's gay until they're proper friends, YEARS after retirement

I've been thinking this one over trying to work out how I wanna do it and well anyway today I finally sat down to write it and uh at what point does a drabble stop being a drabble and start being just. a fic. bc this one comes in at 1.2k words so like. hi!

---

“Is Neville staring at us again?”

“I mean –” Stevie quickly glances back over his shoulder, “—yeah, he is, but he’s always had that sort of –” he looks at Jamie and widens his eyes in an imitation of Neville’s default glare, “—y’know, he’s just stare-y. ‘s probably nowt to do w’you, don’t be so vain.”

Except, all day Jamie feels eyes burning into the back of his head, and every time he turns around Neville is there, pretending he’s not been looking straight at him.

It’s Jamie’s first England camp since coming out, and until now he’s been so safely wrapped up in the bubble of the Liverpool dressing room that he’d almost forgotten that the rest of the England squad, especially the Mancs, are fucking dicks. Always have been, and among the Mancs there is none more dickish than Mister Manc himself, Gary fucking Neville.

He’s always ignored the Liverpool players, has always shot glares at them from his little huddle of friends, but Jamie’s pretty sure it’s worse this time around. And only one thing has changed, so.

Homophobic little prick.

Neville may always be surrounded by his little gang but Jamie is too, he’s got Stevie and Mickey and Redders, so he doesn’t have to make any attempts at civil conversation and everyone can just go on ignoring each other, both on and off the pitch.

(And people wonder why it’s been so long since England won a trophy.)

But then Jamie sprains his ankle during five-a-side, and he’s fine, really, but he’s sent off the pitch to the treatment room.

The treatment room, where Neville – who’s done his calf or his hamstring or his who-gives-a-shit – is going through his physio exercises.

Neville stops when he walks in and, surprise surprise, he stares, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Carragher,” he bites out in greeting.

“Neville,” Jamie responds with a curt nod. “Don’t worry your ugly little head, I’ll just go back to my room. Can’t do much to me ankle ‘sides rest it, anyways.”

“No, you should – I mean, you can stay. Makes no difference to me, like.”

“Fine. Cheers, then.”

He limps over to the mini-freezer that holds the ice packs, then hops up onto a bench and rests his foot on a cushion.

Neville keeps staring at him, the whole time.

“’s not catching, y’know,” Jamie grumbles.

“Wassat?”

“Bein’ gay. So you can stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that, ‘s not like I’m gonna try anything. Not w’you, that’s for sure.”

Neville blinks a few times. “That’s not what –” he scowls. “—yer not special, y’know, just ‘cause you like suckin’ dick. Yer not special at all, are you, how many minutes’ve you played for England now?”

“Fuck off, you’re the one who won’t stop starin’ at me. ‘scuse me for not wantin’ to get beaten up by some skinny Manc.”

“I’ve not been starin’.”

“You fucking have. I’d ask if you ‘ave a crush but I think I’d rather take the beating, thanks.”

Neville scowls again, his cheeks flushed, and then he storms out of the room.

Jamie doesn’t speak to him again that international break.

*

“’ve I got somethin’ in me beard?”

Gary must not have realised he was staring, because he blinks and ducks his head, mumbles a “sorry, Carra,” just like Jamie knew he would.

Because Gary’s always staring, it’s just what he does. Jamie’s used to it by now, that intense focus of his. It’s almost nice, sometimes. Flattering.

They’ve finished shooting for the day and are sat in a pub near the Sky campus. Jamie’s just finishing his third pint, while Gary’s still nursing his second. Probably for the best, really, he can be such a lightweight.

Case in point: Gary suddenly turns all serious, frowning at Jamie and saying, “Carra,” with all the same gravity as if he’d used his full name.

“Yeah?” Jamie asks lightly, because who can be bothered with all that.

“Carra, why d’we never talk about it?”

“Talk about what, Gaz?”

“Me ‘n’ you.”

Jamie splutters into his drink. “You what?”

He must be going insane, is the thing, because he’s pretty sure Gary’s just asked –

“About me. ‘n’ you. And whatever that might’ve – meant. Back then, I mean, obviously not – obviously not now, ‘m not –”

“Gary, what the bloody ’ell are you talkin’ about?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the lighting, but Gary’s flushed a delightful shade of pink. He stares down at where his hands are resting on the table, fidgeting.

“Why’re you makin’ me say it, I were young, it – it’s embarrassing.”

Jamie waits, arms crossed.

“Ugh, fine,” Gary huffs eventually, “since you’re insistin’ on bein’ all obtuse, James, fine. We’ve been workin’ together for years now, I’d like to think we’re friends, and I were just wonderin’ why you’ve never mentioned the crush I used to have on you, in England days. I mean, I know you wouldn’t – like, I am aware, that I’m not – y’know? But you tease me about everythin’ else, I never understood why not that, too.”

It takes a second, to process.

You can’t blame Jamie for that, surely, because what the actual fuck. Like, what the fuck.

Gary’s staring at him again, expectant. Nervous, maybe.

What the fuck.

“You –” Jamie starts, because he worries if he doesn’t say something soon Gary might get all wobbly. “You – Gary, you what?”

Gary’s flush deepens.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I know it’s – I know I weren’t exactly your type, back then. Or now, I s’pose, though, ha, don’t think I’m really anyone’s type, am I? Y’don’t need to rub it in, I were just wonderin’ why y’never mentioned it.”

“You –” Jamie tries again, still unable to get past his first sticking point. “Since when d’you like men?” Since when did you like me, he wants to ask, but that seems like far too dangerous a territory for three beers deep on a Wednesday night.

“You what, Jamie? ‘ve you been hit in the head?”

“I could ask you the same! You’re straight!”

“D’you need me to call a doctor? Straight, Jesus. Me? ‘m fucking gayer’n you, I’ll tell you that for free.”

“I – we’ve been workin’ together nearly ten year, why’d you never tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I ‘ave to tell you, you’ve known since 2004!”

“What do you mean, I’ve known since 2004, d’you not think I’d know if there was another gay footballer in the prem, or ‘re you forgettin’ all the shit I went through just because I was the only one.”

They’d not even been friends in 2004. They’d been barely civil, even when they were teammates at England. When the fuck would Jamie have had the chance to –

“Oh my God. ‘re you telling me that whole fucking nightmare of an international break you spent glaring at me like I’d killed your nan was because you fucking liked me?”

“You didn’t know?” Gary screeches. “You’re the one who said it!”

“Oh my God,” Jamie repeats. “We could’ve been doing this for twenty fucking years.”

“What, arguin’? I think you’ll find we –”

Jamie kisses him, both as explanation and because sometimes he really needs to learn when to shut up.

[mephinomaly]

[TL] PYSCHOBREAK/Chapter 14

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Time: Present day. UNDEAD’s newest project HELLSING has been active for 2 weeks

Location: In one of HELLSING’s venues as part of their national tour in the Tohoku region

Koga: ♪~♪~♪

(Fuck! Shit! Why is this happenin’?!)

(Why am I so pissed off!?)

(This should be my wish come true!)

Rei 2 + Kaoru 2: ♪♪♪♪♪

Koga: (Ahh, that heavy bass that makes your body feel like it’s gonna fall apart! Rock ‘n roll that shakes you to your core!)

(The audience is goin’ crazy, ‘n stompin’ their feet with excitement! This is a party from Hell!)

(I’ll shake this world with the best, the strongest rock! UNDEAD will do the same!)

(This is what I’ve always wanted! It’s pissed me off for ages that my senpais are obsessed with trivial shit and don’t see eye-to-eye with me!)

(I got impatient, unhappy, and angry!)

(And yet! Even though they’re fakes, they’re with me, movin’ how I wished they would!)

(I’m makin’ the best music I’ve always wanted since the very beginning’!)

(Who do you think you are, Oogami Koga…! Are you a dog that’s been abandoned outside in the rain!?)

(Why do I feel like I’m standin’ on this stage alone—)

Adonis: Oogami.

Koga: …Tch. My bad, Adonis, I know. I’ll focus up.

Adonis: Whilst it’s true that you appear less lively today than you usually do, that's not what I want to point out. I am also not feeling my best.

They say that one man's fault is another's lesson. I must reflect on my own behaviour before I criticise someone else's. I remind myself of that.

Koga: You’re the same as always. Gives me peace of mind.

Adonis: I like to think I’ve grown somewhat.

Koga: But that’s what I mean. I’m jealous, Adonis.

I’m no good. I don’t understand myself.

We’re on our biggest national tour as UNDEAD. This is a dream come true and yet, I feel weirdly flippant.

I feel like I’ve reverted back to bein’ a beginner, like I’m standin’ on the stage for the first time with you all.

How did I get through that all? Is it ‘cos Sakuma-senpai came runnin’ just when I needed him the most? Like he always does?

Adonis: My recollection is different. During our debut live, Sakuma-senpai did not come on stage until the end.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t a problem. The delinquents that had been tormenting the town ran away, ridiculed us, and ignored the whole thing— we won by default.

However, we didn’t know anything about the future—me, you, and Hakaze-senpai did our best with what we had.

We didn’t run away, we fought.

That’s why we won. Despite being a battle where no blood was spilt, a win is still a win.

That day is still my pride and joy, where I began.

Just like I was back then, I’m working as hard as I can.

Koga: Haha, you’ve always had that attitude.

Like at last year’s RepayFes. Earlier than that, when we were fine’s foil.

No matter how badly we were beaten, you didn’t give up and stayed by my side until the end.

Thanks, Adonis.

I feel better now. If you’re with me, I’ll be okay.

Along as you’re by my side, I have absolutely nothin’ to worry about!

♪~♪~♪

Adonis: …I feel the same. Thank you, Oogami. Your words make me truly happy.

I feel as if I have been acquitted. But, that is not what I wanted to talk to you about.

Koga: Huh?

Adonis: Our senpais are acting weird.

Koga: …!?

Rei 2: ♪~...

Kaoru 2: … …

Koga: Huh!? W-w-what are you doin’, fake senpais!

They’ve gone all stiff and jerky— h-has somethin’ broke!?

Adonis: They are incredible machines… Since I have trained a lot, I am still fit for this but I don’t think the machines are built for the strain of going on tour.

Koga: Shit, pull yourselves together, bots! We’re still on tour! You can’t break down here!?

Adonis: Don’t make it obvious, Oogami. We’ll attract attention. Let’s distract the audience before they notice anything weird, and before our senpais completely malfunction.

We need to start the next song. If we turn on the fog machine, no-one will be able to see them from the audience—

Hm? The stage is filling with smoke without us needing to ask…?

Koga: D-did an attentive member of staff notice and turn it on for us!?

No, it can’t be. We’re the only ones who know those aren’t our real senpais?

[ ☆ ]

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

[ofmermaidstories]

somebody (who loves me)

Bakugou x Reader

summary: Dynamight finds you crying at a fancy party. You tell him to fuck off.

(in which Reader is a comic artist who resents being told what to do, and Bakugou is a Pro Hero who resents his growing feelings)

a what-if AU, smashing together the Reader from something (just like this) and the version of Bakugou Katsuki from surrender (whenever you’re ready).

warnings: mildly rude language from both our leads

“He an ex or somethin’?”

You make a small, wet noise; disbelief. You can’t even pity yourself in peace —

“Something like that,” you say, staring resolutely at the bookshelf and hoping that the Great Hero Turd Expulsion Dynamight will get the hint and leave you alone.

He doesn’t, standing sentry in the doorway like a statue, blind and timeless and waiting and eventually you turn to frown at him. “What?” You ask pointedly. “What do you want from me?”

Dynamight scowls—twisting his beautiful face, the smoothness of it. A default expression of his, you think morosely—especially when it came to you.

“Y’re fuckin’—crying,” he says, like it’s a dirty word.

“Mm,” you agree, turning away from him to stare at the bookshelf again. “Human beings do that every now and then. You should try it sometime, maybe you’d be less of a miserable asshole.”

Even from the corner of your eye you catch it when he visibly stiffens. It was a low blow—you, fighting dirty, weaponising the night on your balcony against him. But seeing Reo here—Reo with his wife—

Your lips thin. You have no room for anyone else’s hurt but your own. You can’t—you won’t—carry Dynamight’s, too.

“I’m sorry,” you say eventually. You whisper. “I didn’t mean it. But can you just—” Your breath hitches, caught on an unexpected sob, and you squeeze your eyes tight. “I can’t do this tonight, Dynamight. Can you please just—”

The door clicks close. You open your eyes, lashes wet, and glance back—Dynamight is still there, head turned, hand spanning against the door.

He’s pushed it close. You swallow and the silence in this small, shallow excuse of a library is suffocating—with all the weight of a humid summer day.

“You don’t have to stay,” You tell him, and your voice is almost steady. “Seriously—go pick on Deku or something, I’m fine.”

Dynamight looks up, jaw tight as he meets your eyes.

You try not to swallow, to turn—to admit defeat or fear in any way. Instead you breathe in, calm, and tell yourself it means nothing when his gaze flickers down to your throat, an ember trail.

“You’re not wearing that shitty ‘lil necklace,” he says, frowning.

Your golden turtle. You nod, your face pulling down with the weight of your tears and despite yourself, they show themselves when you answer him.

“S’—he—he gave it to me,” you admit, your voice breaking on the last word.

Your sobs are great; heaving sobs that are trying to push your heart out of your chest. For a moment you stand there, weighted down, crying like a child—and the next you are being held tightly, held in close, Bakugou a broad and warm and solid post to fall apart against.

It’s like you can’t get enough air—you sob against his shoulder, trying to breathe in, trying to calm down, a careful, tentative hand curling against the nape of your neck.

This unsure touch—the way Bakugou has hovered around you—

You snuffle into the cool fabric of his suit, pressing your face in closer despite your makeup and like a cat, he rubs his cheek against your hair.

“Fuck the bastard,” he says, low, and despite yourself you give a wet laugh into his jacket, your fingers curling into the ends of it, holding him there. Admitting you want him there.

[hours2hours]

THE HAWKINS PARADOX: CHAPTER SEVEN

Annie lights her cigarette and passes it to Miles after one long puff. The brain’s stimulation is starting to fade, so I light a joint between my lips. Annie hands me her lighter without a word.

“Not to question your experience, but is weed a good idea right now?” Miles asks.

“Maybe not for some people,” I speak through a mouthful of pretzels. “At this point high is my default state, can’t focus without it.”

“I think that’s called dependency.”

“Respectfully, I think you should can it. You need your smokes, I need mine.”

“Amen,” Annie chuckles and sits up, facing Miles. “Have you never smoked weed before?”

He takes another drag and says. “My dad would murder me if he found out. When he caught me smoking cigarettes for the first time he only let me inside to eat and sleep for weeks.”

“Really?” Annie resumes her relaxed position. “In my household grounding had the opposite effect.”

“That wasn’t close to the worst part. My Dad can act overprotective to say the least.” Another, longer drag.

Annie shrugs, “No offense, but you dad seems like a dick.”

“He has his moments I guess. He’s gone through a lot in the last few years, so I understand where he’s coming from, at least. Now he’s all the family I have left.”

I peer back through the binoculars, barely emerging above the tall grass. Still that one light on.

“So let me get this straight,” Annie says. “You’ll hang out with us, watch us torture some kid and get involved with dog-killers and drug dealers, not to mention help bust into a restauraunt. But pot is what’s gonna send your dad over the edge?”

“It's different, I can justify this to myself.” He puts out the cigarette and puts it in his pocket before taking another one.

“You’ve got a weird moral compass man,” I say.

Finally the light flicks off, and after two minutes a silhouetted figure opens and exits the front door. I nudge Annie and hand her the binoculars.

“We should wait a minute or two longer to make sure they’re gone.” I face Miles, trying to detect in his face if he’s still doing alright. “You ready?”

“In a sec.” He inhales about a quarter of the cigarette before exhaling. “Okay, I should be good. What are we gonna do if this place has a security system?”

Eyes laser focused on the diner, Annie replies. “They don’t have anything obvious, I’m guessing they spent their security budget on that camera.”

I slip my backpack over my shoulders and slide the bandana up my face. Miles and Annie both place theirs and huddle close in the grass. “Go time,” I whisper.

Even when we’re close we stay low, these are the worst times to get careless. When you’re so excited to start, legs bouncing and blood pumping with anticipation, it can easily get to your head if you’re not careful. During one of our first B&E’s, Annie was seen running up to the back door by the shop owner who hadn’t left like we thought. If I hadn’t grabbed Annie and ran we’d have been caught for sure, since Annie froze like a deer in headlights.

“Miles, are you coming or what?” Annie says. Breaking my focus, I didn’t realize Miles had stopped moving several feet back. He stands still, staring back into the darkness.

“I thought I saw something behind us,” he doesn’t look in our direction but he slowly starts again. After he’s caught up, Annie and I scan the grass for anyone, but there’s nothing we can see. Just to stay on the safe side we backtrack a little, checking the tunnel and grassy area surrounding it, but there’s no one. My ears perk up at the sound of creaking trees. Something I’ve heard all the time and never paid mind to, now sends goosebumps up my arm. Even if there was someone hiding, the blowing grass wouldn't be able to hide them. Maybe someone could have snuck into the tunnel, but Miles seeing things again seems a little more reasonable.

“It was nothing, sorry.”

“We’d rather you say somethin’ if you even suspect someone is followin’ us. Can never be too careful.” I pat him hard on the shoulder.

Miles mumbles something like a “thanks” but he doesn’t seem very proud. More likely it’s his nerves getting to him, and that damn video still. Annie shrugs it off and keeps moving.

We approach the fence from a steep angle, remaining in the camera’s blind spots. Lucky for us, the camera is perched in a high spot, above the fence and just under the shadow of the roof. It’s invisible in the dark aside from the blinking red LED. I hand Annie a medium sized rock, she knows without words that I trust her throwing arm. I’ve seen her pitch a baseball countless times and in a few unfortunate instances, felt it too. She readies herself with the rock at her hip, then smashes the thing to bits in one clean hit.

When the camera is safely dead, I toss my bag over the fence.

“Climbed many fences before, Miles?” Annie asks.

He laughs nervously, “Not exactly.” But starts digging his large feet through the slots anyway. As the shortest guy in every class since fourth grade, the climbing part of the job has never been an issue. What I lack in physical strength I make up for in agility. If I need something broken, that’s usually what Annie’s for, though from the looks of it Miles could handle some brute force if needed. He must work out with arms that big.

Focus Joel, Jesus.

Miles awkwardly swings a leg over the fence, wobbling more and more while trying to balance himself.

“Got it?” I whisper.

“I’m good,” he answers. Annie effortlessly drops to the other side, kicking aside the broken camera. Miles tries to mimic her movements, but his pants snag on the top causing him to trip, until the jeans tear and throw Miles at the concrete with a thud. 

“Miles!” I exclaim before physically shutting my own mouth. Annie squats next to him. “Shit, are you okay?” He groans and pushes his body off the ground.

I quickly hop the fence and bend down at his side, helping him up with a hand. His mask cracked from the impact, now the top corner is missing where his head hit the ground. “I’m ok. You don’t think anyone heard me do you?”

“C’mon, that’s not what I’m worried about,” I say. “You sure you didn’t break anything?”

“No one else should be within a kilometer,” Annie adds. “It’s fine. I’m more worried about Joel screaming.”

“No, I think I’m alright, let’s just do this.” He dusts off his hoodie and jeans, head held in his hand.

Annie shoves a gift card into the slit in the door moving up down, back and forth.

“You sure you’re good?” I whisper.

“No, but I probably don’t have a concussion, so whatever.” I move his hair to the side and check his head, just some rocks and dirt to dust off. Still I feel around for a bump, just in case.

“Not feelin’ dizzy or anything?”

“No, but I appreciate the concern.” 

The door clicks open, “Aha!” Seems she was right about the lack of security measures, but everything else is so cheap it comes as no surprise. The kitchen reeks of spoiled milk and expired meats. Every pot, pan, cooking utensil and stove element is charred and beaten, dropped daily and cleaned once a year by the look of it. The heat of the kitchen has sealed itself inside with the added warmth of the summer night. Sweat already beads on my forehead.

“Yikes,” Miles remarks.

“After we rob these people I’m calling a health inspector,” Annie adds.

“Now where do we find our footage, any ideas?” I ask.

“The camera out there looked relatively new. Probably stores its footage on a nearby PC,” Miles whispers.

“Probably the manager’s office,” I pace towards the front desk. “I think Wendy went down this way.” We turn down a narrow hallway with three doors and a disgusting moldy wallpaper. The door labeled Management is a small office with hundreds of papers covering the countertop and floor, with a nice laptop sitting on top. The only room that doesn’t reek with rot.

We both stare at Miles for a second. “What?” He asks.

“You’re the tech guy now,” Annie replies.

“Because I know how Wi-Fi works?”

“Yeah,” she steps into the dusty room. “I’ve never used a computer aside from school, and Joel doesn’t even do that.”

Miles sighs, “Alright, you have a thumb drive or something?” He raises an eyebrow and approaches Annie, who stares through the blinds motionless. “Annie?”

Miles and I approach cautiously, slowly meeting the point of interest with gut-twisting fear. Sirens.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood, language, brief nudity. Later chapters will be M Warnings: Nah fam Summary: Local vampire finds out she can't kill soft human (because they're soulmates, baby), human becomes insufferable bastard, oops they fuck later. Soulmate AU where if one person gets injured, their soulmate feels the same amount of pain and receives a scar in the relevant area.

1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

It’s not that you had expected to survive this- being locked in the dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, waiting for the day you’re picked to be someone’s meal. Oh no, you had given up on surviving long ago, it was just that… well, you had hoped that someone with a softer touch would do you in. But here you were, too exhausted to cry, hanging naked in front of none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her eyes were trailing you up and down, examining every inch of your skin, every flaw, every unique trait. It was like she was making a mental map of which parts of you would taste best. Goddamn, you wanted to spit in her face, or scream, or say something, anything that might make her feel even an ounce of what you had felt for weeks.

But you know that she’s already planning to kill you, and to make it painful. Why give her any more reason? Why dare her to find a worse way to end your life? There was no good answer, so you stayed still, just watched her move. Maybe if you looked bored enough she’d make it quick, just stab a knife in you and drink you up like a capri sun. Or, maybe, if you kept a straight face, she would admire your courage. Oh, how you longed for people to think of you kindly now, in your last moments, when dying clean and pretty was no longer an option.

Pulling a blade from some hidden sheathe, Cassandra approaches you with a wicked grin. There’s still blood on her lips from her last victim. Had they not sated her? Or had she been like this for some time? When she inevitably drank from you, how long would your blood remain on her lips? You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. In your mind, you picture her cleaning up as soon as she was done with you. It does not make you feel any better. Neither does the way she traces a finger across your chest, left to right, practicing for the incision to follow. She pauses to lick her lips, making direct eye contact as she does.

What happens next passes by so quickly that you don’t process any of it until the whole ordeal is over. The blade’s tip digs into your chest, just below your collarbone, before dragging along half the width of your torso. It hurts like hell, but you manage to keep your misery to yourself. But your pain is soon replaced with confusion; Cassandra screams, loud enough to echo throughout the basement, doubling over herself. In an instant her knife has clattered to the floor, forgotten. Instinct takes over your brain, the default programing kicking in, and you say something that fills you with instant regret.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a bit quiet, and raw, worn out from lack of hydration. But it is enough, evidently, for Cassandra to hear. She’s rising back up and glaring at you, one hand clutching her chest. Something in her expression tells you that she thinks you’re mocking her. While that wasn’t technically the case, there was a part of you that found joy in this, watching your captor get a taste of their own medicine. The question left in your mind was why she was in pain. “I’ll take that as a no,” you said, again left with regret at your choices.

Now her hand is swiping at your face, nails cutting you open. Once more she hisses in pain, now clutching her head, shaking a little as she does. When she meets your gaze, you see that she’s more confused than anything. More than that, you see the marks on her face, knowing instantly that they match your own. Oh hell no, you thought, grimacing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. Bouncing back and forth on her heels, she seems tense, unsure of how to process what’s happening. You feel the same way, desperately wanting to pretend that this doesn’t mean you’re her soulmate. Maybe the universe had just messed up, crossing some wires, or decided to pull a prank on the two of you. Either way it was better than the alternative. Eager to think about something else, you start considering your options. The first that comes to mind is ridiculous. Stupid, really. But would it amuse you? Absolutely.

“Not gonna lie, I feel better about the idea of you killing me now. Feel free to make it painful, darlin’, I won’t mind,” you snarked, lips curling up into a smirk. Oh boy was it satisfying to watch Cassandra’s response. One of her hands raises to smack you, only for her to freeze before releasing a torrent of swears. Hurting you meant hurting herself. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little aching? Haven’t you ever imagined what it’s like to be on the other side of things? Under the blade yourself, blood soaking your skin, eyes too dry for even a single tear? Poor thing,” you purred, tone as teasing as it could get. Apparently it’s aggravating enough for Cassandra to fight through the pain, as she slams her fist into your stomach, leaving both of you gasping for breath. “This is fun-” you pause to cough out a few drops of blood- “really, really fun. Hey, if you kill me, how bad do you think you’ll feel?”

Before Cassandra can react, either to speak or hurt you worse, the sound of approaching footsteps draws her attention. From where you hang you can’t see much, too many cells and hanging bodies blocking your vision. But your “soulmate” seemed to know who was coming. Her face scrunches up a little, and she adjusts her robes, trying to cover the mark on her chest. Had you not still been coughing, you would have sarcastically asked her how she intended to hide her face.

“What the hell is going on, Cassandra?” An unfamiliar voice asked. The footsteps grew louder, and faster, until the new figure stood in the same cell as you. Not even bothering to spare you a glance, she approaches Cassandra, reaching to examine her face. “Did a prisoner manage to get you? I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, sis,” Cassandra snapped, pushing away her sister’s hand. Both of them are visibly tense, and for a moment they stand still, staring each other down. Then the sister (who you assume to be Bela, from things you’ve overheard recently) shifts her focus to you. Something tells you that she has no intentions of being gentle.

“Did you do this, you rotten little thing?” Bela questioned, glaring at you hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to have some more fun.

“Oh, of course I did! I rattled my chains real good, scared the shit out of her, made her fall on her own knife a few times. You know, like that one musical?” You must look insane as you speak, grin wide but face dripping with blood. If it unnerves Bela, she hides it well, though you doubt it does. As soon as you’re done poking fun she’s pulling out her sickle. Still grinning, you make eye contact with Cassandra, who realizes what’s happening a second too late. Then the two of you cry out in unison, as the blade carves into your shoulder. Instantly Bela pulls back, stunned, turning to her sister with genuine concern. “I might have lied. Rest assured though, it was for comedic purposes.”

The next thing you know the two sisters are shuffling away from you, Cassandra begrudgingly being dragged along by Bela. Though the younger of the two had been adamant about not receiving help, she now had little choice in the matter, skin searing from your blood bond. Even you are starting to breathe harder than you’d like.

“Was it something I said?” You barked, barely able to manage a fit of giggles between your coughing. Bela shoots you a glare over her shoulder, but quickly returns her attention to her sister. They talk, quickly, soft enough that you can only make out a few words here and there. It’s hard to make meaning from it, especially considering their vastly different tones. Cassandra is pure anger, gestures fast and wide, while Bela is oddly solemn, even regretful. When you finally catch a couple full sentences, things start to make a little more sense, though you wish they didn’t.

“We can kill them painlessly, in their sleep. That way you won’t have to suffer,” Bela whispered. She’s doing her best to comfort her sister, despite the tension in the room, gently patting her on the back. Briefly, you make eye contact with her. In that moment she looks equal parts executor and unwilling jury. But she looks away quickly, even shifting her angle to prevent it from happening again.

“No, fuck that, fuck this, I’m… I’m not killing them. Nobody is,” Cassandra growled, daring to emphasize her point by pushing Bela away. Now it’s her turn to look at you, brows furrowed, eyes betraying something more than just anger. Somehow it’s a million times worse than when she first came in. You strain yourself trying to look away, cursing the chains keeping you in place, resorting to closing your eyes and pretending none of this was real. “I don’t care what you think, Bela. They’re already my ‘meal’, might as well get what enjoyment out of this that I can.”

Again, footsteps echo through the basement. Tension locks your muscles in place, and your eyes are still clamped shut, to the point that you don’t realize your chains are being undone until you’ve hit the ground. Cursing under your breath, you finally open your eyes again. There’s blood on the floor, only some of it yours, and you’re suddenly aching for a bath. More than that, though, you’re praying for something to cover yourself with. Certainly Cassandra didn’t need to see everything, now that you weren’t a piece of meat for her to enjoy? As if reading your mind, the middle Dimitrescu daughter flings open a nearby cabinet, messily searching for something. Eventually she gives a hum of approval, then tosses a blanket in your direction.

“Put it on, dipshit, then follow me,” she snapped, already walking away. For a moment you’re tempted to stay there, sitting still, waiting to see how long it would take for her to notice. But one look from Bela sends the thought back to whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of. So you’re moving, hastily, awkwardly wrapped in a somewhat itchy blanket. Other prisoners eye you as you pass, some shouting curses or even spitting at you. At first Cassandra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, but eventually the noise seems to irritate her. Turning back, she takes her sickle in hand and slams the handle into the bars of a cell. It’s loud, making you flinch, but gets everyone’s attention. “Next one to make a peep gets the blood eagle!”

“Is that, like, a sex thing?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. Laughter rings out around you from the few prisoners capable of it. Cassandra is seething again, looking about ready to kill you. Then she’s shifting into swarm mode, spreading out wide, insects barreling through half the occupied cells. A few cries escape the prisoners, as the flies take bites out of them, cutting a perfect balance between pain and (a lack of) lethality. They’d be suffering for days to come, every movement making their wounds ache. “Not a sex thing, got it,” you muttered to yourself, just as Cassandra reforms in front of you. This time she grabs the blanket you’re wrapped in, using it to tug you forward, sending you towards the exit.

“Shut up for five minutes and I might let you put on actual clothes,” she growled, keeping one hand on your back to guide you. The offer is the closest thing to kindness you’ve seen from her, and you have half a mind to do what she says. Would you actually manage to keep quiet for that long? Well, you were certainly looking forward to finding out...

[skiller0dani]

Lovebirds | Five Hargreeves

M A S T E R L I S T TUA Masterlist

fluff requested requests info

In case you missed this post, I wanted to say I will write for Five. But it’ll be Imagines, blurbs, but N O T smut. Aiden Gallagher is underaged, and I most definitely am an adult and have no interest in writing about him in sexual situations. So request things. I’ll write fluff, angst, long pieces (10,000 words plus even), short pieces, idc! As long as it’s not sexual I will write it for Five. 

For most of my Five writings I am aging him up to 16, unless I say otherwise. 

You didn’t hate him, even if it really seemed like you did. 

You actually preferred Five believed you hate him because in reality you had an enormous, ridiculously intense crush on him. While you may be 16, you didn’t behave like a 16 year old girl. You weren’t reading GQ magazines to look at ‘cute guys’, you weren’t painting your damn nails and preparing for prom. Instead you were sat in the Hargreeves mansion with the resident Seance, watching as he drank himself to unconsciousness. You were an orphan, or so that’s what you told everybody. Truth be told both of your parents were drug addicts and drunks, you haven’t lived with them for nearly a year. Clearly they haven’t noticed as the police have yet to be called. You were on the streets for a while before someone stumbled upon you, literally. Klaus literally tripped over you. He decided to take you in, and so far the Hargreeves siblings had been quite welcoming. Well all except for one. 

You and Five seemed to butt heads since the first day you moved here. He greeted you with nothing more than a curt nod as he brushed past you and up the stairs. Five had been nothing but distant, cold, and borderline cruel from the very second you arrived. You tried not to let it bother you, but it did. Vanya told you that this is just how he is, and despite his cruel behavior and decided hatred of you, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing when he came in the room. You couldn’t stop your palms from sweating when he looked in your direction, even if it was nothing more than a brief glance. When your eyes connected with his it felt like fireworks were erupting in your chest, and you almost always flushed under his gaze. You usually covered it with a scowl before he could notice the blush on your cheeks. 

Five was always so damned indifferent about everything, and he always evaded questions regarding his emotions. He almost pretended he didn’t have feelings, the only thing he outright admitted when it came to his emotions, was that he loves his siblings. In truth, you think a therapist would have a field day with him. You leaned back against the couch opposite of Klaus, with a lazy smile on his face. The sun had set hours ago, “what’s with you and Five? Jesus most days I’m worried you’re going to kill each other one of these days,” Klaus grumbles, shuffling around on the couch causing the alcohol to spill a little. You giggle as he groans, wiping his wet hand on the back of the couch. “We just don’t get along.” You shrug, you honestly have no idea what his problem is. You always tend to get hostile when your heart is involved almost like a defense mechanism. 

“We don’t get along because you’re a reckless know-it-all with a big mouth and absurd opinions.” Five chimes in from the doorway. You grit your teeth at his smug smile. “You know, I always thought being an entitled narcissist was a choice, but when it comes to you I think it’s the default option.” You snap back, with a victorious grin spreading over your face. Five’s smile drops and a look of utter annoyance takes it’s place. His hands are slid into his pockets as he stands over your sat position on the couch, “Y/N you’re projecting your daddy issues on me again.” He says, feigning a look of pity. You slam your hand on the arm of the couch as you stand, and Klaus curls into the couch, bottle in his hands as he watches with his eyebrows raised. “Saying I have daddy issues is assuming I give a shit about him. Which I don’t.” You hiss, feeling anger beginning to boil under your skin. 

“Actually, I think you need to have a dad to have daddy issues with. You’ve been gone for what? 10 months? And no word from either of your parents? Doesn’t sound like they care.” Five says with one of his indifferent shrugs. Feeling emotion rush up on you, you raise your hand and firmly slap Five across the cheek. Tears spill over your cheeks as he stands in shock, “I already know that nobody on this planet loves me. Thanks for the reminder.” You snap through tears before you quickly exit the library. Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose as he looks at Five, “you’re a jerk.” Is all he says before taking another drink from the bottle in his hands. Five turns out of the library, his cheek stinging and his heart becoming swallowed by guilt. 

If he were to be honest with you and himself he would tell you that he doesn’t hate you. Quite the contrary actually, as he’d been harboring a massive crush on you from the moment Klaus carried your sleeping body into the Academy. You looked so beautiful and delicate asleep, you looked like an angel. Klaus had brought you into his bedroom and Five watched as you snuggled into the mattress, he could barely take his eyes off you. It was in that moment that Five decided he needed to put as much distance between you two that he could. Caring about someone is dangerous because of the life he lives. The commission has tried to kill him on multiple occasions and The Handler would absolutely have a field day if she learned of someone Five was in love with. Five never let himself fall in love, so when your eyes fluttered open and landed on him, he turned tail and ran. His heart had seized in his chest the second your eyes connected with his. From then on he decided it was safest to get you to hate him, so you would want to stay away from him, no matter how badly it hurt him to do so.  

Five knew where you would be, so he made his way down to the kitchen, finding you sitting at the table talking to Grace. Her hand was rubbing your back and Five swore he felt his heart splintering into pieces as he listened to you cry softly. Hearing a knock you lifted your head from the table, quickly wiping your tears when you see Five standing in the doorway. “Mom could you give us a second?” Five asks, and Grace smiles and stands from the table, brushing a stray hair out of his face as she passes by him. You sit at the table, your eyes red and swollen as you keep your gaze firmly away from him. The silence stretches on forever, and eventually Five clears his throat, “listen Y/N-” He starts but cuts himself off as your watery eyes look up into his. 

Five takes another step towards you, “I’m sorry.” He says finally and your eyebrows raise in surprise. Five never never apologizes, at least not to you. He apologizes to his siblings all the time. “People love you Y/N, I know Klaus certainly does.” He states matter-of-factly. His hands push into his pockets and it’s now that you see the tint of pink dusted over his cheeks. Is Five blushing? You don’t know what to say, so you stay quiet as Five shifts from foot to foot. “We have terrible coffee here, do you want to go get a cup from Griddy’s?” He asks, startling the hell out of you. Did Five just ask you to go somewhere with him? Just you two? You shrug as you wipe away the last stray tear, “sure.” Five smiles softly and even holds the door open for you as you both step out onto the dark sidewalk. 

There is silence at first, but it’s not awkward, or filled with anger and tension. It’s a comfortable silence. Your arm accidentally brushes against his as you two head to the park to cut through it to Griddy’s. “Five can I ask you something?” You ask, coming to a halt in the park. Five turns and looks at you, waiting for you to continue. You swallow a thick lump in your throat, trying to steel your nerves for this question as you lock eyes with him. “Why don’t you like me? Since the first day I got here you’ve been distant and mean. What did I do wrong?” You ask, and you don’t mean for the tears to begin to well in your eyes but they do. Five shakes his head as he takes a few steps towards you, so that he’s now standing directly in front of you. “I don’t hate you Y/N.” You shake your head, you need more of an explanation than that. Your watery eyes are wide and confused as you stare up at him. 

“I’m so mean because I’ve fallen in love with you Y/N. Me being who I am, there’s a huge target on my back and really dangerous people try to kill me on a daily basis. I can’t care about anybody the way I care about you, it’ll put you in danger. Just being here with me right now is putting you in danger. I was so mean to get you to stay away from me, I was trying to protect you from-” You wrap your arms around him and press your lips against his, effectively shutting him up. Five stumbles back as you practically throw yourself into his arms, but he quickly recovers and wraps his arms around your waist to keep you from falling. Your lips move against his for a few moments before you pull away for air, a smile on your face and a startled look on his face. “You don’t have to protect me, I know what I want and how I feel. I love you Five.” You say, breathless. Five smiles before pressing his forehead against yours and then suddenly you hear clapping from nearby. 

You pull away from him to see Klaus and the rest of Five’s siblings clapping from behind a tree. A dark blush covers Five’s face as he reaches up to flip them off, “did you seriously follow us?” He asks, one of his arms still wrapped around your waist. Allison places a hand over her heart, “you two are so cute!” She coos and you turn to hide your face in Five’s neck from embarrassment. “Well to our defense, we wanted to make sure you didn’t kill each other.” He shrugs and you see Five grit his teeth in frustration. You lean up to whisper in Five’s ear, “if they want to watch, let’s give them something to look at.” A smile stretches across Five’s face before he presses his lips against yours once more. 

[kat-hawke]

Round 2

Stress and tension swelled as reports of Grimm began to dwindle, and the newfound funding opened more doors, which in turn brought their hurdles. Against Thea's wishes, the Director cut her day short and retired to the lower levels of the tram for the afternoon.

The scent of blood mixed with liquor and drugs in the brawl pub air, a calming and dangerous combination for the beast shackled within. Abstaining from the ring herself, Kat perched from a rented room above, trading the official attire for leathers and pulling the hair in tight braids to complete the façade of "Darah" that so many became accustomed to. 

The fight below offered moderate entertainment but ended too soon for her enjoyment. At the far edge of the pub, the glimpse of a familiar elf caught her eye, heading for the stairs to the upper level. Nostrils flared with a heated breath as she retreated to the crescent-shaped sofa with a drink in hand. The Ren'dorei stood her up in the original agreement, but now she returns. She signaled for the bouncer to allow entry just as the elven woman approached with a motion of one hand.

Serelia brushed past the massive bouncer, strutting into the room without cleaning from her last fight. Unceremoniously, she dropped a hefty leather-bound tome onto the coffee table beside Kat's feet. The covers dyed black as midnight, a large embossed 'H' the only image upon the face.

"So far, this seems to be useless to my situation. Not that I needed much more confirmation that my former employers were all bluster and no impact. I see you survived the Scourge incursion Darah?" A flicker of a smile touched the elf's lips, "rumors that you're hard to kill remain true."

"Ya' canno' kill that which does no' truly live," Kat scoffed before casting her gaze over the tome.

Her lips twisted in disgust at the embossed emblem, letting the hum of dissatisfaction roll in her throat before silencing it with a sip of whiskey.

"Yer former employers were always fluffers- show ponies. Like rotted apples painted red. Look real good from th' outside but real shite beneath the outer layer." She sucked her teeth in spite. "Wot do ya' expect when ya' ask a child playin' with mommy's toys t'perform a job fit for an experienced adult?"

Serelia drops onto the other part of the curved section of the couch, and her empty eyes turned towards Kat. "That all measures up. I thought I'd seen all the bluster nobility could muster in Silvermoon, but at least they backed it with power. Human nobility is an oxymoron the way it's used here." She puts feet up, crossing ankles on top of the book, hands folding in her lap. 

"Nobility," Kat mocked, "please. At best, these want-to-be imbeciles are glorified harems, no'-so-secret adultery, and the pompous new-bloods thinkin' they can demand respect. They wouldn' know noble if it bit 'em on the ass." 

"Needless to say," Serelia continues, "my other possible source didn't lead anywhere useful, and so once more I am before you, where I should've stayed from the start."

"Sometimes we have t'learn th' hard way that we were right the first time, luv'." Kat's statement comes with a sly grin, her arms stretching across the back of the cushion as she studied the adjacent elf. "Should have listened, could have saved yer self some precious time. Who knows how much more rooted or detrimental things 'ave become in that poor judgmen'."

"I hadn't planned for a scourge invasion to disrupt our schedule. The Void does seem to take at an increasing rate," the elf grunted, shuttering her gaze for a moment. "I'm ready to bargain. What cost is your help, and where do we start?"

Glancing out over the fight pit, Kat chuckled, amused at the situation. She felt less inclined to offer her assistance now.

"Remind me again wot it is I am to assist ya' with?" Masking the sarcasm, Kat toyed with the elf.

Serelia's expression doesn't betray her feelings on being asked that again. 

"My eyes were damaged by a Warlock's Felfire. The Void overtook my vision to...repair them. I now see the world like a storm of chaos, where every possible reality is overlaid atop one another. I wear glasses," a hand rises to slightly adjust them on her nose, "enchanted to help filter it to some degree, but I can only use it to adjust the things that I gain confidence are true."

Wagging a finger in the woman's direction, Kat clicked her tongue in an uncaring manner. "Ah, right. Right. And ya' don' know wot yer child truly looks like because of it all. Such a shame, really." 

"I do not," Serelia replies, expression and tone darkening a bit at the reminder.

Drawing a deep and sardonic breath, Kat sank into the plush cushion of the couch, shrugging faintly. 

"T'be quite honest, luv', things have changed since our last exchange. My needs and desires are a myriad of ever-shifting webs to suit the current situations of the world. T'bring my goals to fruition, of course." One thumb rand across the fingertips as another hollow hum rang out. 

"Here t'bargain ya' say? And pray tell, wot exactly do ya' have t'bargain with that is of interest t'me?"

"Service," Serelia replies. Exhaling a breath and feet returning to the floor as she sits forward, clasping hands together, elbows resting on the knees. "I am, perhaps not to your degree, but relatively proficient and moving between spaces in the Void. You've already seen me fight several times now." 

She paused to lock eyes with the Director.

"I don't want to work for the crown, but I'll work for you."

Deliberately, Kat yawned and waved a hand at the proposition. Everyone wanted to offer this, and after years of broken promises and missed deadlines, she found that people default to that which is easily untracked or collected upon. Her patience with the meeting began to wane.

"Did the bouncer let in the rabble again? I thought I was in th' company of one I granted an audience to." Sarcasm hung from every word, unimpressed by the offer. 

"Same offer I hear time 'n time again, luv'. 'bout fifty-fifty if they make good on th' word, but yer gonna need t'try harder than that. Ya've heard the stories. I can fight m'own battles."

Serelia's lips tighten into a flat line. "I've heard the stories," she agrees, "I'm offering what I have. If it's not enough, it's not enough. Spent my first dozen decades in the military; combat training was my life. I've nothing of monetary value. My skills are the thing I own to give."

Kat's eyes shut, and her head shook slowly. "Blind in more ways than one, I suppose." 

With a quiet breath, she looked to Serelia again. "We'll call it a favor owed, then. Maybe in time, ya'll find somethin' of value."

Serelia, visibly annoyed by the counter off, opened her mouth to speak but clamped it shut again. An irritated tone rumbled from behind the pressed lips before she conceded in a simple agreement, "A favor owed then."

"I knew ya'd be smart about it, luv'. Had ya' left and came back a third time, I may no' have been quite as generous. Simple economics; supply and demand." A wicked grin pulled across Kat's lips, the teeth poking through. "Ya' understand."

"Be easier to establish what I could supply if I had any idea what you demand." The elf retorted. "You're right. I'm blind. I come from a rigid structure that likely put me into a set way of thinking. I'm missing corners and other avenues. If you think I've got something you want, then let's hear it, but I don't know what your angle is right now, and games around wants are exhausting to play." 

"If it weren't for my daughter, maybe I would walk instead of play, but if games are what it takes, then that's where we are. So. A favor owed."

"Ya' don't play much poker, do ya'?" Kat muttered.

"There is no game t'play, luv'. Ya' agreed, and that's all I needed. Ya' want control over th'power, and I can give it to ya'. But remember; wot is given can also be taken away."

"It won't be," Serelia replies as if stating a fact. "Regardless, price has been agreed then. When and how do we start?"

"Depends," Kat answered as her fingers drummed upon the cushion. "Do ya' want control or freedom?"

Serelia's lips curved into a crooked smile at that. "What a question..." she hesitates only a moment before completing her answer. "Control."

Kat's head inclined and rolled to the side ever so slightly as she stared curiously at the elf. 

"Too many eyes and ears here. Need somewhere quiet. Secluded. Are ya' familiar with Elwynn?"

"I am," Serelia replies. Her posture eased slightly at the suggestion of resuming this conversation in a more quiet environs.

"Good. Wander in th' woods east of Goldshire after sundown." Kat instructed, keeping her eyes on the elf as the last of her drink was down.

"I'll find you."

"Deal." Serelia agreed with a throaty chuckle, standing to her feet and motioning to the tome. 

"You want to burn this useless book of 'shadowmancy' or whatever they called themselves, or shall I?" 

"I want that book." Alyssa chimed into the conversation before Kat could respond.

Kat ignored the dagger-bound soul, partially annoyed at the interruption and slightly concerned with how much environmental awareness she gained from within the blade.

"Shadowmancy? Fer fucks sake... There ain't no such thing. Buch of fuckin' wanna-be's." The Director spat, rolling her eyes at the tome before waving off the Ren'dorei.

"I'll do more than burn this amateur level bullshit. Trust me."

"Good riddance," Serelia nods as she turned to exit the rented room. "To the whole family."

[ @serelia-evensong​ ]

[solynaceawrites]

A ONE TIME THING

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Rating: Explicit co-written by @lickitysplitfic​ A/N: Am I back? Kind of! I’ve been in a bit of writing funk lately, and my dear friend @lickitysplitfic​ gave me a nudge by writing this with me; sometimes you just need to riff some smut with your closest friend to get the creativity going again. Like Smeared Lipstick, this is set sometime during Memory of the Waters and includes a heaping dose of smut, a bit of pining, and two people refusing to admit they’ve got feelings for one another.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

"Dante."

Lir's voice snaps him out of his half-doze, and he nearly falls out of his chair when he sees her hang up her coat and bag and walk across the shop. He pulls his feet from the desk and sits up in the chair, swallowing thickly as she moves to stand on the other side to glare at him disapprovingly.

"Yeah?" he asks.

She folds her arms. "We need to talk about what happened at the house."

"Oh." That. "What about it?"

He could swear her cheeks go a bit pink, if he thought Lir was capable of such a thing. "We had sex. Remember?"

Dante snorts. "Of course I remember."

"Well!" Her voice goes up in pitch and she tilts forward a bit, as if prompting him. When he shrugs, she heaves a huge sigh. "We need to agree to never, ever do that again. Ever. Promise?"

He grunts. It's the only sound he's capable of making, giving that he's now, thanks to her, thinking about the sting of her nails in his skin as he held her against the bookcase and—wait, she's talking again. Lir waves a hand in front of his face, and he folds his arms over his chest. "You sayin' you regret it?"

"Yes. No! I mean . . ." Lir groans. "I don't regret it because we didn't do anything wrong. Right?" Dante nods. “But it can't happen again."

"Why not?"

Dante's brows go up when she laughs. "What do you mean, why not? You're my boss! And you're way older than me! And . . . it's weird!"

He considers that. "I could fire you."

Lir makes a face. "You're acting like you actually want to do it again." Then her eyes go wide. "Oh my god, are you in love with me?"

"Don't be a brat," he warns. "Who else am I gonna do that with? Trish? Lady? They'd shoot me first. And I'm not old."

"Sure thing, pops."

"Lir."

She snorts and moves around the desk, leaning on the edge of it so that she's mere inches from him. "So it was just convenience, then? You've got no one else?"

Dante rubs the top of his head. "It wasn't like that either. It just . . . happened."

"Yeah." Lir traces her finger along the wood of the desktop, frowning. "It was kind of crazy, wasn't it?"

Crazy isn't a word he'd use: hot, or exciting, maybe. But he nods and leans forward on his elbows. "We've been arguing a lot. I guess the tension was too much."

"Yeah."

"And I thought we were goners."

"Yeah."

"And you really did piss me off."

Her eyes snap up to him, but then she laughs. "Yeah. That was funny though."

"Did you know that thing was in there?"

"What? No!" But she's still laughing, not trying to hit him, so he supposes that she's not upset by the question. "I just wanted to annoy you a little for annoying me. The demon didn't show up until after I'd locked you in."

"White Queen is nice." Lir looks surprised, and he nods to where her weapon is sitting by the door. "First time I ever handled it. You did a good job on the customizations."

"Thanks. I needed it to be lighter, y'know? The default blades are pretty hefty, since they're made for strength over speed, so I lowered the engine capacity and changed it around to run more off of gears than pistons so I could harness a bit of electricity . . ." She closes her mouth and dons what he'd think was an embarrassed smile if it wasn't so out of character for her. "Sorry, I'm ramblin'. I'm glad she could help you."

There’s an awkward silence, and Dante uses the chance to study her face. He wonders if she is really as mad as she's acting, and wishes he knew how to ask, and he watches Lir study the floor as her teeth catch her lip. She chews for a moment, looking positively adorable, and he swallows thickly when her bottom lip comes away a bit plumper and darker.

He mulls over his options for a moment, then asks, "Those your only complaints? I'm older and your boss?"

Lir glances at him. "Do I need more?"

"Nah. But," he leans back in his chair, "I'm only your boss in name, and only until you get yer own shop. Can't do much about my age—"

"Geezer."

He fixes her with an unimpressed stare. "Can't do much about my age, but it's not somethin' that anyone needs to know about. Long as we don't go around broadcastin' what we're doin' . . ."

"Wait." Lir narrows her eyes at him. "You're saying you want to do it again? I thought we agreed it was a mistake?"

Dante shrugs. "I don't know. It was fun enough."

"Fun enough!" Lir leans over to poke him in the shoulder. "I'll have you know I'm a damn good lay."

"Well, since we've only done it once, and you were mostly screamin' my name—"

"I wasn't screaming—"

"—I think I'd need to test it again." Lir makes a face as he leans back in his chair and pats his lap. "You could have never brought this up. But you walked in here wanting to talk about sex. So, why don’t we just do what you want to do?"

"What I want is to pretend it never happened," Lir insists. But her voice is off, and they both know it.

Dante reaches out and grabs her wrist, giving her a tug. "You really gonna play it like this?"

Her gaze roams his face, darting between his eyes and his lips, and he waits to see if she's going to keep dancing around the issue or confront it head on. "What about you?"

"What about me what?"

She steps forward slowly, almost hesitantly, until she's standing between his legs. "What do you want, Dante?"

He reaches out in a flash, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her easily until Lir is straddling his lap a moment later. She grabs his shoulders as his hands slide down her hips and curve around her backside. "We can set some rules," he suggests.

"Okay," she replies breathlessly.

"Work stays separate."

Lir nods. "This is just sex. Not anything else."

"Agreed." Dante's lips quirk. "No falling in love with me."

"That goes for you, too." Her fingers slide up over his neck to weave through the hair at the nape of his neck and he has to suppress a shiver. "You can't fall in love with me."

Might be a bit late for that, he thinks, but merely nods his head, and a second later her mouth presses to his, that plump bottom lip slotting between his own. Dante kneads her backside while she kisses him, little goosebumps rippling over his skin as she takes her time to taste him, giving this a much more intimate feel than the quick, flaring passion from the library. It gives him time to steady himself, something he's grateful for; Trish had been in his ear two days ago about how obvious it was that he's got it bad when it comes to Lir.

Which is in no way true.

Her hands push his coat down his shoulders and he shrugs it off, pulling away from the kiss when Lir tosses it onto the floor. “Hey!" he protests. "That's leather."

"So what?" she pants, leaning in for another kiss.

Dante moves back, and Lir opens her eyes to glare at him. "That coat cost me $600, don’t throw it on the floor."

"Six hundred? No wonder you're broke," she laughs, shaking her head.

He frowns, and she stares at him for a second before huffing and twisting to lean over the arm of the chair to snag his coat from the ground and set it on his desk. "Better?"

"Mm-hm." Dante grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it up. Lir helps him get it the rest of the way off, and he's once again startled by the revelation that she's not wearing a damn thing beneath. "You always refuse a bra, or just when you're here?"

"They're small, so I've never seen the point."

"Not that small," he grumbles. Dante drops her shirt and covers her breasts with his hands, but Lir grabs his wrists.

"How dare you throw my shirt on the floor," she says harshly. “It is 100% cotton and I paid four dollars for that."

Dante makes a face and pinches her nipples, snorting when she gives a little yelp. "You're such a little smart ass, aren't you?"

He reaches with his foot, manages to get the toe of his boot hooked under the collar of her shirt, and somehow flicks it into his hand, all without moving too much from where he is. It leaves him feeling pretty pleased with himself and it tosses it to join his coat, and it must show on his face because Lir leans forward to take the lobe of his ear between her teeth and tug. "Ouch! The hell was that for?"

"Your face was annoying me," she replies matter-of-factly.

Dante grunts and cups her breasts again, almost weighing them in his palms. "Brat."

They continue like this, teasing one another, Lir nibbling on his neck and teasing his jaw with her lips as he massages her chest and flicks his thumbs on her nipples until they are flushed and stiff. He grows hard with the way she gasps a little each time he changes up how he touches her, and Lir is squirming in his lap, rocking against his growing erection. He would call her a tease if he didn't know better.

He drags one hand through her hair and pulls her head back so he can press his lips to her neck. Dante strokes his tongue along the column of her throat, smiling as he feels her swallow, her long sigh making him shift uncomfortably in his too-tight jeans. The push and pull he had felt that night when they had fought off the demons lurking in the house comes back, the end of a build up that has been going on for a long time, with every toss of her hair and tank top and defiant smile adding fuel to the fire. Her taunts have him wanting to tease her for more and wanting to tame her all at the same time, a contradiction that has his heart beating faster.

She seems so soft in his hands now, another difference from back then, when she had been as much of a spitfire as she always is. Her voice is quiet and pleading instead of hard and demanding, the press of her fingers to his shoulders guiding without being forceful. Dante kisses down her throat, careful not to leave a mark—no matter how badly he wants to. When he reaches her shoulder, where her shirts cover her skin, he bites down, keeping the pressure of his teeth sharp yet, he hopes, not painful.

"Damn demon," Lir mutters, tugging on his hair. Dante huffs a laugh as she draws his mouth back to hers, and as she kisses him slowly and deeply her hands move to his belt. 

"You lookin' for something?" he chuckles against her lips.

Lir hums as she pulls the leather through the belt buckle. "You got something to show me?"

"I think you remember," Dante replies as her hand slips under the waistband and grabs him at the hilt.

"Hm." She gives him a slow stroke, or as much of one as she can with her hand restricted by his jeans. "Seems bigger than it was then. Or maybe it's just how tight your pants are?"

He reaches between them to unsnap the button, giving her more room to work. "See for yourself."

Lir tilts her head. Then, with a wink, she slides from his lap to kneel between his thighs, and he watches with his heart in his throat as she frees his length from the fabric. Dante expects a witty remark; what he doesn't at all expect is for her to lean forward to wrap her lips around the head, laving over it with her tongue.

"Fuck, Lir, wait—" His words turn to a gasp when she slides her mouth down, pulling the length into her throat until she gives a little choking sound and eases back. Her brows draw in a bit in concentration as she tries again, her hand tight around the shaft as her head bobs up and down.

It is so damn erotic, seeing her on her knees like that, that Dante can only grip the arms of his chair and pray he doesn't splinter the wood. He watches in rapt fascination as she tries again and again to take as much as possible, the little suction of her lips and her throat tightening around the head when he hits the back of it and she swallows around him making his eyes roll with pleasure. Dante sinks back into the chair, sliding down a bit, his thighs opening as she sinks around him again, wrapping him in the hot, wet suction.

She finds a rhythm that has the arms of the chair groaning under his fingers: it's slow and deep, forcing him to nudge against the back of her throat every time she swallows around him, and what she can't fit in her mouth she works in the same pace with her hand. Dante feels his skin crackling the longer she works and bites his lip until he tastes blood, the cut healing over a second later. He doesn't want to hurt or scare her, but goddamn does she suck him like a champ despite claiming to have never done anything like this before.

"Lir," he groans, pumping his hips up to meet her movements. "You gotta stop, I'm gonna . . ."

She glances up, her lips wrapped around the head, and he whimpers as he tries to hold it together. Lir bats her lashes at him as she pulls her mouth slowly away, only to trace her lips with the tip of his wet cock. "You don't like this?"

"Of course I do," he hisses through his teeth.

"Then shut up and enjoy it," Lir smirks.

Before he can protest she is swallowing him again, her hand pumping fast on his length. Dante wants to hold on but it's too good, and her stupid attitude makes her hotter somehow, which makes no sense. 

Deciding to give her what she wants, his hands dig into her hair and he guides her as he rocks his hips. Lir moans around his cock and a minute later he comes, releasing in dizzying waves as he empties into her mouth. To her credit, she swallows it all, and when it's over and he can collapse back she teases the head with her tongue as he comes down from the orgasm.

Dante breathes heavily through his nose, watching her through lidded eyes. It's been a long time since someone yanked the reins out of his hands like this, if it ever happened at all; nearly all of his encounters have been women wanting to see what fucking a demon hunter was like after seeing him on the news, and all of them were more inclined to letting him do as he pleased. Lir, though? She demands his attention, and he's finding that he doesn't mind that at all.

Her tongue swipes around him and Dante huffs, tugging her wrist. "Okay, easy. Have mercy."

Lir grins up at him. But she stands and leans back on the desk, hands on the edge. "That was actually pretty hot."

"Yeah it was." Dante rolls forward and kisses her stomach. She laughs and he opens her pants, tugging them down her hips as his tongue teases her navel.

"What are you doing?" she chuckles. "You ready to go so soon?"

Dante gets the fabric over her foot and yanks the rest off, throwing them to the couch. Then he lifts her again to sit her on the desk, pressing his hands to her thighs. "I need a few more minutes. Gonna return the favor first."

"Wait, really?"

He notes her wide eyes when he reaches for her panties, snapping the band against her hip. "Yeah? what, none of the boys you played with before know how to go down on a girl?"

She doesn't quite look uncomfortable, but there's a tinge of uncertainty to her voice when she replies, "Guess it never came up. Not like the Order was big on sex ed."

Dante pauses, teasing the skin where her panties rest on her thigh with his nails, and he grins at her shiver. "Really? This is a first for you, then?"

"Don't make such a big deal out of it," she mutters.

"Wasn't plannin' to. Just means I gotta make up for what those jackasses didn't do."

Lir heaves an impatient sigh. "Is this it then? You just bore my vagina to death?"

Dante slips his hands into the fabric and tugs it down her hips, his eyes smoldering as he looks up at her. "You better get ready. I'm only good at two things in this world, and eating pussy is one of them."

She laughs as he pulls her panties off impatiently. "What's the other?"

"Killing demons," he answers as he lifts her thighs up and open. Lir falls back a bit, bracing her hands on the desk as he slides closer. "And I don't see any demons around, do you?"

"Just yo . . . oh." He'd grin against her at the way her voice goes up a couple of octaves and gets breathless when his tongue presses between her folds if it weren't for the fact that the taste of her has his body going painfully tight. It's clean and sweet, and eagerly he flattens his tongue, wanting to catch as much of it as he can.

Lir jolts in his hands but his grip keeps her legs open. He lavishes her sex with long, flat licks, all the way along her slit from bottom to top. Once she's accepted she can't go anywhere and he feels her thighs relax in his hands, he moves his attention to the hood, giving little experimental licks to see what she likes.

"Oh . . ." she groans, her back bowing. Lir goes down to her elbows, her head falling back as he rolls his tongue around her hood. Then he slides his hands down her thighs until he settles them against the creases so he can use his thumbs to open her labia.

Her clit is swollen and pink, and he kisses it lightly. Lir jerks with a choked cry, and Dante can't help his grin as he does it again. She's so sensitive that he can't do more than just the gentle licks, working up until he can wrap his lips around it and give a little suckle. Lir lets go a moan that makes sweat break out on his back, his chin instantly flooded with her arousal. He does it again and she whines his name, and Dante knows he has hit the jackpot.

He focuses there, keeping his lips wrapped around the bud as he rubs over it with the tip of his tongue. Lir's hands grip his hair, tugging sharply at his strands, and the pinpricks of pain make him groan; he'd told her that he needed a minute, and he though that he did, but just this much alone already has his cock stiffening, her voice and touch and body more addicting than he'd ever admit. "Dante," she pleads. "Dante, I feel . . . I need . . ."

Dante dips down to lap at her opening, and she groans in response. He teases her walls for a moment before returning to her hood, but this time he flattens his tongue against her clit. Lir responds by grinding against him, and he remains mostly still as he lets her work her hips until she is gasping.

Lir rides his face until a cry tears from her throat, and when she starts to come he grabs her thighs and pushes them up and open. Eagerly he sucks on her clit and laps at her sex, practically drinking from her as she falls apart under his touch, writhing and moaning in pleasure.

When she whimpers and tugs at his hair again, he draws away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight of her flushed, glistening sex sends a thrill that's equal parts pride and desire through him, and he stands and leans over her, bracing one arm above her head. "Need a minute?" he asks teasingly.

Lir blinks up at him. Then her eyes narrow and her lips curl into one of those smiles that's as playful as it is challenging. "Nah, but if you need a breather, I wouldn't blame you, old man."

"Maybe I do." His hands slide along her body, roaming her thighs and up her torso to cup her breasts. "You got me hot again," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her breast.

Lir trembles at his rough touch, but her voice is even when she jokes, "No wonder you never get laid. You never shut up."

He bites the top of her breast, earning a yelp and a swat to his shoulder. "I get laid," he mutters.

Lir opens her mouth, but before she can say anything he kisses her, taking the opportunity to roll his tongue over hers. She inhales sharply, then her arms slide around his shoulders as he reaches down to push his jeans the rest of the way off his hips, kicking them away impatiently. He draws away from her lips only to grab a condom from the top drawer of his desk. As he rolls it on, she laughs. "You been planning this or something?"

"I told you, I get laid." He leaves off the sometimes, or better yet, used to anyway, as he opens her legs. Dante takes a moment to look down and appreciate the sight of Lir flushed and naked and open on his desk, one of his top three fantasies for the better part of the past year. Then he sinks into her, her body like scorching hot silk, and Lir groans beautifully as he fills her up, sliding easily past her soaking folds.

He gives her a moment to adjust, panting against the crook of her neck. When he starts to move, he does so carefully, listening for any sound of hurt or discomfort in her quiet moans, building slowly to a place that's going to leave them both more than satisfied. Her nails drag along his back as she wraps her legs around his hips, her heels digging into his back to urge him on. "Don't tease," she breathes.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he answers. Their mouths meet in a deep, sensuous kiss, her tongue sliding against his as Dante pumps his body in and out. The room fills with heavy breathing and the slapping sound with each thrust. Everything about this, about her, is so damn erotic, it's like he's living in one of the stories in his magazines. Lir is so tight around him that the friction sends jolts of pleasure through him at every pass, until his focus is fucking her fast and deep as he starts to build another orgasm.

Their kiss turns a little sloppy, but he doesn't mind. Not when he can feel her body tensing and her limbs trembling and the way her walls squeeze around him, all signs he recognizes from the last time they wound up having sex. He pulls away from her lips to watch her, wanting to imprint the sight of her falling apart on his mind. And she's stunning, her hair a pale halo around her head that nearly glows against the wood of his desk, her golden eyes bright, her cheeks flushed and lips kiss plump and parted on a low moan of his name.

Her hands grip his forearms as her mouth falls open, and Lir arches against the desk as she comes. Dante slows to a breathtaking drag, grinding deep within her, feeling her tunnel gripping him as her fingers grasps him almost painfully. Sweat beads on his brow and drips into his eyes as he watches, listening for the little broken cry that means she's had enough. Her hand raises to press on his chest, dragging down his chest, her palm feverish to the touch. "Come on, Dante," she whispers weakly.

She doesn't need to ask him twice. He grabs her thighs and presses them up and apart as he begins to drill into her, his hips battering against her as he chases his own orgasm. Little mewls fall from her lips with every thrust, feeding the fire burning beneath his skin until, with a hoarse groan, he comes, filling the condom with his seed. He nearly wishes he didn't have the damn thing on, because he wants to know how it would feel to fill her instead, and he leans down to press his lips to her neck, panting against her skin as wave after wave of bliss jolts along his spine.

Dante presses his forehead to her chest as he catches his breath, easing the tight grip on her thighs. His face feels flushed and feverish, and he is in desperate need of a shower and a drink. Not because he regrets this; on the contrary, that was the best sex of his life. He eases out of Lir's body almost reluctantly, but knowing if he's not careful, this could become a problem . . . and he is for sure not giving this up now.

He glances up to see Lir grinning, her arms over her head. "Damn that was good," she sighs, and as he steps back she stretches her legs out and rolls her ankles. Then she sits up, smiling at him coyly, and crooks her finger for him to come closer.

Surprised, Dante steps up so they are almost touching. Lir presses a hand to his arm, dragging it upwards, and he shivers at her touch. But when she reaches his shoulder she gives his earlobe a sharp tug, laughing when he jumps. "I'll admit it, your dick is good," she sighs.

Dante frowns as she eases off the desk, pushing past him to start picking up her clothes. He watches as she stands on one foot to slide her pants back on, finally blurting, "That's it?"

Lir looks at him, confused, and shrugs as she zips up. "Well, for now. You hungry? I want a cheeseburger with everything on it now." She pulls her t-shirt on before patting her stomach. "That workout made me hungry."

"Yeah," Dante laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for his pants. "You're buying though."

"Hey!"

He puts up his hands in protest. "Rules are rules. Don't want to do anything to make this look weird, hm? And me buying would look like I was bribing you."

Lir narrows her eyes and folds her arms. "Fine," she snaps. "Then we're not ever doing it again." She huffs into the kitchen and Dante snorts as he tugs on his jeans. Never do it again? Probably the best idea she's ever had.

[wthelvetica21]

Linked Souls / Timeline Splitting Delirium : Part 2

Lewis: Do I really have to carry him in this position

-Lewis was trying to get DrunkGuy’s back side out his peripheral vision 

zero_one: huh? Why is that?

Lewis: I’ve... heard things from the bartender that even as a dead man haunts me. 

zero_one: What? (he tilts his head in confusion)

Lewis: *sigh* Trust me, you DON’T want to know.

zero_one: Oh kay… point taken. We’re here at least.

Lewis: sigh… Thank God… I didn’t know that this city had so many damn stairs and walk ways.

-Both sit on the front side of a two sided bench while laying DrunkGuy on the other side

-Lewis turns from his human form back to his default ghost form since zero_one is familiar with it

zero_one: That kind of looks exhausting to do on and off. Is there something bothering you Lewis?

Lewis: We still haven’t found Arthur’s possessed arm. We got a lead from that bar saying someone saw a green arm with a single black eye. But it didn’t turn up.

zero_one: Huh… Maybe it’ll turn up soon. You’re a ghost though; could you detect it right?

Lewis: Well no. The only two I know of who could do somethin’ like that are Mystery and that psycho bonsai tree lady. Maybe should’ve taken him with us but I’m not sure the bartender would allow dogs in the bar you know what I’m sayin’.

zero_one: Right… It’s kind of strange thing to ask people about that. I wonder how Arthur feels about this thing? It did possess him after all and made home in that arm right?

Lewis: Yeah.. he kinda doesn’t wanna talk about it though . But that thing is… the reason for what I am now.

-Lewis is showing a surprising amount of restraint to keep his boiling anger in check

-zero_one through some strange impulse felt a small pang of something he couldn’t describe

zero_one: umm Lewis, there is something I wanted to ask you since we first met.

Lewis: What’s that Z?

zero_one: I want to know is what you saw once you crossed over to this universe? I could tell that you recognized me even though we never met before. I also have a vague recollection of a silhouette of a man with a gold locket similar to yours in a misty cave with a pit of pale green stalagmites.

Lewis: Huh!? You… you saw what?

-That was a day that Lewis wished he could forget but the very thing that caused so much strife and turned him into a vengeful ghost is still at large in this universe somewhere doing God knows what

zero_one: The rest is a blur though but I felt… something just pierced my chest like a bullet. And I’m not sure it was me or someone else singing something along the lines of…

“This time I might just disappear”

Lewis: Uh ha… Now that you mention it. I felt that bullet though the heart sensation too and not because of how I died.

zero_one: You what!?

*jumps slightly in shock*

Lewis: It’s… another story for another time. Trust me on this one Z.

zero_one: Okay. You where saying though?…

-zero_one is simultaneously curious and… for the first time slightly unsettled

Lewis: I think I had the opposite problem, I vividly remember some guy in a dark hospital room who looked comatose. Slowly he started writhing and convulsing like a reanimated corpse. Then the lights short out and the only thing I could see in-front of me was someone with a pulsing orange-yellow skull mask that looks like yours staring at me. And then for no damn reason at all I hear myself sing or someone else sing something like…

“It’s like a creature from a nightmare”

zero_one: A “Creature from a Nightmare”?… Why does that...

-a sharp pained gasp leaves zero_one as he holds his head and starts shaking as if he’s having a panic attack

zero_one: (speaking in a less modulated and panicked voice) 

No… Please let it stop, I wanted a purpose in my sucky boring life not this. What is happening to me?! Why do I feel like an…

DrunkGuy: ugh... can’t you keep it down... I’m trying to sleep...

Lewis: Zero-o… oh shit…

-groans in pain and feeling like his body is going to fall apart

Lewis: (in his more human voice) 

I don’t get it… How could he just push me off like that? I’m not getting my life back am I?... Have I become a…

DrunkGuy: Wait, what’s going….? Uhh... both of you don’t look so hot so I think I might just… (in a nervous tone)

-Suddenly both Lewis and zero_one feel a sharp stabbing sensation in their very cores and began to have those aforementioned visions but clearer and fuller they both scream one agonized word...

Lewis : GHOST!

zero_one : ANIMAL!

-They both release magenta and yellow orange energy that a still a sobering drunk has enough of the self preservation instinct to retreat from

DrunkGuy: OH GOD!!! Screw it I’M OUTTA HERE! (running in the distance) DID SOMEONE SLIP ME SOMETHING!?

-As soon as DrunkGuy leaves far enough away to be in another neighborhood entirely. Lewis came too and noticed zero_one is no longer glowing and is facing away from him, his head was obscured by shadows.

Lewis: Hey, Z.? Are you all… *gasp*... Holy shit.. Why didn’t I notice earlier?… But… how the fu_k is that even possible?

-Lewis was at a loss for words; he couldn’t believe it. zero_one was a dead ringer to that drunk skull faced guy (DrunkGuy) they picked up from the bar.

to be continued (2/3)

zero_one: (I hardly can remember anything. But that’s my prime self, i just know it. Is this part of that butterfly effect Helvetica mentioned? Uhh shit, the talk with Lewis about this is going to be a painful endeavor.)

[heysoup]

Fluffy February Day 2 - Movie Night

Reminder to follow @fluffyfebruary ​ to see the prompt list and that I’ll be using the tags #fluffyfebruary and #fluffyfeb for these.

Continuing the fics with day two! I’m super proud of this one; It’s dripping with fluff and teenage angst. Warning for potential secondhand embarrassment - they’re both idiots in love and have no idea how to show it.

Chapter 2: Films and Fears

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Dealing with life in the vault can be tough, especially for an outcast like Jamie. When he befriends Butch through his G.O.A.T. assignment, however, the two make their own safe place. Butch decides to surprise him there one day with the promise of treasure, and it leads to something more than they both expect.

Ao3 Link

Jamie tosses and turns in his rat’s nest of a bed. It’s midnight – he’s too hot, the vault’s ventilation system’s groaning is echoing around him like a damn chorus, and his sheets keep scratching uncomfortably against his clammy skin. He brings his wrist close to his face to mindlessly check his Pip-Boy for the millionth time that night, his arm feeling as heavy as lead, and he squints at the fluorescent light of the screen as he taps it awake.

Though Butch showed him a few times before, it still takes him a moment to remember the right sequence of buttons to push to unlock developer’s mode and navigate to the messaging tab the other boy set up for them. It’s only been about a month since Butch found an old Pip-Boy manual in Stanley’s locker and got this trick to work, but already there’s a considerable backlog of messages between the two.

Jamie scrolls through them with the dial on his Pip-Boy, worrying the skin of his lower lip with his teeth as he reads through some of the older messages. It’s become a new habit for him on these particularly rough sleepless nights. When he’s too exhausted to write in his journal, draw, or jump around his room in an attempt to tire himself out; he talks to Butch.

If someone had told him a year ago that Butch DeLoria, his childhood bully and teenage rival, would be one of his only sources of solace these days he would have called them insane. Turns out, giving the vault’s two delinquents deadbeat jobs with no supervision and shoving them in the same closet of a studio space could make them form a pretty strange alliance. The enemy of my enemy and all of that, right?

It also doesn’t help that Amata is forever busy with her new duties as overseer’s assistant – or whatever her job title is actually called. Jamie misses her like he’s lost a part of himself, and even though he knows she’s not locked away with her father by choice he can’t help the nagging part of his brain that is convinced she abandoned him.

Butch is dealing with the same thing, though with less consequence. His fellow Tunnel Snakes are relatively busy with their new jobs – Wally as a security guard and Paul as an engineer – but they still make some time to see each other. Butch is just one of those people who needs constant attention, which is where Jamie supposes he comes in handy. He tries not to think too hard about it.

He’s is snickering to himself while he reads some messages sent a few weeks back during one of their spats, most of which were petty insults and some pretty creative curses, when a new message blips through and pulls his screen to attention.

913473: nosebleed u up?

Perfect timing, Jamie thinks, sitting up in his bed to type. The 6-digit code is what Butch called his Pip-ID – apparently every Pip-Boy comes with one coded in by default. It was weird at first, trying to memorize the numbers and calm his own paranoia at the thought of someone hacking into their conversations, but Butch said that their numbers were for their Pip-Boys alone, so Jamie trusted him. The horrible, agitated crawling under his skin that was keeping him up all night begins to fade as he replies.

604272: didja even have to ask? 913473: just say yes or no damn 604272: k. no 913473: oh fuck off

Jamie can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him, and he grins like a complete idiot down at the screen.

913473: if ur done being an ass i have somethin for us to do 913473: if u aint busy of course 913473: meet at the place? 604272: sure. be there in 10

He switches his Pip-Boy screen off and hops out of bed, stretching languorously before grabbing his jumpsuit from where he left it earlier that day in a heap on the floor. He tugs it on leg by leg and zips it up before checking himself in the mirror.

His hair is a mop of curls on his head and he does his best to smooth it down, knowing Butch will scold him for not using the correct conditioner to tame his flyaways like he showed him. The bags under his eyes are a bit darker than usual, but there’s nothing to be done about that. He shrugs to himself and turns to the door. No point in being too self-conscious about his appearance this late at night – isn’t like this is a date or anything, he tells himself.

He doesn’t bother being quiet as he leaves his room, knowing his dad would still be working at the clinic or at the very least passed out there on one of the cots. He doesn’t come home much these days.

Jamie shoves his boots on, not even bothering with socks, and peers out of the thick window into the hallway. It seems empty, so he hits the button and creeps out through the door.

The neon blue emergency lights that run along the edges of the ceiling and floor greet him when he steps out of his apartment. He shoves his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, and peers around the corner before continuing his path. The door closes not-so-softly behind him and he walks down the hall past the restrooms that separate his and Butch’s apartments. He stops momentarily outside the door to the DeLoria’s apartment, noticing it’s dark and quiet inside.

Butch must already be down there, Jamie thinks, picking up his pace as much as he could without making too much noise. Despite the constant creaking and rumbling of the vault’s ventilation and reactor systems the halls at night could carry quite an echo, and his boots aren’t the quietest things to sneak around in.

Patrols were lax recently but knowing his luck he’d get caught breaking curfew and would have to clean the bathrooms again. He briefly regrets not wearing socks because he refuses to take his boots off and walk barefoot on the cold steel floor, even if it is quieter.

Further down the hallway and a bit past the occupied wing of apartments, Jamie stops at the top of a short set of stairs that lead down to a small corridor with one door. A large INACCESSIBLE sign glows ominously above it, and in the corner of the hallway facing the stairwell is a single security camera. It rotates at a snail’s pace, its gears clicking audibly with every circuit it makes of the dead-end hallway.

Jamie ducks down near the wall at the top of the stairs, watching the camera as he has so many times before to study its crawling path. When Butch had discovered this place, they figured out a way to tilt the camera up ever so slightly with the handle of a broom from their shop – creating about thirty seconds of a blind spot to get them from the stairs and through the door without getting caught if they hugged the left wall.

Peering down the hallways around him one more time to make sure no patrols were coming; Jamie types a quick message into his Pip-Boy.

604272: here

He waits a few moments until he hears a couple sharp raps on the metal door down the way, telling him that Butch is there whenever he’s ready. Jamie waits a few more moments and listens to the camera click back into its blind spot before he hops down the stairs, staying low and to the left as he stalks toward the door. He hits it lightly with his palm when he gets there, and it slides open. He has just enough time to duck inside, slamming his fist on the button to shut it just as he hears the security camera restart its rotation.

“You’re still gonna act like it's some big heist no matter how many times we come down here, huh?” Jamie turns around in the darkness and is met with Butch’s grin, a bottle of beer already in one of his fists. His Pip-Boy light is on, basking them in a dim green glow.

“Keeps it interesting,” he replies, punching Butch playfully on the arm. On this side of the door is a long flight of stairs and they continue further down into the pitch darkness, hands pressing along the walls for purchase with nothing but about three feet of lighting in front of them.

The emergency lights are shut off down here, along with the security cameras – probably to save power, so Jamie turns his Pip-Boy light on as well. It’s a bit brighter, but not by much. They’ve been down here enough times by now that their bodies remember how many steps there are, but Jamie always has a nagging fear in the back of his mind that one day the staircase will just keep going forever. He shakes that thought from his head, listening to the sound of their boots stomping down the steps and focusing his gaze on Butch’s free hand as it slides against the railing.

For the past month or so this has been their escape. Butch somehow figured out how to break into the door they just passed through, and they discovered a whole wing of abandoned apartments under the ones they were currently living in. So far all they had done was clear out one room that had a ratty old couch, some blankets, a broken Nuka Cola mini-fridge, and a few wooden storage crates in it. Jamie had also rigged up a small emergency generator and they were able to find some lamps to make it a little less depressing.

Most importantly, they had booze smuggled from Butch’s mom’s liquor stash, a few cartons of cigarettes they’d traded with Stevie for some chems Jamie snuck from his dad’s clinic, their collection of comic books, and Jamie’s old BB gun for when they got bored. It’s far from perfect, but it’s space, and when you’re destined to roam the same hallways with the same people for the rest of your miserable existence – that amounts to a lot.

“So, what are we actually doing?” Jamie asks as they turn into the apartment they’d claimed as their base. Butch has the generator running and the room smells thickly of his peach pomade and cigarette smoke – he must have been down here for a few hours already.

“I,” Butch begins, stopping to pull the cork out of his new bottle of beer with his teeth before spitting it on the floor and taking a swig, “am gonna show you some treasure.” He finishes with a flourish, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and plops down onto the couch next to his discarded Tunnel Snake jacket.

Jamie snorts and pulls up a crate, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and propping his feet up. He clicks his tongue in mock annoyance when Butch’s boots crowd his own on the small surface and, in a fruitless endeavor, they battle for leg space before giving in to sharing. It’s obvious the other boy is already a bit tipsy.

“Treasure, huh? That’s cool, I guess,” Jamie snickers, snatching the bottle of beer from Butch and downing some before he could protest. It burns in his throat and brings a comforting warmth to his chest. He continues nursing the drink and settles further back into the worn corduroy couch, his posture absolutely terrible. Butch reaches for another bottle.

“Yup.” The bottle pops open and another cork joins the pile growing on the floor. Another drink and an obnoxious burp, then Butch sits forward - feet falling to the floor, his hands on his knees, and an excited light in his eyes. His leg is bouncing incessantly.

“Listen, I was going through some rooms down here and I found an old projector – like the one Brotch has?” He glances at Jamie, blue eyes a soft, dreamy color in the low light, and Jamie can’t help but gulp at the intensity he sees there. When Butch has a plan he’s excited about, he turns into a different person – like all the stress of conforming to the monotony of vault life has washed away and he’s finally allowed to be the mischievous and passionate person hiding underneath it all. Or… something like that. Jamie’s waxing poetic again, something he can’t help but do when around Butch.

“That’s pretty cool,” is all Jamie can bring himself to breathe out as he sips on his beer. He picks at the loose threads on the arm of the couch as he tries not to think about the fact that Butch had his lips on this same bottle just a few seconds ago.

Butch deflates a bit. “Pretty cool?” he mocks, leaning closer. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk than Jamie had first thought, if the redness of his cheeks were any indication.

“Nosebleed, I found full on ho-lo-disks,” Butch emphasizes, blowing a few messy curls away from his forehead. Jamie just shrugs.

“Okay?” he begins, not seeing the big deal. They already have these things in the classroom. “What’re we gonna do, watch some lectures? Don’t tell me DeLoria wants to brush up on his studying,” he taunts.

Butch just sneers at him in response, standing up and only swaying a bit – much to Jamie’s surprise. “You have no imagination, dweeb. Stay here!” And with that, he storms out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Jamie can see the green light of his Pip-Boy flash on through the window as he walks further away into the dark.

It’s a few minutes before he comes back, and Jamie can hear the ruckus he’s causing before he sees him. He’s startled out of his comfortable position on the couch and perks up. The door slides open and Butch pushes the projector into their base on its rolling cart. One of the wheels must be rusted because its screeching like a damn rat, scraping against the metal flooring as he drags it to the center of the room. He grabs an old cardboard box from the lower shelf of the cart and slides it on the floor over to Jamie with his foot before going back to set the projector up with their tangled mess of extension cords.

Jamie picks it up and grimaces at the box – it’s a little rank and it feels crusty in some spots. “This thing is probably covered in like a hundred different types of mold,” he complains.

“Didn’t give it to ya so you could judge the box!” Butch snaps, banging the top of the projector impatiently when the power flickers. “Open the damn thing.”

Jamie places the box on the couch beside him and sits up, peeling it open to peer inside. His jaw drops in amazement at the sight – more holodisks than he’s ever seen in his life, all with unique and eye-catching, full-color illustrations on the covers. He stares at Butch in disbelief and catches the other boy staring at him, an unabashed, beaming smile on his face when he sees Jamie’s reaction. When their eyes meet, Butch clears his throat and snaps his attention back to the projector, fiddling with some dials that don’t seem to change anything.

“Cool, right?” He says, his ears turning red as he dismisses his earlier excitement with a sheepish shrug.

“It’s fucking great!” Jamie laughs and begins to rummage through the box. There are real films in here, like he’s only read about in pre-war history classes or his cheesy novels. Aside from a whole slew of superhero films starring characters like The Silver Shroud and even some of Grognak the Barbarian, there are titles that look like they’re about pre-war animals in different parts of the world, some with soldiers in power armor, some ancient recordings of sports, and what looks like a few western and sci-fi films

Butch walks back over and sits beside him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and leaning in to look at the titles. Jamie’s breath hitches at his closeness and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He tries not to show it, leaning in ever so slightly to let their shoulders brush.

“You can pick first, my treat,” Butch says while gesturing to the patchwork sheet he’d hung up on the opposite wall of the small apartment – Butch must have stitched it together himself out of whatever excess fabric he found. It’s hanging a little crooked and the projector’s STAND BY image is a bit fuzzy, but a bubble of excitement forms in Jamie’s chest regardless. He doesn’t want to read too far into things, but Butch had found this and made it a surprise specifically for them to share. That made him feel a certain kind of way.

He blinks those embarrassing thoughts away and nods, his face warm. Looking over their choices carefully, he finally decides and picks the western – he always did have a fondness for the freedom that seemed to come with being a cowboy – and walks to the projector to pop it in and press play.

He half expects Butch to make fun of his choice, but the other boy is oddly quiet, carefully inspecting his fingernails as Jamie switches off the lamps and kicks off his boots before returning to sit cross-legged on the couch. Butch still hasn’t scooted further away or removed his arm from the back of the couch, so their knees bump and he can feel the warmth of Butch’s arm behind his neck and it sends prickles through his skin.

Only as the movie begins do they realize they don’t have any speakers hooked up – so it’s completely silent in the room other than the whirring of the film in the projector.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Butch sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. Jamie just laughs.

“It’s still cool,” he assures him. “They used to have silent movies all the time apparently – especially back in cowboy days. It’s authentic,” he purses his lips at the end, trying to do his best impression of Mr. Brotch. It seems to work because Butch cracks a grin at him and snorts.

“Sure, it’ll work for now, but I saw some terminals in another apartment down here. We can check for some speakers there later,” Butch says and then his playful grin becomes roguish. “Push comes to shove, we can just swipe one from upstairs. Who’d notice a missing speaker?”

Jamie just scoffs and elbows him, turning his attention back to the film as the title screen fades in and he reads, ‘High Lonesome.’ He didn’t bother to read what the film was about, but it opens with a group of people in a wagon on a vast desert plain with plateaus towering in the distance.

There isn’t too much to see at first, but one thing that sticks with him is the impossible vastness of the sky as the camera zooms out to show a wider view of the prairie they’re riding along. He’s seen pictures of the sky, sure, but something about watching the tiny silhouettes of people move around under it was chilling – it was huge and incredibly empty. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was amazement or terror.

Despite the film being in black and white, the shimmer of the sun on the horses’ flanks as they gallop is bright enough to seem real and Jamie is completely entranced as he watches. And, luckily enough, there seem to be subtitles, so they’ll still be able to understand what’s going on.

Jamie’s trance is momentarily broken when Butch leans down and grabs something from under the couch. He returns with a box of fancy lads which he presses into Jamie’s hands. Jamie mumbles his thanks, his eyes never leaving the picture as he tears into a package and shoves a whole powdery cake into his mouth.

Butch just laughs at him and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He lights one just as the young cowboy on screen does – much to Jamie’s delight – and they chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

They pass the snacks, beer, and smokes back and forth between each other as they watch their movies. When the western is over, Butch picks a film called ‘Teenage Caveman,’ saying that it has to be good because the cover has tits and a giant lizard monster on it. It ends up being the worst piece of garbage they’ve ever seen – and that’s saying a lot considering they’ve only seen one other film in their whole lives.

“That dude didn’t even look like a teenager! He had to be like thirty,” Jamie says, tossing the film into a box they decide to label ‘shit.’ According to Butch, they were like pioneers and had to record their findings, so not only were they watching the films, but they were sorting them from best to worst. As Butch had put it in his best overseer impression, they were doing future vault residents a great service and fulfilling their civic duty… by saving others from watching total pieces of trash.

“There wasn’t even a single boob,” Butch mopes, snubbing out the last of his cigarette in the cracked coffee mug functioning as their makeshift ashtray. “Talk about false advertising. The giant lizards were kinda cool, though.” Jamie smacks him upside the head.

“You wouldn’t know what a boob looked like if it smacked you in the face.”

“You take that back!” Butch laughs and tosses their snacks on the floor, lunging for Jamie who’s cackling just as hard. They’re fucking hammered at this point and they roll off the couch into a heap on the floor, knocking a crate over as they grapple at each other. They wrestle like this sometimes – it’s a great outlet for Jamie’s aggressive energy and, when they’re less drunk, Butch actually teaches him how to kick ass. Now, they’re just breathless laughs and fumbling hands as they scramble for purchase on the floor and try their damnedest to pin the other down.

Butch may be stronger on a normal day, but at the moment he’s piss-drunk compared to Jamie who still has a bit of his wits about him. He flips the taller boy over so quickly it’s almost comical and pins him, pressing his knees against his thighs and holding his wrists at his sides to stop him from getting up. He laughs triumphantly.

“What’s wrong, Butchie? You’ve never lost a fight so fast!” He grins down at the boy smugly but stops short when he sees the look on Butch’s face. It’s endearing how red his cheeks are, his hair a mess and his blue eyes wide. Butch just fixes him with those piercing baby blues.

“Don’t get cocky, Nosebleed. I let ya do it,” he says in a soft voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jamie’s mouth goes dry, his eyes fixed on Butch’s unbelievably pink lips. He hates himself for how much he wants to kiss him then and without thinking he begins to lean forward. He catches himself, though, and his thoughts have him jumping off of Butch and falling back against the couch like he’s been shocked, his chest heaving. He feels dizzy and he can still smell the earthy spice of the other boy’s aftershave enveloping him like a thick haze he can’t shake.

Butch laughs and pulls himself up into a sitting position, shooting Jamie a dazzling grin from his seat on the floor. “What’s wrong, Jamie?” Butch teases, his voice only a bit slurred and a shit-eating grin creeping its way onto his face. Hearing his name come from Butch is rare and it knocks the breath out of him. All he can do is stare.

Butch clambers ungracefully back up to the couch with him, leaning awfully close and whispering, “cat got your tongue?” His breath is warm on Jamie’s face and it smells like a mixture of smoke and alcohol, something he never thought would smell so intoxicating, but of course it does – it’s Butch.

Jamie’s heart is in his fucking throat and he can’t breathe. Butch is pressed against his side and his back is against the arm of the couch. There’s nowhere for him to escape to – not that he necessarily wants to, but he was never very good with facing his feelings. Either Butch is actively trying to flirt with him or he’s fucking around, and Jamie can’t decide which one is worse.

“You’re drunk, you idiot,” Jamie laughs weakly and goes to push Butch away by the chest but stops when he feels his heart pounding under his t-shirt. The other boy’s breath hitches and his body stiffens at Jamie’s touch, his lips parting as if he were trying to think of what to say.

“So are you,” Butch finally settles with, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Jamie’s wrist. His touch almost feels like it burns. They sit like that for a moment, staring at each other, eyes like fire.

The generator chooses that moment to shut off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Out of instinct, Jamie curls his fingers into Butch’s shirt, his ears ringing at the sudden silence in the room and his breathing becoming labored. Darkness feels suffocating to him sometimes, and this is one of those moments. It lays over them like a thick blanket, and the only thing that pulls him out of his internal panic is Butch’s free hand cupping the back of his head, fingers twining through the thick, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t even have time to think about what Butch might be doing before he feels the press of the other boy’s lips warm against his own. Though they’re unbelievably soft, the kiss is rushed and clumsy – desperate almost – and Jamie grunts when their teeth knock together. He wastes no time returning the kiss, though, his eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the feel of Butch’s lips against his own and the rough burn of his stubble as it brushes against his chin.

It must have just been a power surge, because suddenly the generator kicks back on and the projector screen lights up the room. Their eyes fly open and they wrench apart, still holding onto each other as if for dear life. Whatever safety they felt shrouded in the darkness is ripped away and they’re left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Jamie’s breath comes out in stutters and he dares to glance up at the other boy.

Butch’s eyes are filled with a fiery heat he can’t even describe and something akin to tenderness – which is hard for him to pinpoint since he’s never been looked at like that before. He sucks in a sharp breath. For some reason, even though he’s been dreaming of this moment for months, he just feels terrified and embarrassed – like he fucked up somehow. The panic must be written clearly on his face because Butch pulls away like he’s been slapped and falls back to the other end of the couch.

“Sh-shit, I,” Butch stutters, his hand clutching his chest where Jamie’s was a moment before, “fuck, Jamie, I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks, sounding almost pleading. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, his mouth flapping uselessly, and it’s too much for him to handle. He doesn’t understand what his problem is. Everything in his heart is telling him to leap forward and continue kissing Butch, but he’s just too fucking scared.

“It’s fine!” He practically snaps, standing up suddenly. He’s shaking and feels clammy and he’s sure he’s as pale as a ghost – is it even possible for something good to give you a panic attack?

He glances around for his boots for a moment, but it’s still too much and he can see Butch starting to reach for him with concern in his eyes. “I have to go,” he blurts out, and he turns tail and runs.

The last thing he hears before he leaves is Butch yelling his name, but he jogs up the steps in the darkness, tripping over his own feet and bruising his knees. He knows he’s acting like a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. He is absolutely not ready to face what’s happening and he needs to be alone in his room now.

When he reaches the door, he doesn’t even stop to think about the security camera on the other side, he just slams his fist on the button and rushes out and thankfully luck is on his side this time because he can hear the camera click into the end of its circuit.

He slows down when he reaches the halls, his bare feet making a lot less noise than his boots, but fuck the floor is cold and he regrets not stopping to find his shoes. Soon he reaches his apartment, and he rushes inside, thankful to see that it’s still empty. He locks himself in his own bedroom, suddenly feeling like everything is too much, and he rips his jumpsuit off, flopping onto his bed in just his tank top and boxers and pulling the covers over his head.

He wants to scream, maybe tear his hair out a little or punch the wall. He cannot believe how badly he fucked that up. He doesn’t even know what this means for their friendship – if he had tried to make a move on Butch and the other boy ran away, he would be devastated! Would Butch even want to talk to him anymore? He worries over these thoughts for a few hours until his brain feels like jelly. The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is how his lips taste ever-so-slightly like the sweet mint chap stick Butch always carries around.

---

He wakes up later to the sound of incessant beeping coming from his wrist. He groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes and down his face. He feels like complete shit – hungover, most likely, and his head is swimming.

He looks at his Pip-Boy to check the time and realizes he’s overslept. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s late for his work assignment at the studio but if he’s being honest the thought of having to drag himself out of bed and sit in a room with Butch all day doesn’t seem as great as it used to. He can’t help it when he opens the messaging app, biting his lip as he prepares to read whatever might be there.

913473: it was a prank haha i rly got u good

That one was sent almost immediately after he’d left last night, according to the timestamp. Something about it makes his gut twist, gives him a bit of nausea. He’s not sure if he believes Butch or not. Once again, he’s not sure which is harder to deal with. Dated about an hour later there are a few more.

913473: jamie im sorry pls answer me 913473: don’t ignore me man if ur mad just come beat me up 913473: are u sleeping? damn out of all the times 913473: its k. i kno u need it. gnight

Jamie doesn’t realize he’s chewing his lip to shreds until he tastes blood, and he curses, wiping it away on the hem of his tank top. His eyes are glued to the screen, his heart thundering in his ears. Dated even later are a handful of other messages and he can tell by their contents that Butch must have kept drinking in his absence. The thought of that tugs at his heart a little – maybe he isn’t the only one who’s terrified of his own feelings and kind of a fuckup.

913473: i know ur asleeeep 913473: gdamn typing onthis shit. fcking sucks 913473: m drunk but idc. i kissed u jamie n itfucking rocked 913473: wasnt a prank. im srry. dont hate me 913473: u can hit me all u want. ill evenlet u win the fight. 913473: jsut dont hate me

Jamie groans and grabs his pillow, shoving his face into it a few times and letting out as loud of a yell as he dares. It’s not enough, but it will have to do. Breathless and flushed, he’s about to lay back down when a new message comes through and his heart leaps so high into his throat that he nearly chokes. He peeks at it over the pillow.

913473: yo you’re late dude. like super late! 913473: i figured id let u sleep off the hangover a bit but damn 913473: i aint gonna cover ur ass if the overseer comes knocking. i have enough of a headache. 913473: so get down here!!! 913473: speakin of headache i was drunk as shit last night. dont remember a thing past that crappy monster movie. so ignore whatever embarrassing crap i sent you, k? 913473: and dont tell anyone im a talkative drunk or ill pummel you, nosebleed.

Jamie looks at the messages in disbelief and flops back onto his bed, his thoughts racing. He can’t tell if Butch is lying or not – he knows even if Butch doesn’t remember there was still something different about what happened last night but fuck if he’s going to bring it up now.

He’s relieved, but also disappointed, maybe a little angry – either at himself or at Butch, he can’t tell. He’s shaking, wracked with nerves at the sudden sense that everything might change soon. He can’t handle change – can’t handle much, if he’s honest with himself, but change is the hardest of all. He curls his fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly and trying to resist the urge to pull it out in chunks. He’s losing himself in his worries again when another message notification shakes him out of it.

“Fuck!” he shouts, wishing he could rip his Pip-Boy off his arm and throw it away.

913473: NOSEBLEED GET THE FUCK TO WORK NOW 913473: its boring alone

Jamie feels like he’s actually going to tear his hair out, but he can’t help himself from laughing. He gives in and types out a quick response.

604272: for the love of GOD 604272: STFU 604272: im on my way now 604272: and i didn’t read ur stupid messages don’t worry. too many for me to care

He bites his lip again, his heart twisting uncomfortably in his chest as he writes out one more message.

604272: i don’t even remember much of the shitty movie lol, u know im a blackout drunk

There are a few minutes without a reply and Jamie starts to think maybe he’s fucked it up again, then more messages come through.

913473: u stupid fuckin idiot 913473: what would i do without u 913473: to pick on i mean

Jamie lets out a trembling sigh and gets out of bed, shaking himself free of his worries and tugging on his jumpsuit again. His hands are quivering, probably will be all day with the way his nerves are, but he can handle it.

It’s only as he’s going to leave does he realize he doesn’t have his shoes.

913473: i have your boots btw dumbass

Jamie is terrified of change. He’s terrified of his own emotions, especially when he can’t control them. He wishes things were simpler and he wishes he could have been born into a more agreeable body in a more agreeable time, but as he walks, shoeless, out of the apartment and to the studio space he shares with Butch, he feels a bit comforted in the fact that Butch might feel exactly the same way. Even if shit is messy and he fucks it up, Butch keeps coming back - and that’s good enough for him.

[the-himawari]

A3! Settsu Banri - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Memory (2/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Muku: Umm, this is…

Banri: Isn’t that the dragon’s tail?

Muku: Ah, you’re right!

Kumon: Erm! I have no idea where this goes~!

Banri: That looks like the background, so it goes over here.

Kumon: I see! The colours do look alike! ‘Kay, I’ll look for the perfect fit around here.

Taichi: That’s Ban-chan for ya! We’ll finish this in no time~!

Banri: …

*flashback starts*

Banri’s friend: You bought “Forester Knights” too, Banri! Let’s play it together!

Banri: Yeah, sure.

Banri’s friend: You just started, right, Banri? I’ve made a lot of progress already~. But it’s pretty hard to move on past here.

Banri: Heh~.

-pause-

Banri’s friend: Yeah, yeah! This stage was super hard~!

Banri: Oh, do it like this here… and there we go. Skip to here… okay, cool.

Banri’s friend: EHH!

Banri: Defeat this enemy, and… Woo, cleared! Onto the next stage.

Banri’s friend: …What the heck? …This is boring.

-pause-

Banri: Umm, next up is…

Banri’s friend: Oi, Banri. I’m tired of this game now. Let’s do somethin’ else.

Banri: What the? You’re the one who said you wanted to play together though.

Banri’s friend: Well, I changed my mind! Don’t you have anythin’ else?

Banri: Ahh, come to think of it… How’s this?

Banri’s friend: Isn’t this an Arc Knight Dragon puzzle! Sick!

Banri: I bought it together with the game, but I haven’t put it together yet. Now’s a good chance, so wanna do it?

Banri’s friend: But it has 1000 pieces. Isn’t that gonna be hard?

Banri: I mean, I bet it’ll be tough.

Banri’s friend: But we’d be amazin’ if we manage to complete it, right!

Banri: Yeah, exactly.

-pause-

Banri’s friend: Where does this go? …Ugh, I dunno. This really is tough…

Banri: I think this goes here. …Nice. Next is… ahh, this is the wing, so… here!

Banri’s friend: … You said it was gonna be tough, yet in the end, you put it together so easily…

-pause-

Banri: Alright, one more piece and it’s complete! …Um, huh? The last piece is missing… Where’d it go? Did it fall somewhere? Hey, have you seen it?

Banri’s friend: Like I know. You were just puttin’ it together by yourself the whole time. I didn’t do anythin’.

Banri: That’s weird… It’s not under the table or by the game either… …I can’t find it… What the heck? There’s just one more piece…

Banri’s friend: Well, if it’s gone, then there’s nothin’ you can do, right? Even Banri can’t complete it if a piece goes missin’, huh?

Banri: …

*flashback ends*

Banri: … Sorry, guys.

Taichi: Eh!? Why are you apologizing, Ban-chan?

Banri: I kinda thought that the puzzle might’ve gotten boring ‘cause I interfered.

Taichi: Not at all, dude! I’m glad that you’re teaching us tips, and it’s fun doing it while chatting!

Muku: Because you’re teaching us how to tackle the puzzle, I’m also doing better now than when we first started!

Kumon: Yep, yep! Otherwise, we would’ve been lost in the beginning!

Citron: You’re good at teaching, Banri! Because of you, we can level up more and more too!

Banri: …I’m glad then.

-pause-

Kumon: Awesome! We finished all the way up to here! Just add one more piece and it’s done!

Muku: Huh? But there’s no piece left over here?

Banri: It’s not here either.

Taichi: Ehh~!? The last piece is missing!? Where’d it go!?

Citron: Search, everyone! It should be around here somewhere!

Kumon: Oiii, last piece~! Where are you!

Muku: Maybe it’s by the sofa? …Umm, it doesn’t look like it…

Taichi: This is so weird~. It got lost somewhere.

Banri: …If it’s gone, then there’s nothin’ we can do.

*door opens*

Juza: …Hm? What’re you doin’?

Kumon: Ahh, nii-chan! You see, we can’t find a piece from the puzzle we’re all putting together.

Muku: We’d like you to keep an eye out for the last piece, Ju-chan!

Kumon: To think we can’t finish it even though we made it this far…!

Juza: A puzzle piece? Somethin’ fell here… is this it? Can I fit this here?

Taichi: HAH! I-i-it’s complete!!

Citron: We did it! We’re having red rice* today!

Kumon: Awesome! You’re the coolest, nii-chan!

Muku: That’s Ju-chan for you! Thank you!

Juza: ? No prob…

Banri: …

Juza: Ah? What’re you lookin’ at? You’re creepin’ me out.

Banri: HA? Shut up. You’re the one who came into my field of vision on your own.

Kumon: ‘SCUSE ME!? It’s thanks to nii-chan that the puzzle was completed, you know! Be more grateful, Banri!

Citron: Ohh! They started again! Kumon joined the fray too!

Muku: N-no fighting, you three!

Taichi: Now, now, it’s great that we finished it, right!

---

*”赤飯” (sekihan: rice mixed with azuki beans to make it “red”). Sekihan is eaten on special/happy occasions like birthdays, festivals, etc.

previous | next

[lesberrian]

Ghosting (one)

Tw: Cursing, ghosts

“Hey, um... ‘Phelia?” Fay floats in front of her friend holding her head on the ground. Backing away slightly when she sits up the ghost gestures around them. “So, where are we?” 

“Welcome to The Devildom!” 

Both of them focus on the man who spoke. Could he see Fay? Ophelia recognized him as Diavolo, Prince of Devildom, but never bothered to know much about him. She never really thought that besides the time she spoke to the Avatar of Envy once that she would ever actually talk to demons. (Even though she has a few things that have demons in it)

Ophelia stands up, taking a deep breath and holding it for a second. She lets it all out with a slow “Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

Clapping her hands together she stares the man down. Unlike most people, she could less about the rude glare she was giving a prince. Diavolo laughs slightly, he wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction. Maybe a scared ‘where am I’ or wanting to know how they got here but not this.

Fay, like the little gremlin she is, laughs at the situation. She looks at Diavolo and shakes her head. “Man, you took her from her deep cleaning day. Tsk, tsk, tsk, shame on you.”

She realizes that Diavolo can’t see or hear her when he doesn’t even glance at her. “Hey, ‘Phelia, you should probably let him know before it’s too late. I think he thinks you’re just some normal boring human. You know, someone who can’t see ghosts and stuff.”

“He can’t see you?” Ophelia whispers, furrowing her eyebrows at the 13-year-old ghost. Looking at Diavolo with a confused look she questions, “You can’t see her?”

“See who?” Lucifer walks in and Fay jumps (just floats more into the air but fast).

“Wait you guys actually can’t see her?” Looking over at Fay she motions her to the ground. Putting her hand over the girl’s forehead, she mutters, “Vivifica.”

In about 5 seconds, Fay was ‘revived’ in a way. Her body was now physical but she was as cold as a dead body, with no heart pumping blood. She didn’t need to do anything someone alive has to do.

“Who are you, child? And why do you have so many bracelets?” Lucifer asks harshly. It was obvious he didn’t expect the exchange student to be able to summon and talk to ghosts.

“First of all, I’m a teen, 13 to be exact. So don’t call me ‘child’. Second, my name is Fay. Third, it’s called Kandi and it’s cute. Finally, why are we here? I want to go home.” Fay crosses her arms and sticks her tongue out. The Kandi on her arm made a sound when she did it.

“Oh, I suppose I never did get to that, did I?” Diavolo laughs. “I’m sorry about that.”

Mainly talking to Ophelia, he explains what was happening. He also introduces them to Lucifer. At the end of his speech, he pauses, staring at Fay. Fay, being Fay, stares right back at him, not blinking even once until he does.

Fay laughs slightly. “Hehe, I won! So what’s up with the starin’ Prince man?”

“I guess I lost,” He laughs. “The crystal on your wrist, that’s what connects you to Ophelia, correct?” Fay nods and Diavolo smiles. “That’s what I thought it was for. Since you can be in your body before your death, would I need to have Lucifer prepare a room for you?”

“Uh, that would be nice but you don’t really have to. I don’t really like being like this,” Fay gestures at herself. “It’s kinda strange, to say the least. Plus I cant fly around so it’s really boring!”

“I’ll have it arranged before you get to the house of Lamentation.” Lucifer nods. Fay glances over when she hears footsteps right outside the door. The door opens and two more demons walk over. Right after them, another with orange hair and food in his hands comes in and stands by Lucifer. “Ophelia, Fay, these are my brothers. This one right here is Asmodeus, fifth born, Avatar of Lust.”

“How dare you refer to me as ‘this one’?” Asmodeus looks offended. “What a rude way to introduce me!”

He steps closer to the two girls and Fay holds onto Ophelia’s jacket Asmodeus coo’s at this, not realizing she’s not actually scared. “Aww, you’re almost as cute as me! Your style is so unique, I think that  you’re the only person to pull it off!”

Fay growls at him, stepping in front of her friend. Ophelia has to swat her head like a dog. “No! Bad Fay!”

“Ahem,” Lucifer calls for their attention. “That one is Satan, the fourth-born avatar of Wrath.”

“So I’m a that now?” Satan rolls his eyes. He looks over at Ophelia. “Your name, are you parents a fan of William Shakespeare?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I like him though if that counts for anything. I enjoy a lot of his stories.”

He nods in approval when the ginger’s stomach growled louder than the two girls have ever heard. “Sorry. I’m hungry. I’m Beelzebub.”

“Now that three of my younger brothers have been introduced, why don’t you call Mammon? He’ll be looking after you this year.”

“Um, okay?” Ophelia looks at him warily before grabbing her D.D.D and opening it. Going to her contacts it already had a good amount in there. Seeing mammon’s name she hits the call button and waits for him to pick up.

“Yoooo,” She hears from the other side.

“Yooo, this Mammon?”

“Wha’ who’re ya?” He seems confused. “Did Lucifer set you up to this or somethin’?”

“Uh, no. Well, kinda? I’m the exchange student you’re in charge of. That’s what he said at least.”

“Exchange student?”

Ophelia nods. “Yeah, from the human world. And I think Lucifer wants you here.”

“So you think you can go swinging my brother’s name around because I have to listen to him?! I mean- I don’t HAVE to but-”

“Mammon.” Lucifer takes the phone from Ophelia’s hand. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get here.”

He hangs up and hands the phone to Ophelia. In the background, Asmodeus is watching Fay count to ten. Right, when she says eight the Demon comes bursting through the door. 

“And two seconds to spare!” Fay rushes up to him, giggling out of excitement. “You’re really fast! And super tall! Woooow!” 

“What?! Why am I babysitting a child?! Who chose to have a kid as the exchange student?!” Mammon shouts, backing away from they hyper girl in front of him.

“I’m actually the one in charge of her.” Ophelia smiles. Sure, right now she doesn’t like Mammon too much but seeing how Fay responded to him out of everyone already makes him her favorite by default. “Fay, come here. I think you’re scaring him.”

“Why would I be scared of some kid? I’m THE Great Mammon after all!” He stickers his thumb towards himself.

“Well, I’m a ghost. Does that make me scarier?” Fay tilts her head at him. “We’re still working on a way so I can do it myself but watch! ‘Phelia can show you no problem!”

Ophelia sighs. Turning her back into a ghost she leaves it up to Fay to focus on letting them see her. It takes a second of Fay balling her fists together, trying her best on letting others see her as a ghost. It’s been a few years since she’s ever done this.

“Wh-what? You’re actually a ghost?!”

“Mhm!” She floats upsidedown in front of him. He takes a few steps back and she crosses her arms. “Rude.”

[syntaxeme]

One Good Turn ch. 5 [end]

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter]  Rating: M Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss. Note: I did have another chapter planned for this story, but I’ve gotten so thoroughly invested in my Giardino Segreto AU that I don’t think I’ll ever get around to it. Besides, this isn’t a terrible place to leave off!

— — –

Angel’s back was pinned against the wall in the hotel’s abandoned excuse for a ballroom. The room was mostly dark, a little light from the setting sun bleeding in through dingy windows while he lazily observed one of his fellow patrons trying to make a move on him. The other demon was a little taller than Angel himself, a little broader, and he used his extra bit of height to his advantage, leaning forward against the wall to bear down on Angel.

“You talk a pretty big game, sweet thing.” His name was some kind of music joke: Jazz or Ska or House or some shit. “I’d sure like to see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“I can think of better things to put in my mouth,” Angel snickered. As the other demon grinned and reached up to pet his cheek, Angel slapped his hand away and went on, “But your dick ain’t one of ‘em. Fuck off and find someone else to bother.”

“Are you serious?” Maybe-Jazz growled. “You sit there makin’ offers all through Charlie’s sessions but you won’t follow through?”

“Offers? Please. Look, I ain’t serious about any of that shit; I’m sayin’ it to fuck with ya, not to actually fuck ya.” This wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain this over the past week or so, but truth be told, he was kind of enjoying having the freedom to say ‘no’ (not that his sex drive wasn’t as strong as ever, but he’d gotten pickier about who he was willing to spend it on—a lot pickier).

“Well I’m not into being teased, so maybe you better reconsider.” Jazz snaked an arm around Angel’s waist, incorrectly thinking this was a situation he could brute-force his way through. As if his vague bullshit threats were anything compared to what Angel had been through in the past.

Cute. His body moved almost by reflex, one hand grabbing Jazz’s shirt to reverse their positions and shove him back against the wall. His other hands reached into his jacket and drew out a matching set of three pistols, pressing one to Jazz’s temple, one to his chest, and aiming the last at his crotch.

“Which trigger should I pull first, ya think?” Angel asked casually, enjoying the shocked and disarmed look on the other demon’s face. “You could probably live without your balls, but I feel like you don’t get much use outta your brain, either.”

“Hey, cool it,” Jazz grumbled, raising his hands in surrender. “You know killin’ me’d set back your redemption plan pretty far.”

“Ha! You must not know me very well, sweet thing. I’m a backslider from way back; wouldn’t be the first time my virtues got a little blurry.” After another moment of enjoying the tension, he released the other demon’s shirt and took a step back. “But fuckin’ you up isn’t worth listenin’ to Charlie gripe. So how ‘bout you get the hell outta my face and we call it even?”

“Fine. Shit.” With a bitter, disappointed glance in Angel’s direction, Jazz shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the room. Angel twirled his guns once before tucking them back into his jacket. He was just in such a good goddamn mood lately, and he didn’t have to wonder why; true to Alastor’s word, none of Val’s guys had shown up at the hotel since their little ‘chat,’ leaving Angel free to enjoy his independence and sexuality—or lack thereof!—whatever way he chose. Since he’d been working for Val so long, it was refreshing to be back in control of himself now. And he hadn’t forgotten for even a second who he had to thank for it.

Alastor had been acting a little weird since then, though. Looking at him funny, not responding to his playful flirting right, and then there was that word—cher—he’d started using. Angel might not have the best grasp of French, but he was pretty sure he recognized that term. Enough to know what it meant but not what it meant.

As he strolled out of the ballroom Jazz had dragged him into without warning, he found Alastor standing outside, clutching his staff tightly in both hands. “Angel,” he said a little too cheerfully. “How are you? I thought…well, I could’ve been wrong. It sounded like you and Jazz had a bit of a disagreement.”

“Is there anything in the hotel you don’t hear?” Angel tried hard not to think about how many times he’d moaned the Radio Demon’s name into his pillow over the past few nights.

“Not much.” Alastor’s default expression didn’t shift in the slightest. It wasn’t easy, but Angel was making a point of learning to tell one smile from another. How else would he ever learn to read the cryptic bastard? “But you look fine. I suppose you took care of it.”

“Y’know, it’s pretty cute, you gettin’ all protective,” Angel said with a knowing grin, “but don’t start thinkin’ I can’t handle myself with jerk-offs like him. I’m not gonna ask you to step in for me again any time soon, don’t worry.”

“Right. Of course! No, I know you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.” He was doing it again, getting all awkward and distant for no reason, avoiding Angel’s eyes, his usual smooth attitude stuttering a little.

Angel Dust had never been much good at quiet contemplation or impulse control, so instead of keeping his concerns to himself and giving Alastor space, he asked directly, “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like you haven’t been lookin’ at me different since you got back from Val’s place.” Or maybe it was the kiss. “You act like you’re happy to see me, you start talkin’ to me like normal, then you clam up all of a sudden and run off. You were always a little weird, but you’re weirder lately, and I feel like it’s got somethin’ to do with me.”

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to think that Alastor was mad at him or something. Despite his best efforts at resisting, Angel had developed a sort of attachment to him, weirdness and all. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe something else. He already knew better than to expect Alastor would ever start feeling something similar about him, but he’d thought they were at least on some kind of friendly terms.

The Radio Demon was silent and still for just a moment too long, and Angel let out a frustrated sigh, throwing up his hands and starting past him toward the elevator—but Alastor caught his hand to stop him.

“If anything I’ve done has made you feel like you’re in the wrong, I’m sorry,” he said plainly. “I’ve been keeping my distance while I decided how to talk to you about this. And, obviously, I haven’t had any luck. Now might be as good a time as any.”

“For what? What d’you want to talk about?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor seemed to realize he was still holding Angel’s hand and released it. “I’d rather have the conversation in private, if you don’t mind. We could use one of the conference rooms or—”

“Isn’t your room closer?” Angel asked, raising his eyebrows, and Al’s throat constricted with a reflexive gulp.

“Yes. That’s also fine. If you like.” He turned on his heel to lead the way down the hall to room 313, then held the door open and gestured for Angel to go ahead. The room was surprisingly minimalist, not reflecting the beaucoups of personality that showed every time Alastor opened his mouth. But that was better than the hellish horrors some other Overlords might decorate with.

“So what’s the deal?” Angel’s instinct was to seat himself on the bed, but he resisted it, not wanting Alastor to think he was being pushy.

“The question seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Yet as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to answer it as clearly or eloquently as I’d like. That’s part of the reason I haven’t mentioned it to you; I felt there was no point bringing it up until I actually had something to say.”

“Funny. Most times, it’s a lot harder to make you stop talkin’.”

“Believe me, I know exactly how unusual this is,” Alastor sighed, releasing his staff and letting it vanish, “which is most likely why it’s been so difficult for me to form it into a complete, polished statement.”

“Give it to me messy, then.” Seeing how rigid Alastor had gone, Angel winced and tried again. Sometimes his mouth just formed innuendos without any effort on his part. “I’m sayin’ I don’t need it to be super-organized and flawless. Just tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

The Radio Demon took a deep breath and, without looking anywhere near Angel, confessed, “I want…you. That’s the clearest way I can think to say it.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, obviously frustrated with how inelegant the words were. But they were enough to hold Angel’s attention regardless.

“Oh.” He was about to ask Alastor to elaborate but quickly realized that was the part he was having trouble with. So he asked a different question. “When’d that start?”

“Roughly twenty-four seconds after you kissed me,” Alastor said matter-of-factly.

“After? So that’s not why you helped me with Val?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least. And I didn’t want you thinking so, either. But then—” He choked out a laugh. “I don’t have a definitive answer for why I did that, either, so maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s hard to say.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me what ya want, it’ll be awful hard for me to give it to ya.”

Red eyes lingered on Angel’s lips, and Alastor wet his own. “But you’re willing to agree, just like that? Without even knowing what I’m asking for?”

“Al, I’m gonna be totally honest with you,” Angel said, drawing closer and bending down a little to meet his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a freak. I figured I was wastin’ my time, thinkin’ about gettin’ with you—”

“You’ve been thinking about that, have you?”

“—but I’m pretty sure whatever you wanna do with my body, I’ll enjoy it,” he went on, draping his arms over Alastor’s shoulders, not missing the shiver that went through the Overlord’s body. “I trust you.”

Those were apparently the magic words; Alastor’s eyes widened, and he dragged Angel into a firm kiss. And he participated much more actively this time! He slid one hand into Angel’s hair to draw him downward, forcing his posture to bend, but he was too absorbed in the experience to be bothered.

It all seemed to happen much slower than he expected. Alastor’s tongue traced his lips, stealing his breath, then slipped inside, everything soft and wet and warm. Even as Angel pressed in closer, arms tightening around Alastor’s shoulders and waist, Al refused to let him take things any faster. It seemed like he was intent on exploring every inch of Angel’s mouth in his own time, and—God—his tongue was longer than expected. When Alastor moaned into his mouth, Angel’s heart practically stopped, and he forced himself to break away for a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging off Al for stability.

“That’s a nice sound, cher,” the Radio Demon purred, allowing his free arm to wrap around Angel’s slender waist and hold him close. “I wonder what it would take to hear more of it.”

“Uh. My voice?” Angel asked, embarrassed at how turned on he’d gotten from just one kiss (albeit a very deep, very thorough kiss).

“That’s right. I know for sure that I want that. The question is how to go about getting it.” Using the grip in his hair, he turned Angel toward him for another kiss, one every bit as hot and intense as the first, and Angel found himself moaning softly with every breath from having his mouth full. How ironic that someone so indifferent about sex could excite him with hardly any effort. But after so long doing without, every little bit of pleasurable friction made him eager for more. If this is his first time, is he feeling all that too?

“H-hang on,” he whimpered, reluctantly pushing Alastor away so he could catch a breath. “You probably can’t hear me really well if my mouth’s covered.”

“Fair point.” Al grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the bed, then pushed him forward to kneel on the mattress. Stepping in close behind him, Alastor wrapped both arms around his waist, chest pressed to Angel’s back. With Angel on his knees, Alastor’s mouth was at just the right level to meet his neck, lips and tongue and teeth teasing to send hot shivers down his spine.

“That’s…nice, baby,” Angel sighed, and he could feel Alastor tense up behind him. “What? Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t care to be called that,” the Radio Demon said plainly. “Try again, cher.”

“Oh. Well, what d’ya like, then?” Angel was struggling to focus on talking as Al easily unbuttoned his jacket and stripped it off him to toss it to the floor. So much for shyness! He knew some part of what he wanted, clearly.

“Surprise me,” Alastor chuckled. “Something unique. Something you wouldn’t use for anyone else.”

“Okay. How ‘bout, uh, dear?” That one was a lot more wholesome than he was used to.

Al laughed against his skin. “Yes, that seems appropriate.” His hands drifted down to unbutton Angel’s shorts, drawing a breathless moan from his lips.

“Alastor…”

“Simple, but I’m surprised at how much I enjoy hearing it.” As he talked, casual as could be, he slid his hand down the front of Angel’s shorts to tease a desperate whine from his lips.

“Y-y’know, you’re makin’ this…kinda hard for me, honey,” he moaned, cheeks flushing with heat. There was another term he didn’t use often. It always felt too sweet, too familiar to call a stranger. But of course, Alastor didn’t fall into that category anymore.

“Oh, I like that very much, cher,” he purred, his hand meeting Angel’s bare skin without any sense of reservation or discomfort. Angel whined and writhed, embarrassed at how hard he’d gotten already but not trying to escape.

“Hang on. Lemme…do somethin’ for you too.” He tried reaching back with his free hands to grope between Alastor’s legs—but the Radio Demon moved away before he could.

“That’s not necessary.” The shadows in the room came to life and bound Angel’s wrists in front of him so he couldn’t reach. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, the room went utterly pitch black, forcing Angel to feel everything else even more. It seemed unfair that with hardly any experience, he was still doing everything just right. “If you want to please me, speak to me, moan for me—sing for me if you like. I can promise no one else will hear. And I intend to keep it that way.”

So there was a little possessiveness in him somewhere. Not that Angel minded. Even if it wasn’t the same kind of sex he was used to having, he was still 100% engaged and eager to do whatever he could to make it good for his partner too. He moaned wantonly, trying and failing to keep his hips still, dropping his head back against Alastor’s shoulder just to be closer to him. The Radio Demon chuckled at his enthusiasm and nibbled along his neck, sharp teeth deliciously dangerous against soft skin.

“Harder,” Angel whispered, and he obliged without hesitation, biting down hard enough that Angel was sure he would have a bruise—but he still wasn’t satisfied. “I said harder, honey.”

Alastor hummed his approval and sank his teeth viciously into Angel’s neck, the force enough to buckle his knees. Good thing he was kneeling already. Al made a point of lapping up whatever blood he’d spilled, even gathering a few stray drops with his fingers and licking it off. Meaning that when his hand slid between Angel’s legs again, it was slick and wet, enough to pull a shocked cry of pleasure from his lips.

“I didn’t…I really didn’t expect you to be this good,” he laughed shakily.

“No? What did you expect?” Alastor’s other hand slid up the curve of his waist and into the thick fur of his chest to banish any space between them. “I’m curious, chéri: what have you been imagining?”

“Well. I figured you’d be kinda…forceful like this,” Angel answered, trying to distract himself from the slow strokes on his heated flesh, the way Alastor’s fingertips seemed to be mapping out every curve of his body. So calm, so thorough, and shockingly effective. “But, uh…I dunno, maybe a little clumsy? So much for that.” It was also surprising him how difficult holding a conversation was; normally guys weren’t interested in talking to him, especially in bed.

“Why bother doing a thing if you aren’t going to do it well, that’s what I always say.” Alastor took his hand away, and Angel almost whined, almost begged him to keep going—but his breath caught as something else curled around his erection, something slender and flexible like a… Like a shadow tentacle, he realized. Holy shit. The Radio Demon was apparently kinkier than he let on, but Angel could hardly complain when it all felt so good.

As his body was burning up and he was really losing track of his breath, he rested his head back against Alastor’s shoulder and turned to murmur into his ear. “Will you, uh, kiss me again?”

“Hmm. You like having your mouth full that much?” Al teased, and a shiver of hot embarrassment (and something else) rushed through Angel’s stomach.

“Well, I”—he swallowed hard—“I like when it’s your tongue.”

Alastor let out a low groan and held him even tighter. “Whatever you need, chéri.” One of his hands found its way into Angel’s hair again, and this time his kiss was brutal, bruising, urgent. Perfect. But he was no slouch at multitasking, his shadow magic just as precise and attentive as his hand was, and all this friction between Angel’s legs and lips was driving him out of his mind.

Remembering what Al had said about wanting to hear him, he didn’t bother stifling his moans, not for a second, his pitch and volume rising every moment that Alastor toyed with him. Fuck, it’s so hot. I can’t handle it! I… He could hardly even keep his own thoughts straight, too lost in feeling every single second of this, getting closer and closer until his willpower finally broke and he came with a breathy scream. His instinct was to pull away to catch his breath, but Alastor kept him trapped, apparently content to swallow every deep, desperate whimper that slipped out of his lips as he rode out his orgasm.

Eventually, after several more seconds of enjoying his mouth, Alastor drew away and let him gasp for air but still refused to allow any space between them. He even nuzzled his lips slowly against Angel’s neck, and a different, totally non-sexual warmth flooded through him. “That…that was… Uh, wow,” he laughed, and Alastor snickered along with him.

“Good to know my ‘weirdness about sex’ didn’t ruin it for you.”

“No way. It was better,” Angel told him without thinking. “Maybe just cuz it was you.”

“Ahem!” He could imagine Alastor’s bashful smile, which was very slightly different from his nervous smile or his apprehensive one.

“So?” Angel shifted carefully to sit up, tugging at the bonds still holding his wrists. “You gonna let me spend the night or…?”

“Let you? I would be bothered if you didn’t. Besides.” With another snap of Alastor’s fingers, a lamp in the corner glowed to life, casting soft red light across the room. Shouldn’t that be creepy? Unnerving? Angel felt totally comfortable. “I think you’d find it difficult to get upstairs in your state.” To illustrate, he pushed Angel forward lightly, and he easily collapsed against the bed, shaky now that he was no longer being supported.

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya,” he answered, wriggling out of his shorts and kicking them, along with his boots, to the floor.

“Oh, is that something else you enjoy? I’ll keep it in mind.” After stripping out of his coat and hanging it in the closet, Alastor unfastened his cuffs and unbuttoned his shirt a little, then came to crawl into bed still mostly dressed. Angel decided not to question it; if that was how he was comfortable, then fine. When he noticed Angel’s shaking wasn’t stopping, he tilted his head to one side and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Angel tried to still himself, hoping not to ruin the mood after everything had gone so well. “I’m fine. Just…tryna calm down.” That was a pretty intense session, after all, so his body and mind were still a little overwhelmed.

“I see.” Moving slightly closer without touching him, Alastor instead asked, “Would you like to be near me while you do so?”

His reflexive and honest answer was yes, please—but he hesitated to speak it, not wanting to come off clingy or weak. “I mean, you don’t hafta do that. If you gimme a couple minutes, I’ll—”

“You aren’t answering my question, cher,” Alastor pointed out, very carefully brushing his thumb over Angel’s cheek. Even that tiny bit of gentle affection was a huge comfort after so much intensity. Angel’s resistance quickly broke.

“Yeah. I would.” He wriggled a little closer under the covers to put himself in Alastor’s arms, and the Radio Demon held him without question, stroking his hair and humming to him softly while he slowly relaxed. So weird. So different. But different in a way Angel could definitely see himself getting used to. “You better be careful, honey. Keep bein’ this nice to me and I might start gettin’ confused about what you actually want here.”

“That would make two of us,” Alastor answered quietly. But he didn’t back away, didn’t get uncomfortable, didn’t kick Angel out of his bed. He didn’t make any effort to insist that this was just about sex (since it obviously wasn’t) or that Angel shouldn’t get his hopes up for anything more. Which was a good thing, because as he leaned down for another kiss—slow and soft this time—Angel’s hopes were rising higher and higher all the time. How long had it been since he’d felt hopeful about anything? He wasn’t even sure what he expected to happen, but damn it: he’d forgotten how good it felt to believe in something.