#multi-function arm

[sw5w]

Artoo Rolls Back to His Companions

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:35:01 - 00:35:02

[novthirty]

OUT OF BOUNDS | you get isekai-d into the N109 zone

— pairing: sylus x non-mc! reader

— synopsis: you land in the world of love and deepspace. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary. wc: 3.8k

— tags: isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, pining, slice of life, birthdays, holiday season, reader is not the main character, boss/employee relationship

— edit: i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here.

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open!

It was just your luck to be walking home from a 7PM class on a desolate road, only for a vehicle to swerve and crash into you. The impact is like a sledgehammer to your body as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones. This is it, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness. 

—————————————————————

You wake up in a hospital bed, where you promptly have a panic attack from the IV attached to your arm. You desperately thrash against the nurses’ hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use as your injuries and the numerous drugs hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back to sleep. 

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting by your bedside. You laugh, thinking you must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you’ve been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting beside you? You say as much, and the only response he deigns you with is, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. Days passed, and you gradually had to accept that whether it was reality or not, you were gonna be stuck here until you figured out how to go back to the normal world. Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward.

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.  

You had been a college student, just months away from graduation before you found yourself here. It fills you with spite, how everything you’d worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t survive here alone. Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal assistant. 

Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues around him observe the stark change in the following months. You whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “How may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

He had initially given you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life. 

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims. 

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he supposes. Although the fear he instilled in his business partners was enough to put them in their place, he now had you to act as a buffer to their complaints and concerns, handling matters that were beneath him. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; you’re like a little crow chirping at his shoulder at all times of the day, reminding him to leave on time for meetings, to eat three meals each day (even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance). You physically force him out of his office the moment noon hits in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.” 

Your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy pink swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.) He finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime, twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation. 

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The first surprise is truly when the clock strikes twelve on April 18, and he enters his office to find a cake on his desk. Decorated in black and maroon frosting, it’s topped with his name in crooked cursive and a crow-shaped candle to boot. Moments after, you stride in from behind with Luke and Kieran, all carrying gifts and wearing patterned party hats, singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song.

“Happy birthday, Sylus! Make a wish!”

He blows the candles (and wishes for the only thing he truly desires). 

“Do you like the cake? The chefs helped me decorate it!” You say as you slice it into even triangles, giving him the largest one. Mephisto is perched on your shoulder, with his own red party hat, as you feed him small bites of your own slice. (The resemblances between the two of you are truly uncanny). The celebration is a silly endeavor that lasts no more than an hour before he kicks everyone out of his office. But try as he might, he can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day. 

When May comes, you rope him into the preparations for Luke and Kieran’s birthday. Due to your incessant nagging, he’s since discovered your shared digital calendar— complete with monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly agendas— and chosen to ignore it. “The calendar exists for you to be on time,” You seethe whenever he steps into his office late, the little shit smirking as if you didn’t just rearrange his schedule to hell and back for that one hour-long meeting he missed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any festivities you force upon the household. 

The twins’ celebration is a significantly more chaotic affair than his, involving a two tiered cake and a booking for a laser tag arena, and ending with a trip to the medical ward. Despite the casualties, it’s the most fun Luke and Kieran have had since they joined Onychinus. (Fun that wasn’t self-orchestrated, at least). 

Your presence brings a liveliness to his found family, something that grounds you all in this high-paced line of work. A presence that, little by little, seeps into his life to the point he can no longer imagine living without it.  

—————————————————————

When he finds you on a cold midnight in November, sitting alone on the kitchen island with a puny cupcake and a candle, he asks you what the hell you think you are doing. 

“Well, it’s just a birthday. I didn't feel the need to have a lot of celebration this year." The answer is nowhere enough to appease him, especially given your grandiose efforts to celebrate literally everyone else’s birthday. So, you admit to him, “I felt a bit sad, I guess. This was my last year of college. I had so many plans for before my entry into the workforce… and now, I can't really do any of them.”

Without missing a beat, he asks, “And what were those plans?” 

You list off the various places you wanted to visit, the items you were supposed to cross from your bucket list this year. As you reminisce on old plans, you split the cupcake with him and bid him goodnight, returning to your office to catch up on work. 

When you wake up at 5 PM later that day, it’s to streamers and balloons in the living room. 

“Happy birthday!” Everyone in the house cheers as you enter the room, decked out in all sorts of party favors. Even Sylus, who was notoriously un-festive, is wearing a cone-shaped party hat striped with your favorite colors. 

What follows is an impromptu day-off for everyone in the base (you feel an oncoming migraine thinking of how you’re going to readjust Sylus’s schedule). They bring you to Linkon City, your first time visiting since your arrival, following an itinerary that matches your original plans to a T. 

Sylus is upset that you’ve kept the date to yourself for so long, but more than that, he’s angry at himself for not bothering to ask. So he does his best to make up for it in the final hours of your birthday. Throughout the evening, he drags you to every activity that had been on your wishlist, lavishing you with all sorts of presents on the way. It’s a little too much. You’re not used to being spoiled, not used to treating yourself without deserving it first, and you tell him as much. 

He tips your chin upwards with a feather-light touch, his gaze unreadable as he asks, “And who says my lovely secretary doesn’t deserve the world at her feet?” 

The atmosphere shifts, the effortless ease at which you interact with him dissipates into stutters and heated stares. You ride home on the back of his motorcycle, finding yourself flushing despite the winter chill in the air. It’s a comfortable silence, yet your heart is thumping loudly against your chest. Does he hear how he makes you feel? You wonder. 

Before he retires to his bedroom, you place a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you for today,” you whisper before shutting the door behind you. 

—————————————————————

From then on, things are significantly more… tense, between the two of you. What were once casual interactions turn tense with every brush of your fingers, with every meeting of your eyes across the room. He's always lavished you with the sweetest of pet names; darling, little bird, sweet girl. You assume it’s just his speech pattern, given what you had known of him from the game. But why does it make your heart race every time he refers to you with such terms of endearment? Why does it fuel your delusions of having something more? 

—————————————————————

It comes to a head during the week of Christmas, where you once again strong-arm him into having your festive way at the Onychinus base. 

You were appalled at their lack of holiday spirit for the previous years, “How can you run an organization like this?!” So you drag your boss out to the nearest Christmas tree farm. “You’re rich enough to afford a real one,” You decide definitively. He rolls his eyes but drives you there anyway. 

Each night on the week before Christmas goes similarly. The moment your work is done for the evening, you drag the whole house into some sort of festive activity. Decorating the tree, baking a gingerbread house, making eggnog. Holiday tunes fill the Onychinus base 24/7 and for once, Sylus finds that he doesn’t mind. Not when he sees the way you dance to yourself when you think no one’s looking, the way you know the words by heart and hum them under your breath. But he doesn’t participate much, mostly checking in and making a sardonic yet supportive comment before returning to his work. 

One evening, he decides to bring his work to the living room while you’re setting up the tree. It was a great source of amusement to see you struggle on your toes to place the ornaments, hoisting yourself up on whatever surface was available to you. But even he found it a bit too pitiful to watch you struggle to place the star, too vertically challenged to place the finishing touch. Couldn’t you just get a ladder? “Let me help you,” His breath tickles your ear as he grabs your waist and lifts you up. 

You squeal, holding tight to his arms and kicking at the air beneath you, “Sylus, what the fuck! Put me down!”

“Place the star, darling. While I'm still being nice.” In the end, you call it a team effort, despite his only contribution being his role as a human ladder. 

—————————————————————

You’ve been very festive and cheery the whole week of Christmas, so it disturbs him when the eve of the 25th arrives and you’re downtrodden. A shell of your typical self. He's never seen you like this before— absentminded and listless, it takes you a whole minute to realize he’s calling your name for the grand Christmas dinner you had insisted upon. You open presents with everyone in the early morning, smiling and thanking at the right cues, but he can tell your heart’s not in it.  

After the gifts have been given and the wrapping paper cleaned up, he takes you to the rooftop to ask what’s wrong. 

And so, you bare your heart to the only person who holds enough of it to break it. 

It’s a bittersweet Christmas for you, the first one you’ve ever spent away from home. For the first time since you were whisked away to this surreal world, you speak of your original life. Your family. Your friends. Your dreams. A fragile boundary that you haven’t touched with anyone here, for it hurts too much to speak of what you left behind. Of what was taken away from you. 

And it is here, underneath the midnight sky where he tells you of his search for the other half of his soul. He speaks of a similar homesickness, resonating with how out of reach home feels for you right now, as he’s waited what seems like a millennia for the person he calls his. 

You already know, of course, that sooner or later, he will meet her. This world was once your favorite game, and you had shed tears at their loss, at their cursed fate. You stay silent, listening to the tragic tale from the man himself. The affection in his tone as he speaks of her— his sorceress, his soulmate— makes you hurt for this man, for the trials he’s endured in the name of true love. But it is also a bitter reminder that you have no place by his side. 

—————————————————————

On New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t even give you the chance to feel homesick. The moment the sun goes down, he takes you on a joyride to Linkon City, bringing you to a cafe to have dinner together and sightsee the various festivities for the holiday; making sure you don’t even have a moment to feel sad. 

He brings you to the tallest building in the city, for the best view of the sky when the fireworks show starts. Despite the chilly air, his hand is warm in yours, clutching it in a tight grip as he wades through the crowd of people who had the same idea. You find a secluded corner where the two of you sit down and sip your milk tea, talking about your new year’s resolutions. 

“I don’t do resolutions,” He waved a hand, unimpressed. “If I want to change an aspect of my life, I won't wait until the start of a new year to do so.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” You stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he’s internally pleased with how well he’s distracted you thus far. “My resolutions are always the same. Exercise more, eat healthy, and save money!”

“Dear, there is a private gym back home that you haven’t touched even once,” Your heart flutters at the word home. A word that brings you melancholy most of the time, but now fills your heart with a sort of domestic bliss.

“Well then, it’s perfect! I'll have no excuse not to start tomorrow.” 

He shakes his head in fond exasperation. Your eyes are glued to the magnificent colors soaring through the sky, legs bouncing in time with the countdown. But unbeknownst to you, his gaze is entirely on you. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you jump to give him a hug. “Happy New Year, Sylus!”

He cradles you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Happy New Year.”

—————————————————————

As the months pass by, you grow more accustomed to the harsh edges of your new job. It's not exactly the first job you had envisioned for yourself; you had once hoped to start somewhere more in line with your aspiring career, somewhere you could make use of your degree. But plans don’t always work out. What you do is unorthodox, but it’s fulfilling and allows you to live in this dangerous world from a safe vantage point, almost like dipping your toes into a ten feet pool. 

That doesn’t mean you’re completely sheltered from all the dangers of the job, however. Given the type of clientele you handle, more often than not, you’re faced with threats of being maimed over the phone when you can’t give somebody what they want. Each time, Sylus promptly takes over and matches their energy twicefold with a more heinous, yet very real threat.

The worst days are post-missions, when you have to witness your newfound family return bloody and bruised in the name of Onychinus. You become conditioned to waiting with a first aid kit and a change of clothes for Luke and Kieran, immediately patching up their wounds. But Sylus— you almost think he’s invincible, with how he returns from even the most high-risk operations without a scratch. 

That is, until one night when he walks through the front door, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His evol is working overtime to knit his skin back together, but the blood still pools beneath him on the marble tile. You stay by his side through the night as he recovers, listening to deluded murmurs about a time long past, and an ever-so-familiar name. 

You grip his hand in yours throughout the night. But it’s not your hand to hold. 

—————————————————————

Over the span of a year, you become one of Sylus’s closest confidants. He treats you with all the gentleness and care in the world, revealing to you a softer side of him that you knew existed in the game, but that he rarely ever showed to anyone else. You feel honored that he trusts you with these facets of himself, but you also feel guilty. 

Because what Sylus doesn’t know is that he was your favorite. You, a student facing burnout in your final year of university, began to cope with a game suggested to you, subsequently becoming engrossed with one of its newest characters. His soft treatment of the main character, juxtaposed with his violent nature, had drawn you to him. Your heart had fluttered at every tender moment, each call and text message, each appearance in the main story. You had foolishly indulged in the delusions of romance with a fictional man. 

When you landed in this world, there was a cognitive dissonance as you came to terms with the difference between the 2D character that lived on your phone screen and the living, breathing person in front of you. For a while, you were too focused on your new situation to even think of the implications of the fictional character you’d been crushing on being in close, real proximity. He had not trusted you, either. You could practically visualize his defenses in each interaction, as he contemplated what to make of you. 

At the time, you thought that by now, surely you would have woken up from this coma-induced hallucination already. Surely you would have woken back up to reality. But as you grow to accept that the situation you’re in is real, and the likelihood that you may be stuck there for the foreseeable future— before you knew it, he had crept into your heart. 

You don’t know when it started. All you know is that his presence in your life is more than the surface-level distraction it once was in your reality. No, Sylus— the living person who comforted you on the saddest birthday you’ve had, who indulged your demands for a Christmas celebration, who makes your heart race like no other— has you wrapped around his finger. He could ask anything of you, and your heart could do nothing but surrender to his whims. 

But in the back of your head, always lurking, is the distant reminder of the main character. The vivacious hunter whose life is tied to his. The other half of his soul. There���s no chance you could ever come between something destined by the universe itself, so you yield in the face of their cosmic love. You shove away your feelings and resign yourself to finding a way back home, desperately, before this world forces you to lose a love you never had a chance at. 

—————————————————————

What you don’t know is that he’s desperately blocking off every potential lead back to your world, not wanting to face a reality where you are not in his life. 

He finds himself conflicted, because his soul is tied to her. His sorcerer, his soulmate, whom he has yearned for for what feels like a millenia. But here you are, his lovely secretary, the woman who forces him into mundane festivities and stays by his side even in weakness. The two images war in his head; the dragon roaring at how distracted he’s become from searching for his mate, and the man, falling fast and hard for a woman from another world, brought to him by pure fate. A love born out of an unexpected connection. 

His search for his long-lost love continues, but alongside it are his attempts to tie you down to his world, to keep you in his grasp. Because he cannot, will not, live without you.

He will watch the world burn before he lets it take his love away again.

—————————————————————

So, the two of you continue in this cycle of push and pull, of moving closer but not close enough. You live in a limbo, desperately searching for ways to get home before the main storyline catches up to you. Haunted by the narrative, you two move in and out of each other’s orbit, just out of reach. Just out of bounds. 

—————————————————————

like and reblog if you enjoyed!

i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here (comment there if you’d like to be tagged!)

[inthefallofasparrow]

People are up in arms about 'The Acolyte' season 2 being cancelled and I can't help but feel that, with this current trend of the TV industry immediately cutting their perceived losses and deleting every show that doesn't become top viewing within its first season, the only positive step forward that writers and showrunners can take is to kill the franchise mindset in its sleep. No more end-of-season cliffhangers, no more loose threads to be tied up, no more slow burn multi-season planned setups for the narrative. We tell enclosed self-contained one-season stories now. Beginning, middle and end with a satisfying conclusion for all the characters within one season. There's no confidence that you'll ever get a chance to tell any more. So, find a way to tell it all now. Similar story with 'Andor' being originally supposed to go for five seasons, but when the writers realised that wasn't going to work, rather than blowing up the budget and pushing forward until it fell apart, they actively decided to just tell the story in two seasons and then end it on their own terms.

When a show is based on a book series, you'll sometimes see these benefits too, if 'one book' equals 'one season', given those individual books have there own self-contained conclusion that carries over. This is also why anthology shows have been so effective. You get the nostalgia of coming back to an old show, alongside the intrigue and excitement of starting a new story. The best of both worlds. And if an individual season is more poorly received than others, it doesn't matter as much when you start again from zero next season.

One season stories. That's the only answer. Then, if a show does well and gets green-lit for a second season, you get to tell a whole new story that follows on the natural progression of the same characters, but again, it ends with all the new questions answered and everything wrapped up at the end of the season. That's how you make this blunt corporate oversight, at least function in a somewhat fulfilling way for the audiences and fandoms.

[tiramissyoucake]

Hey I was wondering if you do other characters. If you do could you do a multi paul? 👉👈With I clingy and needy reader? I have searched high and low andi have not found one for him yet!! That's all thank you.

THATS INSANE I THOUGHT THERE WOULD BE FICS OF HIM. He's cute!! Also, there is so much potential, bf who can multiply himself? Wrapped up in shady business?! Chefs kiss. Hope you like this! Short but I wanted to try out sth small in hopes of not making him ooc, as always lmk what you think

There were times when Paul couldn't use his phone to reach you, when the Order specifically asked him to maintain 'radio silence', during that time you'd be bombarded with letters that were pages long relaying why he couldn't talk to you and what's been happening (or at least whatever he's allowed to tell you.)

You reread them constantly, like you could hear him and his stupid leisurely tone in the words, your home was never quiet when he was around— Paul wasn't against using his power to mess with you or help you out, but whenever he was gone, it would be so quiet it's impossible to ignore it.

As you slipped the letter you just reread back in its original envelope, you slipped it aside in a secure folder. Another day, and the quiet persisted. At least you expected some package today, you barely remembered what it was, but you were sure it was an impulsive 3 am purchase.

You heard your front door, a knock resounding. Getting up, you patted down your casual clothes and opened the door, preparing to sign and accept.

"Special delivery." You gasped at just how much this delivery guy looked like your boyfriend, only to realize he was your boyfriend! Your body moved before your mind could function, hugging him tightly. "You're here!! You're actually here..!!"

Paul laughed, the package in one hand and his arm around your body. "I'm here, baby. I missed you." He let the package drop aside, using both his arms to hug you closely, nose burying in your skin with a smile. "You missed me?"

"So much! I have so many questions— when..?" He laughed, smug. "I have ways of convincing people, I'll tell you everything if you let me in?"

You didn't need to be asked twice.

.

"-and they let me come home early." He smiled down at you, watching you cling to him as he sat back on your couch. "It was hell, but they paired me with this meathead murderer and he sorta did all the work for me."

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest. "Don't give me gross details, I finally have you home and you're being gross." Paul grinned down at you, cupping your cheek to make you look up at him your cheeks were flushed, warm to the touch and your lips in a small pout.

"I can be gross in another way if you want." He subtly offered, leaning closer to you. "There he is." You smiled, mirroring his movement to meet him in the middle.

It was a soft kiss at first, then a slightly deeper one, his fingers gently held your chin as he parted his lips to taste more of you. As rough as he was, he was usually gentle with you even when you wanted him to be rougher, insisting you could handle it. You compliantly parted your lips as you felt his tongue prod against you, letting out a grateful groan as he sat up, looming over you as his mouth slotted against yours.

His hands pulled you closer as yours desperately latched onto his shirt, his tongue flooding your mouth, moaning drowned out by his own groaning, you parted to breathe. "I missed you so much." He almost hissed, frustrated with how riled up you could get him from a few kisses.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in once more to kiss you, his hands briefly disappearing before another pair snaked in from behind you, feeling a familiar build press against you, the sneaky bastard multiplied himself when your guard was down...

His copy groped and felt your body from behind you as he kissed your neck, the same way your boyfriend would. You whimpered as the Paul infront of you trailed his hand down to your waistband, tugging the material before letting it snap back to your skin, the two chuckling.

"You're so cute.." his voice overlapped with his copy's, creating an echo effect as one spoke infront of you and the other behind you. "God, and your noises..."

His hand held your jaw gently, making you look up at him as he licked his lips, his copy settling his chin on your shoulder. "How about I make a few more copies, hmm? Think you can handle that?"

[after-avenging-hours]

Two for the Price of One: Dante x Reader

Sequel to Pollinators Beware

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader x Sin Devil Trigger

Summary: After the Sparda twins get trapped in Hell, it's all hands on deck to try to keep Devil May Cry functioning. It takes six months of research and careful planning, but you come up with a plan that will bring them both back, and are fortunate enough to have access to all the ingredients you need to pull it off. When Dante returns back to you, he's pleasantly surprised to see that you've already perfectly integrated yourself into Devil May Cry during his absence. While the two of you reacquaint yourselves with each other, things get a little out of hand.

Word Count: 15,967

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Dante's Sin Devil Trigger, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, DP

Author's Note: Brace yourselves for this one. I'm unhinged.

So, the two idiotic Sparda twins managed to get their asses trapped in Hell.

When Nero told you what they had done, you were absolutely livid. You understood why they did it; someone needed to close the portal from the other side. But even knowing that didn’t change how furious you were. It was just like Dante to run headfirst into danger without a clear escape plan in place. When he has that stubborn streak turned up, it’s always “shoot first, ask questions never”.

You have to hand it to them, though, as they did manage to get the portal closed. But now they were stuck there with no way back. You wanted to scream and kick and stab something, but Nero already looked so torn up by their decision that you had no choice but to bottle up those emotions and focus on the next task ahead of you.

Even though the portal to Hell had closed, there were still demons roaming around Red Grave City, now trapped on your side and looking to hunt. There was still work to do. You dove straight into in, maybe a little too ruthlessly and recklessly, but it was the distraction you needed to keep yourself together. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall apart if there were demons with razor-sharp fangs gunning for your throat.

For the next several weeks, you operated like a demon killing machine. Taking statements from witnesses who called Dante’s shop, working with Trish and Lady to track them down, ending them in the bloodiest, most painful ways you knew how. You barely ate, you barely slept, you killed one demon and then moved on to the next.

You were spiraling, and the others were beginning to take notice. They might not have known what exactly happened between you and Dante in that empty bar, but they weren’t stupid. And they were all observant as hell, like sharks sniffing blood in the water. They knew that there had been a shift in the dynamic between the two of you. That the line all of them knew was there had officially been crossed. Nero had tried to bring it up once, but the glare you sent his way shut him up real quick.

It‘s another late night of demon hunting. You and Lady don’t get back to the shop until nearly 3 in the morning. You pull your sword off your back, hooking it on the wall next to the empty space where Rebellion used to hang. You unholster your guns next and set them down on his desk, making a mental note to remind yourself to clean them in the morning.

You roll your shoulders and stretch out your neck while making your way over to his leather couch in the corner. There’s a pillow and a throw blanket that you’d brought over from your own place. You didn’t like being far from the shop, in case someone new called, so you’d taken to sleeping here.

“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you slept in his bed,” Lady calls out before you have a chance to reach out for the blanket.

You glance at her from over your shoulder. She’s leaning against the pool table, arms crossed over her chest, while she observes you with her multi-colored eyes. You don’t say anything back. You’re too exhausted, both physically and mentally.

“I’m just saying, you might catch more than a measly one or two hours if you actually slept somewhere comfortable for a change.” Having reached the limit for the amount of advice she’s willing to give, she pushes off from the table and heads for the door. “Call me if you get another job that pays well,” she waves a hand briefly your way, and then she’s out the front door.

You stare after her for a long moment before your eyes flicker toward the stairs that you know lead up to Dante’s bedroom. You’ve been avoiding them like the plague this entire time. Just a single glance in their direction and without fail, a tiny flicker of hope would light inside you. As if, in that one moment while you were looking, he might pop right out of that room. As if he’d never been gone in the first place.

You rip your eyes away and feel that hollow place in your chest expand just a little more. Stepping away from the couch, you move to flick the lock on the front door and then turn off all the lights. However, instead of returning to the uncomfortable nest you’ve made for yourself in the corner, you find your feet taking you to the foot of those stairs.

In the dark, they feel more foreboding than hopeful. Somehow, that makes it more tolerable. With a carefully measured breath, you reach for the banister and take the first step up. Before you know it, you’re turning the handle for the door at the top of the stairs. The room on the other side is cold, dark, and empty. Which is to be expected. What you’re not prepared for is the smell. Dante’s signature scent wraps around you like a warm blanket, drawing you further into the space. Where one might expect a room that’s been empty for weeks to have a stale, unpleasant stench, his smells like he was in here just this morning.

You fumble for the light switch on the wall and then blink several times to adjust your eyes once the space is illuminated. The room is in a state of disarray. Sheets rumpled and twisted on the unmade bed. Drawers half open or with bits of clothes hanging off the front. A pair of boxer briefs on the floor next to his laundry hamper. A towel thrown haphazardly over a chair.

It’s so Dante that you can’t help the scoffed laugh. Of course, the legendary demon hunter didn’t have the time to spare the few seconds it would take to make his bed or close a drawer properly.

You step further into the room and it feels like walking into his open embrace. Even if he’s not here physically, his presence still fills the room. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers splayed over the cold, empty sheets. You can almost picture him, hair rumpled, lazy smile, beckoning you to join him.

A single tear slides down your cheek before you even realize that the emotions you’ve been suppressing this entire time have suddenly bubbled to the surface and like a shaken, carbonated drink, they start to billow over the top. A broken sob leaves you next. All the pain, frustration, anger, and fear pour out of you like the sludge water out of a tap that hasn’t been used in decades.

You grab one of his pillows and clutch it to your chest, your tears soaking into it. You release heavy, wailing cries, and you curse him, and you beg for him to still be okay. You do all the things you previously wouldn’t, and couldn’t, allow yourself to do. You scream into the pillow and then punch it, and throw it across the room. You let yourself feel every raw, jagged, shredding emotion and then, when your tears have finally run dry and your throat aches, you realize that you also feel ten times lighter. The weight that you felt pulling you under has finally released you, and you’re able to breach the surface instead of drowning.

You wipe the last few tears from your swollen cheeks. After shuffling out of your clothes, you pull a random shirt from one of his open drawers and slide it over your frame. You know that you should probably change out the sheets on his bed, but you want to give yourself one night in them. One night curled up in his scent and in his warmth. You turn off the light and slip in between the rumpled sheets. For the first time in a long while, you feel at peace.

You wake up twelve hours later, eyes still swollen from the night before, but otherwise, well-rested. You have more energy than you’ve felt in weeks and the entire world around you seems clearer, somehow. You may have slept most of the day away, but that doesn’t stop you from being productive. You wash and replace Dante’s sheets, making the bed in a way you’re sure it hasn’t been made in possibly forever. You pick up his dirty clothes and towel, running them to the nearby laundromat, as well. You fold his shirts and pants, then put them back into the drawers in a manner that will allow them to actually close.

It's while you’re doing these seemingly mundane tasks that you’re able to come up with an idea and start formulating a plan on how to get Dante and Vergil back.

Two days later, Nero waltzes into the shop, only to find you perched behind Dante’s desk, stacks of books littered around you, while you scribble furiously into a notebook.

“The hell is all this?” he asks, swiping a book off the desk and flipping through the pages. It’s written in a language he can’t read, but the pictures have him raising a frosted eyebrow.

“Research,” you respond, not even looking up.

He scoffs incredulously. “You wanna’ summon a demon?”

You finish transcribing the last line from the book in your hand before lifting your head to meet his gaze. “No, I want to summon two.”

Six months. That’s how long it’s been since you’ve last seen Dante. That’s how long you needed to conduct your research, collect materials, and prepare for this attempted summoning. Weeks of tracking down ancient tomes and grimoires. Anything you could think of that might possibly have even the smallest amount of information, you bought, borrowed, or straight up stole if neither of the first options were available.

Demonic summoning as a basic principle isn’t all that complicated. You wait for a night when the veil between worlds is weak, usually during a new moon. Then, with a few lines of chalk, a couple of candles, incantations, and some form of sacrifice, you can open a portal to hell. The trickier part of this particular summoning would be the fact that you needed to target two very specific individuals on the other side.

Lucky for you, Dante had unknowingly left you with the exact ingredient you needed to get over this hurdle. Lucky for him, you were used to extracting demonic essences, as they were often useful ingredients for potions and tinctures. His own essence may not have ended up with you in a conventional sense, but you certainly weren’t going to waste the opportunity to collect a sample. The vial of glowing, golden ooze was now your homing beacon. A direct link between yourself and Dante.

After realizing that you already had the most difficult ingredient to obtain, the rest of the pieces seemed to fall into place. You triple checked your research, ran over the diagrams with a fine-toothed comb, and read the incantations so many times, you could practically recite them in your sleep.

By the next new moon, you were ready to go.

Nero, Lady, and Trish watch as you mark out the last few sigils in chalk on the wooden floor of Devil May Cry. The furniture and pool table have been pushed up against the walls to make room for the enormous summoning circle. The front doors are locked, the Closed sign flipped into place, with the neon sign outside turned off. It’s almost midnight, which means it’s nearly time to start.

“Now, I thought you needed some sort of witchy powers in order to summon demons without an artifact,” Nero speaks up from where he’s leaning against the wall.

“Only for high level summonings,” you respond, pushing yourself to standing. You release a heavy breath, dusting the chalk off your fingers before wiping a bead of sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. Your eyes sweep around the circle, checking for any mistakes. The others wait for your nod of approval before stepping up to take their places.

“Isn’t this a high level summoning?” he questions once more.

“Yes.” Your bluntness deters further questions, and the 13 candles you have placed around the edge of the circle suddenly all flare to life.

The four of you stand in each of the cardinal directions. You stand at the northern point of the circle, Nero across from you to the south. Lady and Trish take east and west, respectively. You glance briefly at your notebook before speaking the first incantation. It’s in an ancient language, not translatable to current ways of speaking, because it combines several different dead languages along with the demonic tongue.

After the first cantrip, the lines of chalk at your feet begin to glow a vibrant purple, and the first stage of the summoning has begun.

The hand not holding your notebook reaches between your breasts for the vial you’ve tucked into your bra for safekeeping.

“What exactly is that?” Nero asks, eyeing the vial.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” You uncork the vial with your teeth and then flip it upside down, allowing the viscous fluid to drain out into the circle. As soon as it hits, the glowing chalk lines flash red.

Trish has no such qualms against answering Nero’s question. “Well, the whole reason we need you here is because your father’s blood runs through your veins. It serves as a link to connect you both across each plane of existence. Something that exists both here and there. That vial contains the only biological link we have to Dante. It’s a very specific type of body fluid that came out of him, but ended up inside of her.”

Nero processes her words for a second before his face twists in disgust. “Oh, that’s nasty!”

You release a heavy sigh and lay the sarcasm on thick, “Thanks Trish, for that oh-so-helpful and completely necessary explanation.”

She gives you a smug grin, “Happy to oblige, dearest.”

“Nero, you’re up,” you focus your gaze on him, your glare hinting that he needs to get over it and focus.

He rolls his shoulders back like he’s trying to shrug off whatever mental picture he has in his head. He activates his devil trigger, just in one hand, and uses a demonic claw to cut into his opposite forearm. He twists his arm over, allowing a few drops of blood to spill out of the fresh wound. As soon as the droplets hit, the circle shifts to blue. This only lasts for a few seconds before the glow turns purple once more.

With your homing beacons set, you proceed to the next stage. You read a few more lines of incantations. “Lady,” you call out when you’ve reached her turn.

She pulls out a throwing knife and pricks the tip of a finger. You recite more incantations while she adds her blood to the circle. Within her veins lies the blood of her ancestor, the priestess who worked with Sparda to seal away the demon realm two thousand years ago. Having her here increases the chance of success that this summoning will work.

“Trish.”

She lifts her wrist to her mouth and bites into it like a vampire. A bead of dark red leaks out of the side of her mouth as she holds her wrist over the circle. The blood of a full demon that’s rejected Hell. This adds stability to the circle.

You read out the last of the incantations and allow the notebook to slip from your hand. You reach for the dagger strapped to your thigh and use it the slice a fresh wound across your palm, adding the final ingredient. The sacrifice from the summoner. As soon as your blood hits the circle, the flames from each of the candles erupt.

Down in hell, Dante and Vergil trudge along a winding path. They’re both currently in the brief purgatory between one battle with a hoard of demons and the next. Dante has taken the lead, insisting that they need to keep moving if there’s any hope of finding a way out of here, despite Vergil’s insistence that such hope will never come to fruition.

Dante is unusually silent, with a grim look on his face. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been here. Time works differently in hell. Every fleeting moment lasts both fractions of seconds and an eternity. But still, he keeps walking. Keeps fighting. Because giving up is not an option. He has too many regrets. Things left unsaid. Promises to keep.

He marches forward, up until the point where he seems to hit an invisible wall. “What the hell?” The irony of his question isn’t lost on him.

“What are you doing, Dante?” Vergil’s deprecating tone speaks dryly from behind him.

Dante reaches his hand out. “There’s some kind of force field, or something.” He knocks against it, and though there’s no sound, there is a faint purple glow rippling against the otherwise empty air.

Before he’s able to figure out what’s going on, a series of spiraling lines begin to form at his feet, and soon the two of them are completely surrounded in the glowing purple circle.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Dante mutters in apprehension.

The two of them immediately move to the center of the circle, standing back-to-back. Vergil unsheathes Yamato while Dante summons his own demonic blade into his hand. They prepare themselves for whatever Hell might have in store for them next when there’s a brilliant flash of light that causes them both to shield their sensitive eyes.

As soon as the light fades, Dante blinks his eyes open. He meets your gaze immediately, and there’s a flicker of shock before that grin you know so well tilts the corner of his mouth. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Dante…”

He looks down toward the ground where the glow from the circle is beginning to fade, leaving the chalk marks behind. The candles have all been snuffed out, spiraling wisps of smoke still curling in the air. “I thought you said you’d never try to summon a demon.”

He knows about your gruesome past. About the coven you ran away from. About the summoning that went horribly wrong when you were a mere child. You cross your arms over your chest and glare, “Yeah, well who’s fucking fault is that, Asshole?”

His smirk falls into a grimace. “Right…” He releases his hold on the sword and it disappears back into whatever dimension it lingers when he’s not using it. “I am really sorry, you know.”

“Don’t.” You shake your head. “Don’t even fucking go there.” Your carefully crafted wall of iron and anger is quickly starting to crack. You’ve spent months preparing for this exact moment, and you’re beginning to realize that the one thing you neglected to prepare for was your emotions. Dante is quick to catch the wobble in your lips and the shine glistening against the bottom of your eyes.

“Babe…” he takes a step closer, and you flinch. Just that one minuscule movement spears him straight through his heart. “You have every right to be pissed at me.”

“Oh, I am,” you assure him.

He shuffles closer, careful and slow, like he’s approaching a skittish cat that he doesn’t want scurrying off into the dark. He reaches the edge of the circle and holds a hand out. It hits that same invisible wall. A ward of protection to prevent the demons housed within from harming their summoner. Too bad it doesn’t ward against emotional harm.

He leans against that wall and knows full well that it’s both physically and metaphorically keeping him from you. Even though you’re mere feet away from him, there might as well be an open chasm filling the space. “I will gladly take whatever punishment you deem fit. I will grovel on my knees, if that’s what you want. Just please, don’t look at me like that.”

You cross your arms protectively over your chest, as if doing so will shield the fragile, bleeding heart in your chest. You shift restlessly from one foot to the other. “Like what?”

There’s a hollowness to his voice that you’ve never heard from him before when he responds, “Like you regret falling in love with me.”

All the air rushes out of your lungs with a whoosh while you stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. You can’t believe he just said that in front of everyone else. You tear your gaze from his and glance around the room. They’re all pretending to not be listening, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that they heard him just fine. Trish is examining her nails, like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world. Lady is adjusting the strap of her belt, and Nero’s scratching the back of his neck while his eyes dart around like he’s looking for an escape hatch. Vergil has his back to you, but you can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he’s probably wishing he was still back in Hell.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch the bridge of your nose before releasing a long sigh. “You know, I can be mad at you and in love with you at the same time, Dante. That’s kind of how it fucking works.”

When you reopen your eyes and look back at him, the smile on his face is utterly devastating. It’s relieved, and tender, and exultant, and lights up the blue in his eyes like nothing you’ve ever seen before. “You gonna let me out of here, so I can show you how much I love you back?”

Despite the anger, despite the grief, despite the fear, his words make your heart skip a beat. You breathe one last shaking breath before swiping your hand through the air and allowing the barrier to fall.

Dante steps over the chalk immediately, moving fast before you have the chance to change your mind. By your next breath, he’s got his arms wrapped around you. One holds the back of your head while the other curves around your waist to crush your body into his chest. Your own hands slip under his trench coat to clutch at the fabric at the back of his shirt.

He tucks your head under his chin, his hold on you tightening just a little more. “God, I fucking missed you,” he whispers against your hair.

You bury your face even deeper into his chest. His signature scent has long since faded, replaced by sulfur, gun metal, and ash. But his heartbeat is strong, and he’s solid and warm against your cheek. You allow yourself to listen to that beat until it’s engraved on your soul, before you lift your head once more to meet his gaze. “You’re in so much fucking trouble. Do you have any idea how many strawberry sundaes you owe me?” One traitorous tear leaks from your eye and glides down your cheek.

He catches the tear with a swipe of his thumb and looks at you so tenderly it hurts. “How does a lifetime supply sound?”

Your breath stutters in your chest, and it’s a struggle to force your giddy heart back under control. He’s making it so utterly difficult to stay mad at him. “I guess it’s a start,” you respond begrudgingly.

He huffs out a laugh of amusement. “If anyone doesn’t want to see me making out with my future wife, I suggest you look away. Show’s over, folks.” He cups your face and slants his mouth over yours before you even have a chance to register what he’s just said.

“I’m out.” Nero immediately turns on his heel. “I’ve been traumatized more than enough today.” He’s relieved the summoning worked out, but he doesn’t need a front row seat to how you might have extracted that golden fluid from his uncle.

Lady snickers as she follows behind. “Don’t forget to come up for air, you two.”

“How repulsive,” Vergil’s words drip with disdain. Dante releases the side of your face just long enough to brandish a middle finger toward his brother as he walks past.

Trish smirks with amusement, hips swaying as she heads for the door, “Welcome back, Dante.”

The door shuts with a decisive click, and Dante continues to kiss you like he’s trying to steal the very breath from your lungs. He’s reverent and audacious, reclaiming his rightful place against your skin. His tongue slips into your open mouth, reacquainting himself with your taste. You moan as his dexterous tongue tangles with your own. Wet lips part from yours and glide over your cheek, then down your neck.

“You smell so fucking good.” The sensitive skin of your neck prickles against the rough brush of his stubble as he nuzzles into you. He’s not sure if it’s your soap, lotion, or something else, but you smell absolutely divine. Although after months with nothing but the stench of Hell filling his nostrils, even the shop smells amazing. As soon as that thought crosses his mind, he pauses. His mouth leaves your neck as he lifts his head and sniffs the air. The scent of stale pizza and aerosol cleaner is notably absent. In their place, “Is that… essential oils?”

You smile a little guiltily, “I cleaned up while you were gone and brought my diffuser. If it’s too much, I can unplug it. I know how sensitive your-”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures you. “Smells good. I like it.”

Your face brightens at his praise, and he realizes just how far gone he is, because even if he didn’t like it, he’d say just about anything to get you to look at him like this again.

“Well, that’s good, because I kind of also moved into your room,” you confess.

He gives you a tilted grin. “Did you go through my panty drawer?” he accuses teasingly.

You roll your eyes. “I had to go through all of your drawers. Don’t you realize that you can fit more in them if you actually fold the clothes before putting them in there? How did you even find anything?”

He shrugs his shoulders like it didn’t matter. “I just grab what’s on top. If it’s not easy to access, then clearly, I don’t need it.”

You release a long sigh, but don’t know what else you’d have expected. “Well, after everything was properly put away, there was more than enough room for me to add my stuff. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Would have had to make room for my future wife, anyway,” he beams down at you.

“About that…” you narrow your eyes. “Remind me again when I accepted a marriage proposal from you?”

He gives you a cheeky look. “Hey, you agreed to a lifetime of free sundaes. It doesn’t get any clearer than that.”

You laugh lightly, “What happened to the guy that said if I wanted romance, I’d need to buy him dinner first?”

His smile turns a little solemn, “He literally went to Hell, and it made him realize how much he regretted not telling you that he’s in love with you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Hearing him express his feelings more openly is going to take some getting used to. It’s not that you don’t think he’s being honest, but the way it makes your heart race is a little dizzying. You reach a hand up to cradle the side of his face and run your fingers over his stubbled cheek. His eyes close as he nuzzles into your palm. “I love you, too, Dante.” Your voice is low, as if talking too loudly might shatter this moment you’re sharing with him.

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, like hearing you say those words has physically lifted the weight off of them. When his eyes blink open, his gaze is softened by tender affection and longing. “Thank you for getting me out of there,” his voice is filled with sincerity. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. In more ways than one.”

You’re a little hesitant to respond. No one knows more about your tumultuous past with witchcraft better than him. “Well, on the bright side, I did get to break into my old coven’s private library and steal some of their tomes. That was fun.”

He flashes you an amused grin. “Oh great. So, how long before we have a coven of witches blasting through our front doors?”

“I put them back when I was done,” you respond defensively.

He purses his lips and nods slowly. “So… you broke into the library twice… That’s even better.”

You grin deviously. “Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

His widening grin matches yours. “The girl’s gotta do me.” His arms tighten around you for a moment, but then he loosens them once more. “Except, not right now, because I desperately need a shower and a nap first.”

You laugh and start to tug him toward the bathroom. “Come on. I’ll help you wash some of those hard-to-reach places.”

He grins lazily. “How about a hard, easy-to-reach place?”

“Shower and nap first, Dante.”

“Damn.”

A trail of clothes follows your wake as you both make your way to the bathroom and stumble into the shower. He presses little butterfly kisses to your neck and shoulders while you work shampoo through his silver locks. His hands glide over the curves of your body, touching you so gently, it’s like he’s holding a piece of delicate art. You can feel his body’s response to the rake of your nails across his scalp with the shiver that runs down his spine and the twitch of his cock against your hip, but he doesn’t act on it. He memorizes your dips and curves with the pads of his fingers, but doesn’t take it any further than that.

When you’ve finished rinsing the dirt and grime out of his hair, you reach for a bar of cedar and sage scented soap. “Turn around, Dante.” He does as you’ve requested, turning and leaning a hand against the tiled wall as you begin to move the soap across his back. You hold the bar with one hand and use the other to spread the suds and massage some of the tension out of his sore muscles. He releases a long sigh of content.

You follow his spine downward, but before you can get any further, he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. “You go any lower, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

You raise a brow and smirk in challenge.

He scoffs out a laugh and plucks the bar of soap out of your hand. “I’m pretty sure exhaustion and slippery shower sex don’t mix well, babe. I’ll take it from here.” He shoos you out of the shower stall and finishes washing himself.

You huddle into a fluffy towel to dry yourself off and hold out a second one for Dante to wrap around his waist when he’s done in the shower. He then grabs a smaller hand towel and immediately starts rubbing it against his wet hair. Watching him do that makes you cringe internally. If you treated your own hair that way, you’d have a crazy amount of frizz and breakage. Either he doesn’t care, or it’s some other lesser-known perk from the half demon blood running through his veins. Probably both.

You look away and focus on running through your nightly routine. You both work around each other, sharing the one sink as you prepare for bed. It’s incredibly domestic, and yet, years of fighting side by side and working seamlessly off of each other have made this moment feel natural.

It’s pushing two o’clock in the morning by the time you both finish up in the bathroom and make your way to bed. Dante releases a low whistle when he flicks on the light and sees his room for the first time. You haven’t changed it much, but there are little touches alluding to your presence, everywhere. First of all, the room is actually clean and well-organized. The drawers to his dresser are all properly shut, and the bed is fully made. There’s a new end table on the far side of the bed with a reading lamp, a phone charging station, and an unlit candle.

You move to that side and hang your wet towel on a hook on the wall before diving between the sheets of the bed. You huddle under the covers, releasing a small shiver as the cold sheets touch your bare skin. Dante chuckles quietly at your antics, then turns off the light and walks through the dark to meet you at the bed. He hangs his own towel and peels back the comforter and top sheet.

He feels the material between his fingers and pauses. “Are these new sheets?” he questions. They certainly feel softer than he remembers.

As soon as he’s under the covers, you immediately cuddle in close, seeking his warmth. “They’re bamboo sheets. Supposed to be good for hot sleepers.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Dante’s tendency to run hot meant that most nights, he’d sleep without any sort of blanket at all. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you even closer. There’s a part of him that wonders if this is real. Did he really make it out, or is this just another trick that hell has in store for him?

As if sensing his distress, you stretch your arm over his torso and place a gentle kiss to his chest. “Welcome home, Dante.”

Your words act as an anchor to keep him grounded and present. He focuses on you, on the press of your skin against his, the flutter of your breath over his chest, the lulling beat of your heart. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “It’s good to be back.”

You wake up in the morning, on your back with a heavy weight on your chest. Your eyes blink blearily up at the ceiling before looking down. Dante is face down on top of you, with his head buried between your breasts. His cheek covers one breast while his hand clutches the other one. You bite your lip to stop from laughing outright, but you can’t stop the way your chest bounces with repressed laughter.

It's enough to wake him up. He groans in protest, stubbly cheek nuzzling against you. “Five more minutes, Babe.”

“Comfortable, are we?”

“Whadyu mean…?” He’s still half asleep as his eyes blink open. It takes a second for him to realize the situation, the smirk slowly lifting the curve of his mouth. “Well, the view is certainly an improvement.” His hand clenches teasingly over your breast.

“Dante!” You laugh and smack his back.

He chuckles, voice still husky from sleep. “A guy could get used to this.” He shifts up onto his hands and knees, kissing you between your breasts before working his way down your stomach. “Think I might be in the mood for some breakfast in bed.”

You moan languidly, spreading your legs as he settles between them. His tongue licks teasingly at your belly button while he makes his way south. A hint at what’s to come. He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, where your heel immediately presses against the center of his back, urging him not-so-subtly.

“Now, this is what I’d call a good morning,” Dante comments, finally hovering over the apex of your thighs. The evidence of your arousal is already glistening against your folds. “Damn, babe. So wet already? Or were you having dirty dreams about me while you were sleeping?”

You shift restlessly beneath him. “Maybe it’s because you were fondling my breasts all night.”

“That reminds me, I think I had a dream that you-”

“Dante, less talking, more sucking,” you cut him off urgently. Your pussy clenches, feeling his breath against your skin. So close, and yet not close enough.

He chuckles in amusement. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he promises before his mouth is right where you want him.

He licks a long, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit and swirls around the tight bundle of nerves. You whimper at the sensation, a muscle in your thigh jumping as he flicks his tongue over your clit again. He hums in satisfaction, your slick coating his taste buds. His hands brace the tops of your thighs, thumbs pointed inward. He then uses his thumbs to spread your folds open before his tongue slips inside you.

“Oh!” you moan helplessly, hips rutting against his face.

He worships your body like a sinner seeking a lifetime of repentance. Basking in the rays of your holy rapture turns this half devil into a penitent man. He would pray every day, on his knees, at the temple of your body, just for a sliver of salvation. He focuses solely on your pleasure while ignoring his own. It’s the least he can do to atone for the way he left you all those months ago.

His tongue swirls several times around your open pussy, saliva mixing with slick and making his cheeks wet. He retreats, but doesn’t leave you empty for long. Two thick fingers push into your slick heat at the same time he sucks your clit into the hot cavern of his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, eyes rolling back and mouth agape.

His fingers curl into your g-spot while he slurps at your clit like he’s trying to pull it through a fucking straw. It drives you absolutely wild. Your back arches off the bed.

“Oh God! Holy fuck!” You can feel your release building up, like a Jenga tower that’s seconds away from toppling over. “Dante!” right before it has a chance to slam into you, Dante’s mouth releases your clit and his fingers slip out of your dripping cunt. “W-what?” Your denied pleasure has muddled your brain, and you’re not even sure what just happened.

You look around, half expecting to see that lesser demons have randomly spawned in the bedroom, as that’s the only logical explanation for why he might have stopped so abruptly.

“You can’t cum.” You stop looking around the empty room and meet his stormy gaze.

“What? Why?!”

“Because I’m not done with you, yet.” His smirk shouldn’t look so good with your slick smeared across half of his face, but it’s so utterly devilish that it suits him perfectly.

He licks another stripe up your folds, but stops just short of your needy clit. A groan of frustration escapes you, causing him to chuckle in response. He licks back down to your entrance, then follows the trail of slick leaking down your skin even further south. Your breath catches in your throat when his tongue slides over your puckered hole.

“Oh my God…” Your hand reaches up to grip the edge of the pillow under your head, as if doing so will somehow keep you anchored on Earth.

Dante’s tongue circles around the tight ring of muscle, steadily building up pressure until he makes an attempt to breech you. He fucks your ass with his tongue like he’s done it every day of his life. There’s no hesitation, only precise and perfect execution. The wet sounds of him lapping at your walls are obscene and so explicit, they should be illegal. His hands push your thighs open even wider, allowing him to feast on even more of you.

“Dante, your fucking mouth!” You sure as hell weren’t expecting to get tongue-fucked in the ass this morning, but Dante knows how to keep a girl guessing.

After he’s sure he’s made you wet enough, he replaces his tongue with one slicked up digit from when he fingered your pussy earlier. It slips in easy enough, so he tests out adding his second finger. He’s a little surprised at how quickly your body takes in both digits. “You ever let anyone fuck you here?” he asks out of curiosity, watching his knuckles slip in and out of your puckered rosebud. You’re taking them like a champ.

You’re also a complete mess by this point. Utterly ruined, breaths uneven, thighs shaking. “N-no!” you barely manage to get out.

“Huh…” He shrugs it off and promptly dives back into eating you out.

With two fingers up your ass, tongue shoved deep into your pussy, and his other hand thumbing at your clit, you are completely at his mercy. You buck, and thrash, and scream as pleasure so intense, it burns, runs through your whole body. “Fuck, Dante! Fuckk!”

He lets you reach your orgasm this time. You’re catapulted into the stars, blinding pleasure lighting up every one of your neurons. Your ass clenches around his fingers while your pussy soaks his tongue. He doesn’t let up, even as you start to reach your oversensitivity limit. He makes your pleasure last, drawing it out as long as possible.

The muscles in your legs go from violent shaking to limp noodles as any strength in them fades away. Your lifted leg falls off his shoulder and lies limp against the bed, while you desperately try to breathe air back into your lungs. “Who knew you had a better use for that mouth this whole time?” you shoot Dante with an incredibly satisfied grin.

He grins back, “I aim to please.” He carefully pulls his fingers out and places one final wet kiss against your hip before pushing himself up and off the bed.

Your head tilts, confusion knitting your brow. “Wait, what about you?” You want to try to sit up, but your muscles are still liquified.

He gives you a soft smile, “Don’t worry about me, babe.” He winks over his shoulder and disappears through the door that leads to the en-suite bathroom. You hear the door click shut, followed by the faucet turning on at the sink.

By the time Dante has finished cleaning up, you’ve mustered enough strength to at least lie on your side, facing him as he comes back into the room. He stops and leans against the door jam for a moment, taking in your naked body and the rumpled sheets. “Is it bad to say that I like seeing you in our bed?”

You grin back, chin propped on a fist. “Why would that be bad?”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Dunno. Anti-feminist, maybe?”

You laugh, “Well, considering you said our bed and not your bed, I think the feminists would let it slide.”

“What’s mine is yours, babe,” he smirks and moves to the dresser. He opens the top drawer, pulls out a pair of boxer briefs, and pauses. On the right half of the drawer, his underwear has been neatly folded and stacked horizontally to make it easy to pull out one pair without having to dig through the pile. The options vary from black, dark grey, more black, and navy. On the left side, there’s a rainbow assortment of options in cotton, lace, or fabrics he can’t even name, with varying styles from full, sensible coverage to barely-there scraps of fabric. He pulls out a hot-pink, frilly piece of lace and looks back at you with a raised brow. “You telling me you’ve been running around with me, fighting demons while wearing shit like this, and I never knew about it?”

“God no,” you scoff in amusement. “Comfortable, breathable cotton is for demon slaying. Sexy, but itchy lace is for getting ravished at the end of the night.”

He hooks his thumb against one end and stretches the elastic out with his other hand. He takes aim and releases the tension, causing the thong to fly through the air in your direction. You catch it with one hand easily enough. “If you put those on for me now, you might get ravished again a lot sooner.” He grins cheekily, stepping into his own underwear and pulling them up to his hips with a snap of the waistband.

He opens the next drawer and sees the same dichotomy as the first one. His shirts, neatly folded, but all in muted tones, are off to the right, with your colorful and spontaneous counterparts on the left. With his curiosity building, he decides to peek through all the drawers. The symbolism of it gets to him a bit emotionally. How seamlessly you’ve been able to fit yourself into his space, as if you’ve been here all along.

“Oh God… don’t open the bottom drawer,” you urge when you see what he’s doing. But as soon as the words are out, you immediately regret them, because that’s where his focus shoots straight to.

“Why?” his curiosity has now peaked as his hands reach out. That drawer had previously been empty. He didn’t like having to bend down so far to get to it, so he never bothered putting anything in there. You groan in embarrassment and cover your face with both hands, like you can’t bear to watch.

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but the pile of dildos and sex toys was certainly not it. He releases a low whistle, taking in the vast inventory. There are toys that vibrate, toys that suck, toys that pulse, twist, and thrust. Dildos in various colors and sizes. Lubricants and cleaning sprays. There’s even an anal training kit. That catches his attention.

“Have you been using this?” he asks, waiting for you to peak out between your fingers to show you the box with anal plugs that progressively get thicker and longer. It would explain how well you took his fingers earlier.

You quickly look away, the blood in your veins turning molten. “Yeah…” you admit, still embarrassed. “It’s something I always wanted to try, but you’re not exactly small, Dante, so I felt that I needed to be prepared.”

His lips part, but he doesn’t really know what to say with his mind still reeling. “I’m so fucking hot for you right now,” is what eventually works past his throat.

“Dante!” you laugh, still mortified.

“We are definitely having a Tupperware party where you show me how all of these things work. Hang on- What’s this?” When he turns to put the training kit back, he notices a smaller, unlabeled wooden box underneath. He pulls it out, flicks the metal latch, and cracks open the top of the box, folding it back on its hinges. There’s a glass vial tucked into the cushioned interior of the box with glowing pink liquid inside. He holds the vial up to the light and notices the iridescent sheen.

“Don’t open that.”

The seriousness of your voice catches his attention. It’s not the embarrassed plea you had let out earlier. There’s an edge of danger and concern to your tone.

“What is it?” he questions.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel next to him, taking the vial out of his hand and placing it back in the box. “It’s not done yet. And you weren’t supposed to find it.”

“You gonna tell me what it is?”

You breathe a long breath, avoiding his gaze by placing the box back in the bottom of the drawer and pushing it shut. “It’s a perfume I synthesized from distilled succubus pheromones,” you finally admit.

He chokes on his own saliva. “Do I even want to know how you got your hands on succubus pheromones?” he asks between sputtering coughs.

“I killed one, obviously,” you state like he should have known. You stand back up and open the shirt drawer. You pull out one of his black Henleys and slip it on.

Dante pushes himself up to standing as well, realizing that, yes, he should have known. He’s well aware of your penchant for collecting demon parts to use in your potions. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. “So, what exactly is that perfume meant to do?” he’s almost hesitant to ask.

You bite your bottom lip and are unable to meet his gaze, so you look at his chin instead. “It’s supposed to excite your devil trigger more easily.”

His breath hisses through clenched teeth. “Oh, fuck me…” His eyes squeeze shut as vivid memories of his trigger fucking you feral against the wall plays back on an endless loop. “Babe, that was supposed to be a one-time thing. I don’t think you realize how close I was to snapping you in two.”

“No, I know. I just…” your eyes flicker all the way up to meet his once more. “Look, I haven’t exactly been normal since the pollen incident,” you confess.

His brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes-” Your voice cracks, and you have to take a steadying breath before starting again. “Sometimes, I go through phases of like extreme horniness? And when that happens, it feels like nothing I do is enough to satiate the cravings. Hence, the drawer full of toys.” You poke at the bottom drawer with your foot. “But even then, there are times when it feels like the only thing my body wants is you in your trigger. And maybe it was just the loneliness and how much I missed you. Maybe now that you’re back, things will start to feel different. But as of right now? Dante… I still really want to fuck your demon cock.”

He listens to you intently, at first concerned when you mentioned that you didn’t feel normal, and then conflicted as you explained even more. “That is both incredibly terrifying and insanely hot at the same time.”

His words make you smile, smoothing over the feelings of insecurity.

He holds your face in both hands and places a scruffy kiss to your forehead. “Let’s just take it one day at a time. It’s literally day one of us being back together. If you start feeling weird or have cravings, let me know and we’ll work it out together, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, already feeling relief flowing through you. “I really missed you, Dante.”

His nose brushes against yours tenderly. His lips part to respond, but he’s cut off by the shrill ring of the telephone out front. He sighs forlornly and pulls his hands away from you. “Damn phone sure knows how to ruin the mood.”

You smile, amused, and push gently at his chest. “Go. I’ll be out in a sec.” While Dante steps out of the bedroom, you slip into that lacy, pink thong and quickly make the bed.

Back downstairs, Dante picks up the receiver and holds it up to his ear. “Devil May Cry,” he answers, and it feels so unbelievably good to say those words.

The happiness and relief of being home again is short-lived when he hears the girlish squeal on the other line. “Oh my gosh! Dante, you’re back!”

He yanks the receiver away from his ear and sighs right as the incessant chatter starts up. When you step out of the room and walk downstairs, you find him holding the receiver at arm’s length while he pinches the bridge of his nose. The voice on the phone is loud enough that you immediately know who it is. Putting him out of his misery, you take the receiver out of his hand and hold it up to your ear. He mouths the words “thank you” as you do.

“Hey, Patty. What’s up?”

The young orphan that Dante had once saved from demons several years ago is now a rambunctious 18-year-old. She’s incredibly sweet, but very opinionated and has no qualms against blasting those opinions at Dante, like a quick draw revolver.

“Oh, hey!” She greets you. “Was that Dante I heard earlier?”

He immediately starts shaking his head and makes a cutting motion toward his neck.

You smirk in response, “Yeah, he just got back last night.”

He throws his hands in the air and mouths “what the fuck” at you.

You fight to hold in your laugh.

“Oh good! I have some questions I want to ask him.”

He glares, hands on his hips, daring you to throw him under the bus again. Your smile only widens. “Now, probably isn’t the best time, Sweetpea. I think he’s a little jet lagged.” As if recalibrating oneself after spending six months in hell could be considered “jet lagged” but it got the point across. “You might want to try again in a few days.”

“Wah! But I have a date with a cute boy from my school tomorrow!” she whines.

You raise an eyebrow at that. “And you want to ask Dante for boy advice?”

He looks torn between the horror of being subjected to Patty’s endless questions and being insulted by your tone.

“Well… I originally called to talk to you about it, but when I heard his voice, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to get his opinion. But no, you’re right. He’s been pining after the same woman for like decades. He’s utterly hopeless.”

Dante pressed his palms to his eyes, and you’re starting to get a stitch in your side from holding back your laughter.

You clear your throat in an attempt to regain a semblance of control. “Oh really?” you question, like you don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.

“Oops… I think that was supposed to be a secret.”

“Tell you what, how about we meet at the nail salon down the street from the shop in 30 minutes? Then we can talk about boys and spill Dante’s secrets while we get our nails done.”

“Okay!” she agrees readily.

You laugh at her puppy dog energy. “See you soon, Patty.”

You’ve barely put down the receiver before Dante is up in your space. “I’m not even home 24 hours, and you’re already leaving me to hang out with Patty?”

You smile mischievously up at him, wrapping your arms loosely over his shoulders. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“Hell no.”

You laugh, having fully expected that response. “Relax. I’ll be gone two, maybe three, hours max. I’m sure you can find a way to entertain yourself in that time. Call in a pizza, or something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

His dejected sigh is all you hear when you slip out of his hold and head back to the bedroom to get properly dressed. You change into a comfortable shirt and jean shorts, then slip into a pair of open-toed sandals. When you step back out into the shop, Dante’s sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, flipping through a magazine. He refuses to look your way, but has every other sense focused on you.

You smile at his sulking. He’s adorable and so obvious, despite pretending to play it cool. You glance at the candles and chalk left out on the floor as you walk toward the front door. “I’ll clean this up when I get back.”

He hums like he barely heard you and turns the page of his magazine.

Your fingertips brush the door handle, but then you look back at him. “Your cell phone is still in the top left drawer of the desk.” He stopped carrying one with him after breaking three different phones on consecutive demon hunts. Once after he fell into a demon sludge pit, and twice just from being crushed in his pocket while getting thrashed around during battles. You still insisted that he should have one, but he mostly only used it to send you memes when you were away from the shop. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You walk out the door and have barely taken a few steps when you feel the tell-tale buzz in your back pocket. You pull your phone out and check the screen.

The Red Menace 😈: 👉👌

You roll your eyes to the sky and beg for mercy.

You: Real mature

The Red Menace 😈: 😘

You laugh to yourself and slip the phone back into your pocket.

Almost two hours later, sporting fresh manicures and pedicures, you and Patty are sitting inside a café next to the nail salon, sipping on lattes and finishing up your conversation. That’s when you feel the buzz in your back pocket again. Two quick vibrations indicating a new text, a pause, then another two quick buzzes. You pull the phone out and check the screen.

The Red Menace 😈: You need to come home. The Red Menace 😈: Now.

Your brow raises at the messages. Full punctuation and everything is unlike him.

“Sorry, Patty. Looks like I’m being summoned.”

She purses her lips into a pout. “You really shouldn’t let him order you around like that.”

You scoff out an amused laugh. “Oh, I don’t. But he’s needier than he looks.”

“You know that you could do way better than Dante.” She props her chin up on her hand while looking at you like you’re out of your mind.

During your girl talk, you’d let it slip that the two of you were now in a romantic relationship. She’d yelled out a great big “Finally!” and then proceeded to tell you how watching the two of you circle around each other for years was giving her premature wrinkles. You’d laughed at her perfectly, wrinkle-free face.

You shoot her a wink and push your chair away from the table. “Text me after your date, so I know you got home okay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles the way teenagers do when they feel like you’re being too pushy.

“And if he makes any untoward advances on you, elbow him in the throat.”

“God, you sound like Dante.” She makes a disgusted face. “You two really are perfect for each other.”

You smile and stand while grabbing your empty paper cup. “Enjoy your date, Patty.”

“Thank you for all your advice,” she tells you sincerely, blushing while looking down at her own cup.

“Any time.”

You toss the cup into the trash by the front door and begin the walk back to Devil May Cry. Your key unlocks the front door, and you’re surprised to see the front room is empty. He’s not lounging behind the desk, where you left him, and he’s not by the pool table or fiddling with the jukebox.

“Dante?” you call out.

You jump when the bathroom door suddenly bursts open and slams into the wall with a resounding bang. He stands in the doorway, gripping the frame so hard, the wood is starting to crack. He’s soaked from head to toe, like he’s just stepped out of the shower, but he’s still got his boxers on. The wet material does absolutely nothing to hide the thick, bulging erection tucked underneath. “Babe, I think I made a mistake.”

“What the hell?” you question and take another step into the room before you freeze. Your hair stands on end when you feel an electrical current in the air, like the moment right before lightning strikes. It crackles against your skin and feels like sparks on your tongue. It’s a familiar feeling. One you’ve experienced many times, and once quite intimately. It’s the shift in the air right before Dante changes into his devil trigger. It doesn’t take long to connect the dots. “Oh, Dante. Tell me you didn’t…”

His hands clench even harder on the door frame, and his abs flex with heaving breaths. “It was just a little sniff,” he confesses.

“Oh my god,” you run your hands over your face in disbelief. “You huffed the perfume?!”

“I was curious!” he responds defensively. “And you weren’t here to stop me!”

Your hands leave your face only to be thrown up into the air. “You’re a grown ass adult, Dante!”

“Yeah, one that makes stupid fucking decisions! You know this already.”

To be fair, you did, in fact, know this.

You sigh loudly and pray to a God that probably isn’t listening. You pull your phone out of your pocket and set it down, along with your keys, on the edge of the billiards table. You then kick off your flimsy sandals and march with freshly painted toes straight toward Dante.

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaning back when you step into his personal space.

“I need to examine you for side effects. I told you the perfume wasn’t done. It’s still too potent right now.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize…” He flinches when you touch his chest, but otherwise stands his ground. His heart races beneath your palm, breaths coming in short bursts. An ice-cold water droplet drips off his hair and splashes against the back of your hand. He must have been taking a cold shower to try to stave off the effects of the perfume. It doesn’t seem to have done much good; his skin feels feverish. Normally, he runs hot, but not this hot.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.” You keep your voice calm and steady.

He shifts from one foot to the other and looks down at you like he wants to devour you. “I’m feeling like I want to fuck you on every surface of this room.”

It’s becoming more difficult to remain collected. “And how is that any different from how you normally feel?”

His eyes flash red. “Because now I want to do it in my devil trigger.”

“Easy there, tiger.” Your words are a little too breathy to be soothing.

He takes one step forward, causing you to take one back. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I see your pupils dilating. That little catch to your breath. You wanna be fucked hard by my demon cock.”

He continues his advancement, matching your steady retreat. In the middle of the room, your foot catches on a fallen candle and slips out when the candle rolls. You yelp as you begin to fall back, but Dante is there in the next second, cushioning your fall. You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s got you perfectly pinned beneath his bulky frame.

A slow, lascivious smirk tilts his perfect mouth. “I think it’s rather fitting that I’m about to fuck you senseless inside the very summoning circle you used to pull me out of hell. You might be closer to your witchy roots than you previously thought.”

It’s a common myth that ancient witches used to summon demons for reproductive ceremonies as a way to bolster the magic within the coven. One such failed ceremony is the very reason why you left.

“That���s not funny,” you glare and try to knee him in the side.

Instead, he pins your leg against his hip and rocks forward, grinding his erection against the front of your shorts. “You’re right. It’s not funny.” His pupils are no longer round as he looks at you the way a predator eyes its prey. “Perhaps, ironic, would be a better term.”

“You talk a big game for someone that came in less than a minute the first time we fucked.”

He chuckles darkly, “And you’re awfully feisty for someone with panties so wet, I can smell it through the denim.” He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, tongue flicking at the air like he can taste it. Like he’s a fucking reptile.

“Fuck, Dante.” You shiver under him. You’re so turned on that you can no longer pretend to hide it. Can no longer pretend that this isn’t exactly what you wanted from him. “Please, fuck me. Missed you so much. Need to feel you in me. Filling me. Stretched so good around your cock.”

“I fucking love it when you talk like that,” he breathes before covering your mouth with his own. His kiss is hungry and sloppy, biting your bottom lip, tongue invasive and wet. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands scramble for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up your torso and ripping your mouth from his just long enough to pull it over your head. He moves to latch his mouth back onto yours, but is distracted by the sight of your bouncing tits.

“Did you go out without a bra on?” He doesn’t need to wait for your response with the answer clear in front of him. His tongue darts out and licks along his lower lip. “You wicked little thing.”

“That’s not all,” your smile is just as wicked as he’s accused, when you reach to unbutton and yank at the zipper of your shorts. The flash of hot pink lace is instantly noticeable.

“Fuck, babe. You’re killing me,” he groans like he’s being tortured. He sits up and tugs your shorts off your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him. His boxers are gone next, landing with a wet thwack a few feet away. He settles back between the valley of your thighs, his cock painfully hard and leaking at the tip. His fingers ghost over the pink fabric and press firmly against the wet patch at your center. You whimper and spread your legs even more. “So, fucking sexy.”

He hooks a finger under the fabric and pulls it to the side, revealing your glossy, wet cunt. He lines up the fat, dripping head of his cock, and sinks into you. “Dante…” you moan, back arching as he sinks in another inch.

He smirks when his hips brush up against yours. “Perfect fit.”

Your hips jolt, and your walls clench around him, desperate for some friction to make the stretch feel even better. “Move,” you urge.

“So bossy,” he teases, and you would have slapped that smirk right off his mouth if he hadn’t pulled out and slammed ruthlessly back in.

“Oh…” you sigh when he does it again.

“Look at you. Just a few quickly thrusts from my cock and suddenly the lioness is as docile as a little kitten.”

You rake red-painted nails down his back, eliciting a hiss of pain from his clenched teeth. “Even kittens have claws, Dante.”

He shakes off the sting and thrusts even faster. “Don’t I know it.”

His fucks you like he’s possessed. Which, in a way, he kind of is. He’s feral and fierce, pinning you down and fucking you raw. Your thighs squeeze his hips; ankles crossed above the curve of his ass. He feels so good, stretching you just right, hitting that sweet spot only he can reach.

Dante balances on one arm and reaches down to finger your clit. “This pretty pussy’s so fucking wet for me,” he praises.

You jerk under his touch; lips parted in a whine.

“Did you think of me when you fucked yourself on our bed while I was gone? Keep this perfect pussy nice and loose for when I came home? How many nights did you spend making plans to bring me back and then preparing your body for my arrival? Did you call out my name? Screaming your pleasure with a vibrator filling your sweet cunt and a plug stuffed up your perfect ass?”

“Fucking hell, Dante!” You grip his shoulder blades like he’s a lifeline and you’re adrift at sea.

“Did you squirt all over the new bed sheets while preparing yourself for me?”

You shake your head, both in response to his question and from the delirium of pleasure.

“No?”

“No!” you choke out, pleasure overriding your ability to speak. “I’ve only ever-” you pant for breath. “Squirted the one… Ah!” You’re so fucking close, you can practically taste it. “Time!”

“Oh really?” his chuckle is positively devilish. “Well, we’ll have to change that.”

He slaps your clit with his wet fingers and sends you to oblivion. You cry out, back arching off the wooden floor and hips jerking persistently against his continued thrusts. He fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts slowing to an unhurried pace as you ride out wave after wave of unfiltered pleasure. He waits until your body has stopped shaking, before he pulls his, still fully hard, cock out of you. He strokes himself slowly and observes his handiwork. Your puffy pink hole gapes at the loss of him, soaked in its own pleasure.

It takes far longer than you want to admit for you to catch your breath. “Didn’t… squirt.”

“Oh, babe,” he smiles mockingly, and yanks the pink lace so hard, the elastic snaps. “That was just your warmup.” He tosses the broken scrap of fabric over his shoulder.

He then pushes up to standing and leaves your field of view. You hear him walk to the corner of the room, pull something off the couch, and then walk back. He crouches behind you and helps you sit up just enough to slip a cushion under your head and shoulders. Before you can even ask, he stands back up and straddles your legs, looking down at you with his signature smirk. Red and black smoke wafts off his naked flesh like steam.

“Besides… I’m pretty sure this pussy only squirts for demon cock.”

There’s a burst of heat and energy, and then the absolutely massive being standing above you is neither Dante, nor the devil trigger you’re intimately familiar with. It’s something bigger and far more dangerous.

The air fizzles and distorts around him like it does at the tip of an open flame. Physical steam leaves his mouth with every breath. Molten, glowing cavities stare down at you beneath two spiraling horns that curve upward, while a separate set of horns curl from the back of his head around the sides of his face.

He looks like his body was forged from the very fires of hell. His features are sharper, all harsh angles and points. Heavily spiked, armored plating covers his forearms, shins, and shoulders. Four massive wings stretch out from his back, blocking your entire view, a wicked-looking talon curving at the upper joint of each wing.

Nero had told you about Dante’s new Sin Devil Trigger, but hearing about it second hand and experiencing the real thing? There was nothing that could have prepared you for this. Your hands flex against the wooden floor as you resist the urge to scramble backward away from him. Every instinct within you, both devil hunter and human, screams at you to run.

He drops to one knee and leans his face down closer to yours. All you see is the giant mouth full of wickedly sharp fangs approaching you much faster than you’re entirely comfortable with. “Dante… Is that still you in there?”

A puff of steam fills the space between you as he exhales before opening his gigantic maw. There’s a brief second where you think that this is the moment he’s going to eat you, when instead a thick, lava-red tongue slithers out of the opening. It flicks out of his mouth and then keeps coming, inch after impossible inch. It coils like a snake around one of your breasts, the very tip flicking at your nipple.

You heave a shaky breath, half in relief and half in ‘I don’t fucking know what I should be feeling right now’. “Going straight for the boobs, eh? Yeah, it’s still you.”

There’s a deep, distorted chortling sound coming from somewhere well within his colossal frame, and you realize he’s laughing. His tongue unwinds from your breast and slides up the side of your neck and cheek.

You close your eye on that side and grimace a little. “Alright, down boy.”

His obscenely long tongue coils back into his mouth, and then he drops fully down onto his hands and knees, completely encasing your body between him and the floor.

You shudder for a multitude of reasons. He’s too big, too hot, too everything. The last time you were this close to his devil trigger, there were still pieces of his humanity present. His former trigger still had semi-human features, eyes that you could look into, a sharp nose, and lips. He could still talk, even if his voice sounded like crackling embers. The presence above you is now far more beast than man.

You reach a hand up and run the tips of your fingers over the pulsing red center of his chest. It’s hot to the touch, as you expected, but doesn’t burn. The jagged armored plating around his glowing center feels more akin to dragon scales than the aged leather you’re used to. He’s covered nearly head to toe in spikes, and just when you’re beginning to wonder how exactly this is going to work, you notice that there’s a valley of smooth scales right where the top of his thighs meets his hips. It’s a perfect seat for your legs. If only you could get them all the way up there… Even crouched down, his hips are still quite a distance from yours.

“I’m gonna need some assistance here, big guy.” With a bit of ab work and flexibility you’ve gained from years of chasing after demons, you’re able to lift your hips and stretch one leg up, hooking it against his hip.

One of his massive hands quickly moves to support your floating ass, being mindful of his claws. He drops his hips a little more, and you’re able to get your second leg up and secured within the valley between rows of spikes.

“There we go,” you huff, shifting your hips a little to make sure you’re centered and comfortable. This is certainly an awkward position, but at least with his hand on your ass and lower back, he’s carrying most of your lifted weight. You smile a little teasingly, “Well, at least we already know what to do next.” One of your hands leaves his chest and travels down toward his groin, but before you’re even halfway there, you notice the armored plating there is already split apart and something is emerging.

“…Or I guess, you’ve got this?” You watch the glowing head of his cock come into view, but that’s not all that comes out. Your breath catches in your throat. “Oh, my god… there’s two of them.”

Your view of the world goes a little fuzzy and you wonder for a second if you’re hallucinating, but no… Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger does, in fact, have two distinctly different penises.

The top one is remarkably similar to the one you’ve already seen before, with a tip the color of burning embers, and a thick, ribbed, leathery length. The second one, however, is all new. It looks softer, more flesh-like, but still a dark, pulsing red like his tongue. It’s thinner at the tip, then flares out gradually along its length, and it seems to secrete its own natural lubricant. It takes a second of staring before it hits you. This strange, second penis is intended for anal sex.

“Okay…” You breathe a shaky breath. “Not what I was expecting, but what kind of girl doesn’t love a good two-for-one deal?”

You hear a deep, guttural sound vibrating out of him that reminds you of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. It’s impatient. And hungry.

“Yes, I hear you, but we’re going to have to be a bit… strategic about this,” you reach down and wrap a fist around his second cock. You give it a few strokes and confirm what you had already observed visually. It’s smooth to the touch, yet still firm, and your fist glides easily over its slick surface. Its girth steadily becomes thicker the further down you go, until about three-quarters of the way down, where it starts to gradually become thinner again. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?” you question and move your fist to get the head of his cock lined up.

He releases a low growl of approval right before you feel the pressure of his cock against your puckered entrance. You breathe a steadying breath and force your muscles to relax. He sinks into you immediately. The secreted slick makes the first few inches go in easy, and you shiver when you realize it has the same tingling capability as his precum. “Oh…” you gasp at both the tingly sensation and feeling of fullness already settling in you.

There may even be a slight muscle relaxant mixed into the secretion, because even as your ass stretches against the thickest part of his cock, there’s barely any resistance and you don’t feel any pain. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, working himself in you a little deeper every time. Your tight ring of muscle stretches more than the training kit was able to prepare you for, but its so fucking good. As soon as the thickest part of his cock has breached your entrance, the rest of him glides in like butter. Your body practically sucks him all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck, Dante,” you moan. “Filling my ass so good!” You clench around the base of his cock, keeping the bulbous middle section locked inside you as you rock against him.

A low, rumbling sound reverberates from his chest. The hand he’s using to keep his torso propped up flexes against the hardwood floor, leaving little curls of wood shavings where he’s gouged it with his claws. He grinds his hips against you, the underside of his first cock gliding over your pubic mound while his second cock gives your ass a few experimental thrusts. Your fingers grasp for purchase against the spiked armor covering his shoulders. The feeling of him moving in you makes your back arch as you gasp for breath.

You’re not even able to get used to the sensation before feeling the fat head of his other cock notch against your slick folds. Your gaze whips down so fast, you nearly strain your neck. His first cock has retracted half way back into his body to make it easier to line up with your entrance. You’re still soaking wet from your first orgasm and the feeling of him filling your ass has only made you wetter. His cock pushes forward and your body gives way like it’s rolling out the red carpet. You moan wantonly, watching the obscene sight of his cock emerging from his own body only to travel the short distance into yours. Your walls stretch and squelch, making room in a body that’s not quite meant to take this much.

A keening whine works out of your throat when he bottoms out, fully seated within you. The weight of his two cocks filling your pussy and ass makes your thighs shake. So heavy, so full, so hot. Your head falls back against the cushion Dante brought over for you, and you very suddenly realize why he grabbed it. This next part is not going to be gentle. You’re about to be fucked by a hulking beast of a fire demon. One that could probably very easily pound you through the floorboards. This cushion might be the only thing stopping you from waking up tomorrow with a gigantic bruise covering the whole of your back.

The unexpected sting of emotion tightens your throat. It’s just like him to quietly do something so sweet without any expectations or request for accolades. This is the guy who will refuse a job with a huge payout if it’s for the wrong reasons, but will jump at the chance to help someone who truly needs it, even if he knows he won’t get anything in return. The man who puts the safety and comfort of his friends and family before his own. The man who values humanity so highly, he’d jump straight into hell without hesitation to save it.

Your vision blurs momentarily, and then you feel the wet trail of a tear sliding down the side of your face. His massive body stills immediately, concerned that he may have hurt you and not noticed. That long, slithering tongue makes a reappearance, following the wet trail.

You release a wet laugh and reach up to cradle his face between your palms. “It’s okay, Dante. I’m okay,” you assure him. “I just really fucking love you.”

The sound that comes out of him is hard to describe, but the meaning is clear. It’s needy and raw and desperate. The hand holding your ass up in the air flexes against your skin right as his hips rock against you. The drag of his two cocks against your walls has you hissing through your teeth. You’re stuffed so deliciously full.

“That’s right,” you praise. “Just like that.” He thrusts again, and it feels even better. “Oh, yes…”

The constant, steady control he seemed to be lacking last time is now fully within his grasp. You’re not sure if he just got more in tune with this devil trigger after how long he spent in hell, or if he’d been more affected by the pollen than he’d let on last time. He fucks you hard, but slow, as your body adjusts to just how full of him you are. Feeling him moving in both your ass and your cunt is giving you sensitivity overload. Having something moving inside your ass is insanely different from just being stuffed with an anal plug. Your ass expands and contracts around the changing thickness of his length, but also refuses to fully release around the thickest part of him.

His ribbed cock feels so good inside your dripping cunt that the wet squelch every time his pushes in seems to grow louder. Your ass cheeks bounce with every thrust and soon a steady thwack begins to fill the air. The stench of raw sex, burning incense, and the crackle of lightning rivals the valiant efforts of your essential oil diffuser.

Dante thrusts into you even faster. Your body is so tight that it’s a miracle he’s even able to stuff one cock into you, let alone both at the same time. The way you clench and squeeze around his cocks drives him absolutely wild. He feels everything. Every shudder, every hitch of your breath. He even feels his two different cocks between the soft, spongey layers of your inner walls. You take him like you were made for this. Like you were made for him.

His movements start to become a little more erratic. Less controlled and more animalistic. Deep, heavy grunts begin to accompany his steaming exhales. Your attempts to meet his thrusts and be an active participant in this exchange are in vain. He’s too strong, all brute force, and you don’t have the leverage at this angle to push back. So, you’re just along for the ride. And what a fucking ride it is…

Your stomach bulges every time he bottoms out; that’s how stuffed you are. Your cunt is drooling from the brutal fucking she’s getting, and with how much slick is coming off his second cock, you’re pretty sure your ass is too. It’s unrefined carnality and visceral desire mixed together in a volatile cocktail of base instinct and a love so deep, it’s etched into your very soul.

Your back arches and your tits bounce, each thundering slam of his hips pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You keep one hand firmly planted against the glowing center of his chest, while the other is thrown over your head and grips the top edge of the cushion like it’s your final link to this mortal plane.

“Dante! Fuck! I’m gonna… I-” You can’t even say it. The pleasure in your body is so intense, it’s beyond anything you’ve ever felt before. He’s fucked you brainless. Your jaw goes slack, and you moan so loud that people can probably hear it from the street.

As he predicted, your pussy happily lets the floodgates open and squirts all over Dante’s cock as you cum. Your ass squeezes around his base while your cunt flutters and your body writhes. He doubles his efforts, fucking you through your release while desperately chasing his own. He can feel it building, and the way you’re squeezing him just brings it even closer.

A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s there. Oblivion never tasted so sweet. Both of his cocks explode, filling your womb and your ass with hot, thick ropes of golden, glowing cum. His head lifts as he releases a bellowing howl that rattles the windows, hips rutting into you like an animal in heat. You’re taking him so well, squeezing him so tight, milking the cum from his cocks like it’s ambrosia. He doesn’t know what being a God could feel like, but he imagines it’s pretty damn similar to this.

Your hips jerk involuntarily as your ass stretches over the thickest part of him, once more. He’s careful and slow while retracting his second cock, but you feel the crackle in the air that warns of his impending shift. Sure enough, as soon as his cock has been extracted from your gaping hole, there’s a wash of red energy and you suddenly have a very sweaty and panting Dante above you. He slides his knees forward, tucking them under your raised thighs and he gently lowers your ass back to the floor, between his legs. His head drops down, forehead landing between your breasts, uneven breaths scattering across your stomach like wispy little kisses.

“You okay?” he asks between pants.

It’s a struggle to form a response with your own heaving lungs. “Fuck, yes…” Your hand that had been on his chest moves up and around the back of his neck, sinking into damp tendrils of white hair at the base of his scalp. He shudders at the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his scalp when he’s already overstimulated. “So,” you begin, still panting for breath. “Have we learned our lesson?”

He laughs, just as breathless. “Yeah, huff all the magical glowing potions.”

“Dante!” Your chastisement is hindered by your echoing laugh. Your hand playfully squeezes the back of his head.

“Whew,” his breath blows across your skin, nice and cool against heated flesh. “10 out of 10, would try again. That was fucking wild.”

“Seconded.” You agree wholeheartedly.

He suddenly lifts his head like he’s just remembered something and winces. “Oh, damn…”

Your hand moves from his hair to the side of his neck, thumb gently gliding over the stubble on his jaw. “What is it?”

He meets your gaze with a slight grimace. “I told myself that when I got back, I’d be more responsible and use condoms next time. That definitely didn’t happen…”

“Ah,” you smile a little sheepishly. “Don’t worry, I beefed up my birth control.”

He raises a brow and tilts his head inquisitively, “Do I wanna know?”

Your hand drops to his shoulder. “Turns out, incubus blood has amazing contraceptive properties.”

He scoffs and stares at you incredulously. “First, a succubus and now an incubus? What did you get up to while I was away?”

You shrug defensively, “They were on the same mission. Another buy-one-get-one deal!”

He shakes his head slowly, but his eyes are amused. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Your own eyes narrow. “Says the guy with two demonic penises.”

He smirks, rather proud of himself. “You love my two demonic penises.”

You flick your hand up and point at him with a finger gun. “Facts.” There’s no point denying it.

He laughs softly. “Alright, so what other demons did you harvest parts from?”

You very quickly look away. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but he knows you too well, and it doesn’t take long for him to connect the dots. He glances down to where his cock is still buried inside you before flicking back up to your face. “Tell me you didn’t…”

You grin, feigning innocence, and focus on plucking a loose string at the edge of the cushion, rather than meeting his accusatory stare. “Do you want me to lie?”

His hands squeeze around your hips, trying to regain your attention. “Fucking hell, babe. You know, I draw the line at jerking off into a test tube for you.”

You finally look back at him, a smile so evil painted on your lips, one would think that you were the half demon in this relationship. “Dante, I am the test tube.”

He gapes down at you, slightly horrified, and more than a little turned on. He shakes his head and schools his features. “Not anymore. I’m cutting you off, you little pervert.”

“Oh, come on!” you laugh outright, unbothered by the minor insult. “Your dumbass would still be stuck in hell if I didn’t keep a sample from last time.”

His brow pinches. “You can’t be serious. You used my demonic sperm to pull me out of hell?!”

Once again, you’re left shrugging in defense. “Not like you left anything else behind for me to use.”

His eyes lift to the ceiling like he’s praying for patience before he releases a long sigh. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but fine.” His gaze lowers once more to yours. “You can keep one vial tucked away for emergencies only. No experiments.”

You bite your grinning lip and pretend to think about it. “Promise to leave me the last slice a pizza?”

He tsks at your brazenness. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Your legs squeeze around his hips, pussy clenching deliciously around his half-hard cock. “Do we have a deal?”

His hands tighten around your hips, eyes narrowing in warning. “No, we’re still negotiating. How long we talking? You can’t have free sundaes for life and the last slice of pizza.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping a finger to your lips. “Six months. Same amount of time you spent in Hell. Consider it payback for jumping into that portal without telling me first.”

“Damn, was I really gone that long?” He’d honestly had no idea how much time had passed.

“Seven if you count that month you disappeared after the first battle with Urizen.” You point out. “Something that might not have happened if you had let me fight with you.” There’s a fire in your eyes, proving to him that you’re still bitter over his decision to keep you out of the fight.

He runs his hands over the tops of your thighs in a gesture that soothes both you and him. “You can be mad at me all you like, but I’m glad you weren’t there. After what he did to Lady and Trish, I would have lost my mind if he got his hands on you, too.”

Your heart pounds in your chest at the feral rage that flashes behind his eyes at just the thought of what could have happened. “He’s not coming back, right? Vergil has him locked away? He’s back to normal?”

“Yeah,” Dante nods once and then shrugs. “Well, as normal as that ornery fucker can get.”

Your laugh is like music to his ears. It makes the constantly roaring flames inside him dull to a soft and gentle warmth. He smiles and leans back down, once again caging your body between his chest and the floor.

“Now, back to our negotiations. Six months?” He waits for your nod of confirmation. “You got yourself a deal.”

Your hands reach up to cradle either side of his face, eyes flickering between his left and right. “Sealed with a kiss?”

The corner of his sinful mouth tilts up. “Fuck yeah.” He leans down, lips ghosting over yours with the barest touch before slanting over them and kissing you deeper.

You moan against him and move your hands back into his hair, but then there’s a loud banging knock against the glass of the front door.

“Hey! Are you guys decent?” You recognize Lady’s voice.

Dante pulls his mouth from yours, the two of you sharing a brief look before you both turn to the Lady shaped silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass.

“No!” you shout back, and at the same time Dante shouts “Yes!”

You punch him in the shoulder, causing him to laugh, not even bothering to pretend it hurt.

Lady wisely takes you at your word and ignores Dante’s. “Get dressed. We’ve got a new job.”

Dante groans and releases a forlorn sigh. “No rest for the wicked.” He carefully extracts himself from between your legs and notices just how wrecked and swollen you are down there. “You gonna be able to walk?” he asks, feeling a strange combination of well-meaning concern and pure male pride for having completely and utterly ruined your pussy and ass.

You wince at the loss of him inside you, the ache in your core making itself more prominent now that you have nothing to clench around. “I’ll need to take a vitality potion, but then I’ll be good.”

He nods and scoops your body into his arms, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He then carries you into the downstairs bathroom and sets you down on the closed toilet seat. “One vitality potion coming right up,” he tells you after turning on the water in the shower so it has time to heat up.

“Oh! Can you grab my collection kit too? It’s on the shelf under the completed potions.”

His face pulls into a grimace. “I really don’t want to watch you swabbing my cum out of you and shoving it into a potion bottle.” He disappears out the open doorway and moves to the cabinet behind his desk, where you store your potions.

You roll your eyes and call after him. “You literally had a cock shoved up my ass and this is what makes you squeamish?”

“Hey, that was hot.” He calls back. When he reenters the bathroom, he has a glowing green potion in one hand and a zipped-up toiletry-looking bag in the other. “This is just wrong.” He dutifully hands you both items.

You take them from him and quickly down the vitality potion like you’re drinking a shot. You nod toward the shower that’s now steaming up. “Hop in, I’ll join you in a sec.”

He gives you a lazy, two-fingered salute and steps under the spray. You watch the droplets of water glide down the dips and contours of his incredible body, momentarily hypnotized by the sight. Your head tilts to the side, and your tongue pokes out to wet your bottom lip. But then you blink and snap out of it, remembering the bag in your lap.

You clinically and efficiently fill a single vial using the tools in your kit. There’s enough in you that you could certainly fill many more, but you keep to the deal you made with him earlier. One vial. No experiments.

You zip the bag closed and place it on the counter by the sink. The vitality potion has returned the strength to your legs, and you’re able to stand with minimal shakiness. You step up behind him and wrap your arms around his torso, placing a kiss to the center of his back. “You’re the best future husband a girl could ask for.”

He grins at you over his shoulder. “You’re pretty incredible yourself, babe.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead to his back, giving yourself a second to truly appreciate that this man now belongs to you just as much as you belong to him. After loving him so long from a distance, you’re looking forward to finally getting to love him up close. He’s your home, your heart, your everything. And for a girl who’s obsessed with two-for-one deals, this half-human, half-demon man wrapped in your arms is a deal that’s just too good to pass up.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Touch-Starved (canon)

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otherwise known as; the part where The Puppetmaster finds out he has THE FEELINGS(™, patent pending) for the Combat Harlequin. lmfao

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"Almost..." His hand trembled at the last piece required. He carefully slotted the optics in place, and twisted the eye multiple times to stick it in place. Within moments, he steps back, and Bubble flared up alive again, checking out his new, updated vision. “Wow! I can see more colors now!” The Blimp spun in place.

“Those new eyes should allow you to broadcast anything you see to me, if I so wished.” He explains, pulling out a small, thin black screen from one of the the desk’s many compartment. He switches it on, and Bubble’s eyes suddenly have a tiny red dot blinking in the middle of it.

So far, so good. The device was working as intended and he could see the top of his dentures from Bubble’s perspective, making Caine grin proudly.

“You may proceed to do your chores once more, the upgrades are done.” He sends the blimp to his merry way, and Bubble only nods before turning away to make his way out of the office. He leans back with a content sigh and closed eyes, satisfied with the work done for the day.

At that very moment, Pomni also opens the door.

She looked… disheveled, to say the least.

“Oh hey Pomni!” The butler blimp greeted with his usual reply. The Harlequin only sent him a look of acknowledgement, knowing that it’s useless to try to spark up a conversation, as Bubble was already making his way out.

Caine blinked once, and then he blinked twice just to make sure he’s seeing things right.

Was she always this… dazzling? Literally? He could see sparkles forming everywhere.

She flipped her hair in a messy attempt to get rid of the strands currently stuck to the skin of her nape. Her trademark golden ponytail missing, most likely a B.O.S.S.’s doing. She made her way to Caine’s desk and he swears he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with each step she took. The Harlequin’s trademark squinted brows with half-lidded eyes meeting his own wide stare, a gaze that would typically make any person with a still-functioning sanity cower in fear.

She took a seat on his desk with her legs crossed and her back turned against him and leaning on her right arm, as she usually did.

“Here’s the die you asked for. Took me a bit, but still got the job done.” She checked her left arm for damages after she placed the multi-colored puppet heart in front of him, while she flashed her teeth with a victorious, smug smile. His words are caught in his throat and her entirety shines too brightly for him. He couldn’t understand it.

Why… did she seem like a flame, and he felt like an unsuspecting moth, drawn to her light?

He shook his head clear and forced his stare away from her direction, clearing his throat while clutching the die. “I-I see, thank you, Pomni. You-you’ve done… a… wonderful…” Her hand grasped his own and his heart leapt at his own throat. Her synthetic, calloused fingers felt so rough, yet so gentle against his own gloved ones that he considered taking them off.

“...j-job.” His breath hitched as he struggled to finish the end of his sentence, unable to tear his attention away from her eyes. He found himself gawking at her intense, golden eye matched with blue and red pinwheel ones.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Puppetmaster?” Her expression questioning, yet with a slight and subtle undertone of mischief glinted at her optics. 

He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form coherent words. It felt like he was being strangled by an unknown force clutching at his neck, yet there was clearly no malice behind it. 

“Wh… What am I forgetting…?” He asked in such a feeble tone that made her chuckle in such a low rumbling tone, snaring his full attention.

“Well, I think that I deserve a reward for my services. Don’t you think?” She stands up. Warm hands suddenly felt so cold and empty, and already he missed the warmth present just about a second ago. The Harlequin made her way towards him as he spun his chair to meet her halfway. Hand at her hips as she towered over his sitting form. He’s all of a sudden clutching at the armrest so intensely.

“Y-yes, of course! H-how could I forget!” He nervously chuckles, he would pull on his collar right about now. “What is it you wish to be rewarded with?”

He offers her his best smile, and she giggles as she shakes her head. Without any warning, she took a seat on his lap, and he went frozen. As if making one single move would shatter the very fabric of the universe. She leaned her head to his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt then her fingers trailed onto the underside of his chin to make him look at her. He shivered from the contact.

“You.”

He trembled as his face warmed up to uncontrollable degrees, and produced visible heat waves. Not even his self-installed coolants were helping him tone down the sudden rise in his body temperature in the slightest. He couldn’t control his shakes, making the Harlequin smirk, knowing that she had the Puppetmaster all wrapped around her finger.

He didn’t know what came over him, because now his own hands were making their way onto her thighs to pull her closer to him entirely, the other shakingly placing itself onto her shoulders and he could feel the way she sighs contentedly against his touch. He exhales a shaky breath himself, attempting to steel himself.

“M-my dear, a-are you positive that… that is what you’d like?”

It was better to be safe than sorry. She sits up straight, and for the first time, he regrets ever asking that question in the first place.

“Actually…” Her voice trails off playfully, while she stands up. “... Maybe I’d like something more.”

It only took her a finger underneath his chin to pull him as she leads him to a nearby wall. As if his own body had a mind of it’s own, he pins her in place with both arms adjacent to her head. His face leans in closer and closer to her with eyes closed, and she’s leaning up close to him, fully ready to accept his advances.

Pomni’s soft lips met his teeth, and Caine could smell the faint traces of grass and sweat rolling down from her synthetic skin, evident of her hardships from the recent battle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his loops around her waist to pull her closer, while the other cups at her face intensely. He savored her mouth as their breathing became heavy and fast-paced, only breaking apart for a mere second, gasping for air before delving back in to their desires.

Desire…

Quite the accurate depiction of how Caine truly felt for the Harlequin at this moment. He couldn’t quite decipher when this had started, though.

As if her intentions were to pry him away from his overbearing and unnecessary thoughts, Pomni pushed him away to pin him to the wall this time, continuing the liplock. He grunts from the impact, but gladly returns her enthusiasm with fervor as he loops his arm around her back, pulling her flush to him once more. Her hands made their way to the lower sides of his jaw to caress so gently, and he finds himself melting at every contact their touches made.

Without breaking the teeth-on-lip-lock, he steered their bodies onto the direction of his desk, leaving the Harlequin laying on it as he loomed over her, ravaging her mouth once more like the touch-starved man he was. He adjusted her thighs just enough to make room for him without making the position uncomfortable for the both of them, their heated make out session felt like it could go on forever as he gripped her waist tightly.

It felt like if he let her go, she would disappear all of a sudden. And he didn’t want that.

He made sure to not lean too much of his body weight onto her by propping himself up with his elbows, both hands find themselves cupping her face to keep her in place as her hands trailed all the way up from the lower arms to his shoulders to do the same to him. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva being the clear proof of their heated action, but quickly delved back into the riveting sensations of their activity. 

Her touch against him were like magic; every contact sent shivers and jolts down his spine as she switched from holding his shoulders to holding his chest just above where a collarbone would traditionally be, pushing him away to let herself up. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe he went a little too far with his advances, until she disproved his theory by shoving him to one of the nearby long couches, only a pillow to cushion and soften his landing onto the furniture.

Quickly making up for lost time and contact, she quickly crawls to straddle his waist, clutching the back of his head to make him look at her, and her only. His hand found itself gripping at the back of her waist tightly once more, the other clutching her own head just to make sure she’s still there with him. Both were panting heavily, the room temperature very much heated as a result of their affairs.

His eyes looked at her longingly as he breathed heavily. “Pomni… I… I don’t think I want this to end.”

She flashed him a consoling smile.

The alarm rings, deafening the surroundings as he jolts awake, falling from his chair comically with a loud, slightly high-pitched scream emitting from his throat. He groans from the headache he had received from the impact to the ground, clutching at the top sides of his jaw, as he leans his head onto the desk for support.

His false heart was beating faster than when one would run; His face was flushed and he frustratingly ignores the heat from the rest of his body with a grumble.

He shifts his eyes to look around. Nothing’s changed. Everything was the same since Bubble left to do his daily chores.

He shakes his head and slams his face down onto the elegant desk, groaning depressingly and half-sobbing.

What the fuck? Was… WAS IT ALL JUST A DAMN DREAM!?

Oh, he could scream and cry into a pillow right about now. But the panicked angry screaming of a certain someone being bothered by the recent addition; the Ragdoll Mannequin that was “Ragatha”, suddenly grabs his attention. Now, he’s looking outside into the manor grounds from his office’s windows with a tired and questioning gaze.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

“But Mistress! You still haven’t tried out my trademark cookie recipe!! It’s GUARANTEED to be your instant favorite!”

“STOP CALLING ME MISTRESS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T CARE, GET THE FUCK AWAY-”

Caine sighed disappointingly to himself, dragging his hand across his eyes.

God fucking dammit. He actually feels something for her.

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I would say I'm sorry, but we all know I'm not. :)

[yourbasicqueerie]

The Audition (Lydia Lebasi x reader)

۶ৎ Summary:

Everyone in the industry whispered about Lydia Lebasi. The woman who could make a name sing or disappear with a single phone call. She'd managed Oscar winners, ruined A-listers, turned ingénues into icons — and then discarded them just as easily. They called her "The Architect" behind closed doors. The Devil in designer heels.

OR

You're an aspiring actress looking for a manager, what happens when that person is Lydia?

۶ৎ Author’s Notes:

So.....guess who wrote Lydia smut y'all???? Anywho, this took literally forever to write, so i hope it's good enough! I made this for the lovely @jubshead who was also my beta for this! Thank you for all that read through this and urged me to keep going! Also I'm thinking about maybe making this a multi-chapter, so give me ur thoughts regarding that! If you want to listen to music during this I made a Lydia playlist u can find here!!!

۶ৎ Warnings: Manipulative relashionship, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, overall just a loooot of sex and dubious relashionships, reader recieving.

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The office was colder than it had any right to be.

Long shadows stretched from bronze light fixtures, their antique glow barely enough to illuminate the slick marble floor beneath your heels. The walls were an austere gray-blue, hung with black-and-white photographs of faces — some famous, some forgotten. All haunting. All beautiful. Everything felt curated. From the art deco chairs that were too uncomfortable to sit in for long, to the scent in the air: citrus, with a chemical undercurrent. Expensive. Clinical. Predatory. It’s like the waiting room was designed to intimidate. 

And it worked.

You sat alone in the waiting area, spine rigid, hands pressed together in your lap. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was surgical. 

Everyone in the industry whispered about Lydia Lebasi. The woman who could make a name sing or disappear with a single phone call. She’d managed Oscar winners, ruined A-listers, turned ingénues into icons — and then discarded them just as easily. They called her “The Architect” behind closed doors. The Devil in designer heels.

The door opened.

Lydia Lebasi stepped into view like a blade sliding over silk.

She was tall, taller than you'd expected, with an elegance that bordered on cruelty. Her black tailored suit jacket hugged her waist like a whisper, the satin lapels gleaming under the soft light. A sheer midnight blouse peeked through the jacket, the top button carelessly undone. Her black slacks flowed like a countdown into razor-sharp lines over the stilettos that clicked softly as she moved.

Her skin was porcelain-smooth, her cheekbones sharp as truths. Lips: full, berry-red, and unsmiling. Her hair, a dark brown sleek bob, was tucked neatly behind one ear. And her eyes raked over your nervous figure, cold, deliberate, hungry.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

“You,” she said, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. “Come.”

Her feet moved before your brain caught up.

The office was darker than you anticipated. The blinds were drawn, the walls a deep emerald green. One massive, black mahogany desk sat centered before a velvet chaise. The desk looked unused, more ornament than functional. Lydia belonged behind it, in control of it.

She didn’t offer a handshake. Just moved to lean against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

“You’ve been trying to meet with me for… what, six months?”

“Yes,” you mumbled quickly, intimidated by the manager’s presence.

“You’re persistent.” Lydia tilted her head, studying you like how a collector studied a rare, possibly damaged artifact. “Pretty. Young. Nervous.” she enunciated each syllable slowly, tasting the words in her mouth.

“I- ” your voice caught. “I’m serious, I’ve worked hard, I have range and I’m not afraid to- “

“Stop,” Lydia said, and you did.

She stepped closer in one long stride. The scent of her perfume filled the air between you and her — expensive, smoky, and strange, like vanilla scorched on coals. Her gaze dropped, slowly sweeping over your uncomfortable yet professional shoes up to your gulping throat and lingering at your mouth.

A breath too long.

A beat too deliberate.

Lydia smirked.

“I can see the eagerness in you,” she said softly. “But there’s something else.” Her finger lifted — featherlight, tracing just beneath your jawline. “Fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” you lied.

“Oh, darling.” Lydia’s voice dropped. “You are. And it’s exquisite.”

She stepped behind you — a slow circle — her voice near your ear now. 

“You’re wondering if I’ll sign you. If you’re good enough. But what you should be wondering is… why I haven’t already said yes.”

She turned to face you, stopping only inches away.

“You think it’s about talent?” Lydia asked, amused. “No. It’s about devotion. Sacrifice. Chemistry.” She glanced down at your figure again, this time openly. “It’s about whether you’re interesting enough to keep me entertained.”

You swallowed hard. Your whole body felt like glass just about to shatter.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed, then darkened.

“Take off your coat.”

You hesitated.

“I said,” Lydia demanded, “take it off.”

You did as she said, awkwardly, hands trembling.

Lydia’s gaze swept you once more. Slower. More deliberate. She stepped closer, the air electric between you both.

Then, without warning, Lydia separated herself from you and sat down on the velvet chaise — legs crossed, gaze unapologetically possessive.

The silence stretched like a trap being set.

“I’ll do anything to make it in this industry,” you said suddenly, voice barely louder than a breath. “Anything.”

Lydia’s head tilted. Slowly. Eyes gleaming.

“Anything?” she echoed, her voice laced with interest.

You nodded, but it wasn’t confident — it was desperate.

Lydia’s hand extended. A beckoning gesture.

“Come here.”

 You froze.

Lydia turned to you. “Do you want this or not?”

“I- I do,” you said quickly, but your feet didn’t move.

A soft smile tugged at Lydia’s lips. “Then come. Don’t waste my time.”

Slowly, you took a shaky step forward. Then another. Then another one.

 The moment you were close enough Lydia’s hand reached out — not rough, but firm — and took you by the wrist.

“Sit,” she said, patting her thigh. “Right here.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I don’t— I don’t do this,” you stammered, panic threading through your voice. “I came to act, not—”

Lydia’s hand tightened slightly on your wrist. “You came to belong,” she whispered, voice like smoke curling into your ears. “And that’s exactly what I’m offering.”

“I— please, no—” You begged, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“You're trembling,” Lydia cooed, her hand now ghosting the curve of your back. “How precious. Don’t worry, I like it when they tremble the first time.”

You hesitated, then, as if in a trance, slowly sank onto Lydia’s lap.

The air seemed too thin. Your whole body was tense, not leaning forward, barely letting your weight rest on the woman beneath you.

Lydia chuckled. “You’re so stiff.”

Then — her fingers slid up your scarred arms, slowly, stopping just below your shoulders. Lydia’s breath brushed your ear.

“But you smell like hunger,” she whispered.

READ MORE ON AO3

[witchofthesouls]

There's so many variations of "Things about Humans/Things Humans do that gross/creep out the Transformers". What would they find interesting about humans that we may not necessarily think much of? Hair is definitely up there I'd say.

That humans can't see their own stripes since they are only visible under ultraviolet light.

They're called Blaschko lines, and they're as unique as fingerprints. They can be visible with skin disorders.

Some people can figure out their pattern if they have a tendency to freckle from sunlight. Others claim they figured theirs out by following mole placement.

So Cybertronians would be absolutely fascinated by humans walking around with their markings and completely boggled that they can't see them. At one point, they thought flannel, zebra stripes, cheetah print, and other fun patterns were some sort of fashion statement along with their Blaschko lines. Cybertronians thought it was abstract art that delighted some and infuriated others because of incongruent matches.

Hair wouldn't be too strange to them as long, thin strands of wires were a fashion statement and a status symbol at some points. It's just that human 'fur' doesn't fulfill its primary function of warmth. It's the secondary functions that humans fuss over. Some hairstyles are absolutely wild to them, like the pouf style of Marie Antoinette's era with ships and bird cages with live specimens.

Cybertronians are rightfully concerned over humanity's collective urge to adopt dangerous fauna as pets or to keep in their household. Canines and felines are popular, but so are reptiles, arachnids, avians, and sea predators. Humans have no fangs, claws, or exoskeleton, but they feel compelled to take poisonous, venomous, and/or proficient hunters into their arms.

Humanity's history of agriculture and culinary explorations are multi-tiered mental fuckery mazes. It brought many mechs to tears trying to trace the impact of the cabbage family across the world. Fungi is another field that the less is delved into, the better their mental health. (Who!? Who the Pits came up with Hákarl!?)

What's really fascinating about human biology is just how resilient they can be. Sure, they can squish one with their foot, but humans manage to figure out how to survive without major organs with medical intervention, which is far more metal than some other organic species they deal with. What's really gross-curious is the extent, like how a bone graft will attempt to match the skeleton of its new host or how their resiliency can backfire with medical conditions, like autoimmune diseases and cancers. (Teratoma was a freaky thing to them. An unwanted extra mass that could grow teeth, bones, and hair within it!?)

Food intolerances confuse them. Especially since individuals with lactose intolerance have no fear of any culinary deity. Whatever sins committed is a wretched pact between that human and the toilet.

Another confusing aspect is the constant debate of a soul among humans. Popular arguments are the heart, stomach, and brain/mind. Meanwhile, the Cybertronian 'soul' isn't a philosophical debate. It's a physical reality with their spark.

[beloveds-embrace]

Hii lovieee 🌸

I know we love housewife reader or farmer reader but what about a ceo/director of a multi million dollar company reader?

Stay with me okay?

Reader is a workaholic and the most eligible working woman that there is, and don't get me wrong she loves all that she does, she's rich and people working at her beck and call. But she does long for a house husband who's willing to take care of her and her home, but men usually are like 'what do you mean you won't leave your position for me? Do you even love me?'

So she just stops pursuing men, insert tf!141 who are done with all the military nonsense and just want to settle in life.

Things happen and somehow they get tangled with the Mc and are so happy to be the stay at home husbands, and the Mc is happy yay.

But that's not where things end, sure they left the task force but their skills are still intact. It turns to them becoming her undercover bodyguard part time, but full time house husband's. They track her every move and are in the shadows looking after her, because it's their bonnie, who they love and cherish after all.

Sorry for the long ask 🥺🫶

Do you happen to be, perchance, a fan of the The Way of the Househusband, anon? If not I totally recommend it!! It’s the same exact basis as this and I loveeee it sm 😭

I can imagine how stressed they’d be, though 💀 they have no idea how you’ve survived as long as you have- they have to get rid of soo many people stalking and trying to hurt you, it’s genuinely worrying because they just want you safe and happy. And they also love coming to functions, fundraisers and galas just as your arm candies hehe <3

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to past Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Shunsui Kyoraku;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: nsfw, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, spitting kink, possessive behavior, slight degradation kink, hair pulling, scratching, touch-starved Sosuke, manhandling, creampie, both the reader and Sosuke are bad at feelings;

Plot: The ache between your thighs and in your head were all that was left about the previous night. A quick shower and more than a mere goodbye kiss were the proofs everything was over. Leaving Sosuke’s quarters, you accidentally bumped into the Captain Commander. Fooling Shunsui was impossible and this gave the man the idea of burdening you with a particularly hard task.

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

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𝐀 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

The warm rays of the sun seeping through the window lunged over the bed, making you stir. The headache greeting you as you came back to your senses was the unequivocal sign you were experiencing a terrible hangover. Lazily lifting your eyelids, you rubbed your eyes and tried to roll over your side, hoping to indulge into the bed for some more minutes. Something weighing on your waist, however, prevented you from moving. Furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your eyes wider, letting your gaze drift downwards, only to spot a muscular arm draped over your body.

Connecting the dots, you felt your cheeks heat up, flashbacks of the lustful night you had spent with him resurfacing in the back of your mind. You truly had no idea how to deal with this. The ache between your thighs made you let out a stifled moan, as you gently grasped his wrist and tried to lift up his arm from your waist. Bad move, undoubtedly.

The disapproving guttural sound coming from the man beside you made you flinch and you turned your head to the side to peer at him curiously. Handsome as a fallen angel, Sosuke was resting closer to you than you remembered yesterday night. His soft, longer brown locks were delicately dangling over his visible eye, still closed. In moments like this, it was hard to believe he was a criminal, homicidal mastermind. On top of that, it was kind of unsettling you had let him ravage your body the night before. Physically, you surely did not regret it. Mentally, you had felt free, good, after so many months spent in crying your eyes out for the horror of the war, fearing of not making it out alive. What was now troubling you was thinking of what would have happened if someone found out about this.

“I’ve heard showing empathy to a partner the morning after is commonly appreciated. — Sosuke’s hoarsely said, causing your stomach to somersault, as you were absent-mindedly goggling at him — I was not expecting you to shove me off of you so cold-heartedly” he reasoned, his hand tracing the outline of your hipbone as you rolled your eyes at him and hid your face behind your hands to get a grip of yourself.

Having a soft spot for him was not an option you were willing to contemplate, but he was doing his best to make it hard for you to detach yourself from your feelings.

“I needed to go to the bathroom” you blatantly lied, hoping his brain was still not functioning correctly, considering it was early in the morning. Then again, Sosuke Aizen was not a mere human like you, nor a mere Soul Reaper.

“Ah, now you turned to the childish tactic of lying. That’s intriguing”.

“That’s simply trying to mark the line between us”.

Sosuke grinned, sitting up and hovering over you faster than you had anticipated. His hands latched around your wrists, pinning them together above your head. The warmth provided by his body, the way his abs grazed over your bare stomach and his cock was poking at your inner thigh was enough to set your body on fire and send your morals flying out of the window.

Dipping his head down towards your ear, Sosuke hummed and nosed the curve of your neck “Oh really? You know, this attitude of yours has got me thinking I should have probably fucked you harder yesterday night. — he cooed, inhaling deeply, as he now buried his face into the crook of your neck — Maybe, unable to walk straight, you would have had no troubles in admitting the already blurry line between us is no longer existing”.

You had almost forgotten how good he was at getting under the skin of his interlocutors. You had never been an exception. His charm, his way of making you question yourself and your own decisions, even bending your morals for him, were all signs you had never found the strength to build a wall between you two.

Therefore, staring up at him now, helpless as the bruising grip on your wrists did not loosen up, you snorted “Let me guess, you won’t let me go until I confess I enjoyed what happened last night?” you asked him, eyes narrowing as he ghosted his lips over your jawline, earning a sigh from you.

“Maybe I just want to fuck you again. — Sosuke replied, leisurely letting one of his hand glide down your body, tracing your belly, until it cupped your sex — Stuffing you so full of my seed it will dribble down your thighs, while you talk to your brother. What do you say?”.

Your lips parted, eyes widening even so slightly as you instictively tried to close your legs, unable to control the effect his lecherous words had had on your body. This time, you had no excuses, you were sober, you would have been convicted murderer of decency, if you let him in again. Still, as your legs were squeezed together, his hand did not move. His fingers, instead, spread your labia, his thumb searching for your clitoris and flicking it to watch the way your foreteeth sank onto your bottom lip not to moan. The signs of your arousal were crystal clear, though. From your labored breath, to your half-lidded eyes. Not to mention your juices seeping onto the pads of his fingers stroking your folds.

“I say you should let me go. — you breathed out, glancing at the sun raising outside — I need to make it back to the Inn, before my brother finds out I have not spent the night there” you reasoned, but the moment his finger eased into your core, curling, you gasped and a low moan fell from your lips.

Sosuke was staring at you intently, his free hand cupping your cheek “Look at me and tell me that you want me to stop” he stated calmly, your brows knitting whilst you struggled to steady your breath. The truth was you wanted more and you would have been damned, if you said you did not wish to experience the same overwhelming bliss you had gone through last night. Now that you were fully yourself, now that the sun was still not wholly up, nobody would have known about it. No one. No one, but you two.

“I should reject you” you murmured, nuzzling your cheek into the palm of his hand. You wondered why it always felt tender, why he was not imposing himself arrogantly as he always did.

“But your body can’t refuse, can it? Or, perhaps, you don’t want to at all” he whispered, easing a second finger into your sappy cunt. Thighs quivering, you gave up. Spreading them wider for him, you cupped his cheeks, cradling his face into your hands, and you knitted your eyebrows together.

“Promise me you won’t tell a soul” you blurted out through gritted teeth, cheeks heating up, as he bit onto your lower lip, tugging at it to assert his dominance.

You did not really need him to speak and assure you this défaillance was going to be your secret. Somehow, you knew he had no reason to spread the rumors around. Aizen Sosuke loved to watch people covet what was his, but he lurked in the shadows, keeping a low profile unless it was strictly necessary to make a scene, showing his cards.

Involving you into a passionate kiss, Sosuke groaned scissoring his fingers into you, as his tongue slipped into your mouth. There was something enthralling about his sinful hands on you, about the way he was so hungry for your flesh he almost trembled. You could not let it slide this time, not as you kissed down his jaw and brought your mouth to his ear.

“Why are you shuddering?” you whispered, hooded eyes fluttering close as he curled his fingers into you once again, stimulating that spongy spot that made your body shake in violent waves of pleasure.

He glared at you, teeth sinking onto the crook of your neck to leave the umpteenth mark since the previous night “Years go by, but you still run your mouth like a impudent toddler” he deadpanned, lapping at your now bruised skin before leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your cleavage, between the valley of your breasts.

You writhed beneath him, your hand gliding behind his neck, gripping his neck as he flicked his tongue over your right nipple. You could not take it anymore and he knew it, he could feel your inner walls tightening around his fingers, before he denied you your orgasm once again. He seemed to draw immense pleasure from torturing you. It was only now, as you opened your eyes again, watching how he grabbed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes to line it to your opening, that you connected the dots. He was, without the shadow of a doubt, touch-starved.

Caramel eye glimmering in wanton, his tip rubbed down your slit, collecting your juices meticulously.

“You’re touch-starved” you breathed out, softly, a pang of pity in your voice that visibly irked him.

“Shut up” he growled, before pushing himself deep into your core, pulling a loud moan from you, as your back arched in sheer pleasure. Your legs, hooked around his hips, tightened around him and squashed him even closer to you.

While the sting of pain caused by the sudden intrusion was already fading away, you instinctively let your nails dig onto his shoulderblades, crescent moon marks appearing on his flesh like a tattoo. Smoothly, he witherdrew slowly from you warm channel, only to thrust back inside vigorously. A breathy moan was ripped from your throat, while you lolled your head back and exposed your neck to his vicious mouth. The snaps of his hips were something out of this world. Never in your life you had ever felt such a pleasure, such a passion and mastery among the bedsheets. Sosuke was greedy, grunting softly next to your ear, making sure you could feel him wholly.

Toes curling, you let your thoughts run free “Is that what Muken has done to you?” you asked him, only for Sosuke to wrap one of his hand around your throat, firmly, but not enough to hurt you.

“That’s what you did to me”.

The meaning behind his words was unknown to you. Did he mean he had longed for you for so long he had eventually lost his mind? However, you knew Sosuke enough to confidently say he did not care about anyone, or anything in this world except for himself. Maybe you were a whim he had finally satisfied, or maybe he was in denial upon ascertaining himself he was indeed touch-starved. He was smart, you were one-hundred percent sure he perfectly was aware of his own feelings and emotions. Admitting them out loud, though, was out of discussion.

When he felt your inner walls spasming around his cock, he gritted his teeth and sat back on his heels, hands sliding up your thighs and taking a hold of your ankles. Pushing your legs up, he buried himself into you until the hilt. The action stole the air from your lungs, as you just lied there, hips uncontrollably bucking up, while he pinned you down with a lustful glare.

“You should have not told me a fellow shinigami had fucked you before me” he rasped out, pausing only to give you a few rough thrusts that made you go in a frenzy.

This feeling, the way the tip of his cock bumped against your cervix, causing winces of pain to erupt from your throat should have been illegal. The pleasure, mingled to that numb pain, was too go to exist. All you could do was staring up at him, watching how his hips smoothly snapped upwards towards yours. His body was perfect, resembling one of those marble statues carved by a greek sculptor.

“I want him to see you struggling to walk, after you leave my quarters. I want him to smell me on your body, to taste my seed when he goes down on you and realizes you will not be satisfied ever again after me” he affirmed, nostrils flaring as he ravaged you at a breathtaking tempo.

His words ominously echoed in your head, as the face of Shuhei appeared before your eyes. You were not his girlfriend, you had never been, but you had promised him to talk about what you two might have had in the near future. If only he knew how you had spent the night and the early morning, he would have never looked at you the same way. Your fists clutched the white blankets at your sides tightly, a shameless moan leaving your lips as you felt him twitch into you. He was close and so were you. Stopping was pointless, by now. You had already made up your mind. You would have done what you did best, the very thing you had done with Shuhei: disappearing for a while. But could you really play your same old game with Sosuke? The way he now spread your legs wider, settling them onto his shoulders as he fucked you stupid, were suggesting you a different ending.

Sweat beaded his forehead as you tightened around him, earning a grunt from the man above you. The way he held you, the way he fucked you, it was possessive. The way he had expressed how much he would have liked to see Shuhei’s world crumble upon tasting his sperm into you spoke volumes. Then again, you refused to believe Sosuke was obsessed with you. No matter the deep conversations you two had had in the past, or the fact that he had saved your life more than once in Hueco Mundo.

You two were not meant to be.

You shuddered, you could feel his balls slapping against your ass, as he lunged over you and folded your body in half “Look at me. Look at me, while I make you come” he ordered, breath ragged as you stared deeply into his eye.

“It’s so fucking weird, Sosuke. — you stated, as his thrusts got sloppier — You… You craving my attention is not something I had forseen happening in my whole life”.

“Then it means you never paid attention to our interactions. That’s disappointing” he huskily replied, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Whatever. It’s not like I’ve ever cared about failing your expectations” you breathed out, before he reached his hand up and pushed his fingers into your mouth, forcing it open while he gave you a brutal thrust. And just like that, he spat into your mouth.

Your eyes grew round as his saliva slided over your tongue, his hand closing your mouth forcefully as he chased his orgasm with more urgency now. Degraded by the very man you had once hoped to destroy, you swallowed, too proud to belittle yourself with a row. Huffing, you just tugged at his hair harsher than you ever did, your eyes locked with his as you tightened around him and reached your climax with a strained moan.

Sosuke glared at you, before finally giving you a last thrust and finishing deep into your core. His warmth flooded in your gummy walls, your thighs quivering at the feeling, as he stayed still to make sure not a single drop was wasted. You were panting and he was too, when he slowly pulled out and proceeded to spread your labia to contemplate his work.

Still oversensitive, you flinched and tried to swat his hands away, but eventually you gave up, as he shot a cold glance at you.

“What’s your deal?” you queried, whilst he watched his cum ooze out of your core with sheer interest.

He smirked “Just wanted to carve in my mind the sight of my seed in your pussy, before you leave” he cooed, as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. It was time to clean up and leave that room and the hellish man inhabiting it behind. As soon as possible.

Sitting up, you found the strength to push his hands off of you. Sosuke did not put up a fight this time, eyes merely following your movements as you attempted to stand up on your wobbly legs. Bending down, you collected your clothes from the floor and scowled at the thought of wearing them again, at least, until you could finally sneak back into your room at the Inn.

“Aren’t you going to gift me your underwear?” Sosuke spoke out from behind you, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“Excuse me?” you quipped, whipping your head back towards him.

“I thought it was a ‘human thing’ women did. — he casually replied, albeit you could tell he was clearly feigning ignorance to mess around with you — I saw it in a couple of movies”.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him on your way to the bathroom “Don’t be ridiculous. Still, I didn’t think you were the type to sniff them in the dead of the night”.

You had not anticipated his comeback, though. The smug grin on your face dropped as quickly as it had stretched your lips, upon hearing his words.

“I don’t need to sniff your thong to smell your pussy. — he declared calmly, cocking his head to the side as he eyed your body — If I want to eat you out, all I have to do is ask you to spread your legs and I know for sure you’d do it without hesitating” he bantered, causing you to mentally curse yourself and dash into the bathroom.

Sliding the door shut, you rested your forehead against the smooth wooden surface and closed your eyes. You had a talent. An incredible talent at screwing up your already chaotic and messed up life. Sosuke was right. Even though your rationality suggested you not to let him touch you ever again, you perfectly knew that, after what had happened between you two, you would have not been capable to push him away if he touched you. But this toxic attraction was not healthy. Sosuke had been poisoning you for years, gradually, drop after drop. You knew that too. Nevertheless, you had let him do that, feeding you that insatiable thirst for his venom until you had let him own every inch of your body in the most visceral way imaginable.

You hated yourself for having played with Shuhei, for having let your relationship sink. Not even the war was an excuse for what you had done. If you want someone, you fight for him, you ignore the adversities life throws at your face. Through pain and blood, you do anything you can to get them. But the real question was: did you want him as much as he wanted you?

Now, letting the warm water cascade over your naked body, fingers rubbing your scalp gently, you felt like a bubble in the wind, waiting for an angular rock to pop you and let you explode in your misery. You needed to leave this place, to leave Sosuke’s barracks, go back to your room in the Inn to collect your belongings and find Shuhei. After that, you could finally go back to your ordinary life in the World of the livings. Or so you thought. Washing away quickly any trace of your misconducts, you lost no time in hopping out of the cubicle and wrapping a towel around your body. Drying your hair at the best you could, you did the same with your body and put back your uniform, before taking a deep breath and going back to the bedroom. Upon entering, you were not shocked to spot a still very naked Sosuke sitting on the edge of the bed. A silky black dressing gown was draped over his shoulder, his lips grazing the rim of a cup of a tea as his right leg was crossed over the other.

He reminded you of a bohémien artist, at first. But he was anything but that. Passing by him, you grasped your zanpakuto and secured it on your hip. Then, you halted and clenched your fists down your sides nervously.

“That’s the end of the road for us, I guess” he spoke out, saving you from babbling out idiotic phrases you would have regretted on your way out of there.

“Yes, it is” you shortly mumbled, nodding your head imperceptibly.

“I see. — he replied, pausing just to settle the now empty cup on top of the nightstand — Let me say my goodbyes properly, then” he chimed again, standing up and approaching you.

You were frozen in place, unable to move as he grasped your chin delicately between his thumb and forefinger. His hot breath fanned your cheek, as his lips ghosted over the skin leisurely, sending waves of electricity through your veins “I keenly look forward to seeing you again” he whispered, before capturing your lips with his in a demanding kiss you could not refuse.

One last kiss, one last taste of his sinful lips as you reciprocated it, as you let his tongue invade your mouth and strip you of your last shred of dignity left in you.

When it ended, you flicked your gaze up to meet his. Your breath was labored, your heart thrumming against your ribcage so violently you thought it was going to break the bones and jump out of your chest. Breathless, you shook your head and slided the door behind you open rather clumsily.

The still cool air of the early morning nipped your skin, as you glanced at him from the porch one last time “See you” you mumbled, before sprinting down the same path you had drunkely taken yesterday night.

You could have used the flash-step to get to your destination faster, but your legs were still kind of numb. The dull, steady thump of your feet hitting the floorboards was the only audible sound accompanying you, as you tried to concentrate on your task: getting to the Inn as soon as possible. Cussing under your breath, you turned to the left to get to the staircase, but your head was so in the clouds you had not even been capable of detecting the strong and familiar reiatsu coming from the that direction.

Your nose colliding with a broad, hairy chest and your ass landing onto the floor were enough to halt your run. Groaning softly in pain, your gazed up to see who was the man you had bumped into, only to gawk at the sight of the Captain Commander himself. You blinked, ascertaining you were far from being still drunk. He was there, grinning down at you amusedly as he immediately offered his hand to you to get back on your feet. Shunsui Kyoraku, the kindest shinigami you had ever had the pleasure to meet.

“Isn’t it too early for you to be up?” you nervously chortled, taking a hold of his hand and getting back on your feet.

The man in front of you sighed, head turning to the side as he clicked his tongue “At least someone remembers I am not an early bird. Being the Captain Commander is harder than you could ever imagine” he stated, rubbing his chin listlessly.

Fixing your uniform, you smiled at him and glanced up at the sky. It was still early, definitely too early for your brother to be roaming down the streets. But you needed to make enough time to take care of the various issues caused by your tendency to gum up your efforts of living a peaceful life.

“And what about you? All alone, disheveled, black circles under your eyes, hickeys on your neck… — Shunsui noted casually, your eyes darting on him as your hand instictively gripped the collar of your uniform to tug it up to cover the bitemarks — I can only think about a thing, miss Kurosaki” he stated, blessing you with one of his characteristic smiles.

Fooling Shunsui Kyoraku, a man who lived the life of a laidback lothario, drunk most of the times, someone who had no qualms in showing the world how much of an hedonist he was, was the equivalent of dressing up as a clown and pretending not to work in circus. You were toasted, as a matter of fact, but you still tried to push your luck. There was nothing wrong with having sex with someone, right? And you probably did not even expect him, out of everyone you knew, to give you the speach. You were a grown up woman, living up to the idea you could make your own decisions, when it came down to your body.

“And you’d be right. I drank a little too much yesterday night and I loosened up” you stated casually, already trying to turn your back at him, vainly hoping you had washed away Sosuke’s reiatsu and that his chamber was not the only one located in that direction. But Shunsui was not naive.

As his hand latched around your wrist, stopping you, it was clear he had got the hint of what had happened “How was it? Did he hurt you?” he asked, a concerned undertone echoing in his words as you twirled around to face him again.

Cold sweat collected behind your neck, your breath hitching as you gaped and stammered a simple “Who?”.

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m the last person who could do that anyway. I just wanted to check on you” Shunsui explained, this time sounding serious. His single grey eye was looking straight into yours, showing empathy as his grip on your wrist loosened and you dropped your arm back down your side.

Why lying now?

“Shunsui, promise—” you started, warning him with a glacial glare in your eyes as you took a step closer to him, checking the area as if you were looking for a possible passer-by.

The Captain Commander smiled, lowering his hat over his head to shield himself from the sunlight “Your secret is safe with me” he said and, in that very moment, you trusted him. How could you not, after all?

Straightening your back, you huffed and leaned against the wall at your back. Your eyes downcast, as you eventually decided to confirm his suspicions “It was consensual, if that’s your concern and… He has been actually exceptionally kind to me. I fainted in front of his room and he brought me in. I don’t think I need to explain what happened next” you replied, cheeks heating up, as you reminisced the actions that had led you to moan Sosuke’s name, as if your life depended on it.

If you closed your eyes, you could still feel his touch lingering on your skin, smell his cologne as he held you close to his body. But it was wrong and, now that the thrill had expired, you had no reason to think about it ever again.

Shunsui nodded, folding his arms against his chest “You know, it’s actually funny how the first person he talked about when I unsealed him was you. He was awfully concerned about your whereabouts”.

His words piqued your interest this time, your brows furrowing as you tilted your head to the side, inviting him to go on with his narration. After being unsealed, the first person that came to his mind was yours. Why? What did he want from you? Except for your body, obviously.

“What?” you quizzically asked him.

“That’s right. He wanted to know if you were alright. He told me he had sensed your reiatsu getting feeble. He wondered what had happened to you, but he obviously did not give away to me too much of his mind. I think I know why he was so invested into you now… — Shunsui said, scratching his stubble, as he eyed you up and down with a thoughtful gaze that did not promsie anything good — Which is giving me ideas”.

You blinked a few times, mostly puzzled by the informations you had just received by the former Captain of the Eight Division. Sosuke had sensed you had gotten badly injured and he had gone to the extent of asking Shunsui about your well-being. What was going on inside his mind was a mystery you were not capable of figuring out. Not yet, not even in the vulnerable state you had seemingly seen him at that morning. His solitude and his yearn for human touch were getting the best of him, even if he strived to carefully hide the truth.

“Ideas? I know that face and I really have no time to put up with your shit” you jabbed your finger at the man, arching an eyebrow up expectantly.

Shunsui, however, had already made up his mind. While he smiled at you, he did not reconsider even for a second his decision “Well, you can go to pack your stuff and say your goodbyes for now. But, unfortunately, I need your help with our special threat” he stated, earning a resentful look from your behalf.

He needed what now? Your help with who? With the very person you were avoiding to meet ever again? You thought he was jesting, at first, but when he did not join your soft chuckle, you realized he was serious and your smile dropped from your face instantly.

“Whatever you are thinking about, erase me from the list of people involved in your plan” you flatly said, but Shunsui shook his head.

“Ah, my dear Y/N, I am afraid I can’t. Not when you are the only person in the whole world he does not completely despise. Also… Come on, you guys are pretty close now” he started, subtly smirking as you stared at him horrified.

“Shunsui—”.

“I need someone to watch over him and…”.

“Awesome, ask someone—”.

“…You are going to let him live rent free in your house”.

“What?!” you snapped, colors draining from your face as you clasped your hand over your mouth in shock. You could not believe what you had just heard him saying. He was out of his mind, clearly.

But the moment you both sensed a powerful and tremendously strong reiatsu raining down on you, Shunsui chuckled and you had no other choice but to come to terms with the fact that you could not abandon your friend like that. Gritting your teeth, you stood back up and your eyes met with Sosuke’s ones. Fully dressed, he was standing a few feet away from Shunsui and you, his appearence radiating a sense of superiority that almost nauseated you.

“It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs. — Sosuke chided you both, as Shunsui huffed at his remark — Care to tell me what’s the deal with you two?” he asked you, his gaze lingering on you for way longer than you expected.

Shunsui raised his hands apologetically, taking a single step closer to Sosuke, his tone of voice uncharacteristically serious “How does it sound sharing a roof with this beautiful girl, Aizen-san?”.

And, God, the way Sosuke’s eye gleamed in mischief upon hearing those words was enough to make you realize how bad your situation was.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Here we are with the third part. The things I have planned for this one are scrumptious, I promise!❤️ Hit me with a feedback, if you want! Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @seireiteihellbutterfly @pseudowho @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01

[sw5w]

R2 in Line

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:34:55

[baldheadsnake]

Thinking of which medical condition does sukuna's multi-limbed body fits in:

As we all know he attained that multi-limbed body(four arms,four eyes and two mouths)by eating his twin brother in the womb when his mother was starving and was born as this deformed mutated baby. So I tried to diagnose what kinda medical condition it comes under.I always thought it was vanishing twin syndrome but I was wrong,sukuna leans towards all in some kinda degree and I can't put him under just one medical condition.Remind ya I am not treating him like a subject to be studied, nor trying to point out his flaws,I love this man so much that he even made me start this blog out of pure impulse along with one of the @hermitw 's hc/theory about sukuna having DID.I want to do this so I could understand my babygirl and his body further beyond just his deformed bones in the ear and what other further uncomfies he might suffer,which I will cover later.

HERE ARE SOME MEDICAL CONDITIONS I THINK I CAN DIAGNOSE FROM HIS BODY:

Fetus in Fetu (FIF) – "Absorbed Twin" Phenomenon Occurs when one twin is partially absorbed by the other in early fetal development.The absorbed twin’s body parts (limbs, organs, even a face) may remain inside or fused onto the surviving twin.Often results in extra limbs, partial faces, or organs growing within the host twin.

2. Polymelia – Extra Limbs

A rare birth defect where a baby is born with extra arms or legs due to an incomplete twin merging.This Can be caused by genetic mutations or incomplete twin resorption.This is probably why sukuna has two extra arms and well... maybe the rumors might be true, polymelia and fetus in fetu can result in extra genetalia,but one might be underdeveloped,unusable or maybe both functional ones in rare cases.

3. Craniopagus Parasiticus – "Parasitic Head" Condition

This occurs when a twin fails to fully separate but remains attached to the dominant twin’s skull.The absorbed twin may have eyes, nose, mouth, or even partial brain function, though usually nonfunctional.Since it's attached by the skull it could probably explain his deformed bones in his ears. I wonder if the deformed bones sticking out is also due to that fleshy mask taking up space in his face forcing the ear bones to grow out.

4. Epigastric Heteropagus (Belly Mouth / Parasitic Twin Abdomen Fusion)

A rare form of conjoined twinning where the absorbed twin’s mouth or face is fused to the dominant twin’s abdomen.This could explain why sukuna's second mouth is located in his belly rather than an another one on his face like his eyes.

Have a berrykuna before you go

TW: I am not a professional nor do I have medical background, So please feel free to correct me.

[artists-ally]

{Train Wreck} Cassian!sister x Azriel AU {Pt. 1}

Man it feels good to be back with this series again. If you're wondering why the title feels familiar, you might have read this before. I decided I wanted to pick it back up again, but I needed to make a few changes. So, here is the revised version of Train Wreck!! Feel free to re-read, there are some new things here and there, so it's definitely worth it!! Anyway, enjoy my loves! Part 2 will be up soon!! Title and series inspired by this song!

Word Count: 8,587

Warnings: angst, language, traumatized characters (will come into play later in the series, you've been warned now), abandonment,

Tagging: @thelov3lybookworm @needylilgal022 @librafairy @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @sarawritestories @claireswritingcorner @dawneternal @ninthcircleofprythian @blessthepizzaman @lady-of-tearshed @pit-and-the-pen

Summary: After six years, this is the first time Ira and her brother Cassian have been in the same room. Under less than ideal circumstances, they're forced to meet again. Will Ira be able to forgive Cassian for the way he left things? Will she be able to trust the new friends she makes? Will she ever be able to open up to her brothers hot-shot best friend?

~~~~~

“He’s going to say no.” No response from the peanut gallery in the front seat. “Seriously, he’s not going to be okay with this. You might as well let me out of the car now.”

“Will you just be quiet?” Arthur snapped, eyes locking with mine from the rearview mirror. “Need I remind you that this is your fault. You’ve left us with no other option.”

“I told you, it wasn’t me. That was–” “Cal, I remember the story. And that’s all that it is. A story, a fabrication that Arthur and I are no longer going to be entangled in. You may be able to fool the police with that lie, but you can’t fool us, Ira,” Dana snapped, whirling around to shoot me some daggers. She couldn’t look intimidating if she tried; her face was like a bunny, and every time she frowned it just looked like she smelled something rotten.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. There was no way he was going to take me. We hadn’t spoken in almost six years, I didn’t even know he was alive until three months ago when I heard about his engagement.

Fourteen years of growing up together meant nothing to him, I guess.

The big, riverside house came into view at the end of an equally impressive driveway. A shame for whoever had to go and collect the mail every morning. 

“Stay here, in the car,” Arthur barked. 

I opened the door and got out of the car, kicking a few stones. Man this place was flashy; a big fountain in the circular driveway, a line of cars over by a garage. Not to mention the very obvious multi-million dollar mansion that never seemed to end.

“Lord, give me the strength to not strangle this child,” Arthur sighed, marching to the front door. I snickered, he was always so uptight.

“Not a child, Arthur,” I countered. “I’m fucking twenty years old.”

“Give it a rest, Ira. We’re trying to help you since you clearly don’t understand the basic human morals of being a functioning member of society,” Dana said, opening the trunk, catching a bag as it tumbled from the stack.

“Sorry that I don’t like to conform to the idealistic fantasy that is modern society.” 

Turns out it’s hard to get a job with a criminal record. ‘We can’t hire a liability’ this and ‘we won’t have delinquents running our business’ that. So, I had to get creative with my… places of employment. It had been a fantastic plan. Brilliant even. Just something simple to save a few bucks so I could move out of this god forsaken place. But it got fucked up. Bad. And ended up with me in handcuffs.

This was my punishment. Instead of serving six months in county jail, I’m instead being dumped at this doorstep. Just what I always wanted. Knowing if I ever go back to the shithole I called home I’ll be arrested with a warrant.

I’ll never go in on a deal with someone ever again. 

“Get your stuff,” Dana dropped a few things to the ground. 

I came around the side of the car and heard the door open, and that lovely voice of his ring through my head. 

Great. This is going to go fantastic.

“Arthur? W-What are you doing here?” he said, a hiccup to his voice. 

“Cassian, good to see you,” the old man grinned, extending his hand. I watched through the windows of the van, saw Cassian stare at Arthurs hand and do nothing with it. “We uhh… we have something for you.”

“I don’t understand. How’d you find me?”

I could hear the crunch of gravel and I knew what was about to happen. Any second now I was about to come face to face with the douchebag I was dreading. I won’t lie, some small, juvenile part of me wished for him to be happy to see me. But I know it’s not gonna happen. 

“Dana? What the fuck is going on? Why are you here? How did you-”

“She’s not the surprise, Cass,” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and walked to the back of the car. I didn’t miss the way he shuddered. 

There was a sharp yank on my elbow and I was pulled from the safety of my hiding spot. I jerked away from his grip, fixing the sleeve on my favorite jacket. Then I looked up. Fuck he’s…

“Ira…” He blinked several times, as if he could ever mistake me for someone else. Then I watched the color drain from his face. “It’s uhh… it’s been a while.” “Don’t give me that shit,” I couldn’t be bothered to be pleasant. Nothing about this would be fucking pleasant.

Cassian looked from Arthur to Dana, then back to me. And to the duffle bag that I was holding on to. I could see him connecting the dots inside his thick-ass skull. “No. No no no–”

“Cassian, she needs someone to look after her,” Dana expressed, chasing after him when he turned around. 

“You cannot just plop her on my doorstep like some stray dog,” Cass shouted, throwing his arms in the air and all around.

“She’s your sister, for fucks sake,” Arthur joined. “She needs you to look after her. Since you left, Ira has done nothing but cause me headaches and gray hairs.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I walked over, throwing the bag down. “And I’d appreciate if you talked about me like a fucking human being, not some gag gift that is always shuffled around Christmas because no one wants it.”

“This is fucking ridiculus. I cannot take you in, Ira. I have too much going on.”

“Some things never change,” I huffed. “See, I told you he wouldn’t give me the time of day. You’re still the same selfish, self-centered asshole you’ve always been.”

“Don’t talk like that to your goddamn brother,” Arthor yelled, spit flying onto my cheek. It took every ounce of self restraint to not rip his fucking throat out. Do not stoop to his level, Ira. Calm the fuck down.

“Cass? What’s going on?” Someone called

Cassian scrunched his face, and my eyes went to the door. A pretty woman was standing there with her arms folded. She had a scowl on her face and narrow eyes. Her long brown hair was braided over her shoulder. 

He heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing, these people were just leaving.”

“Who’s here?” Another voice, a man, asked next. He was tall, had black hair and really deep blue eyes. They actually looked violet in the light. He was just as tall as Cassian when he came next to his side. The woman, with the most terrifying gaze I’ve ever seen, stood on his other side. 

Cassian muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead. “This is Arthur and Dana. My foster parents from years ago. And this… this is my sister.”

“Your sister?” Both of them exclaimed at the same time. 

He didn’t even tell them about me… 

I stand there, shocked to my core. God I knew he was an asshole, but he never once mentioned me? What a fucking–

“They were just–” “Come in come in,” the man stepped down and shook Arthur's hand. “I am Rhysand, call me Rhys. Welcome, we are so pleased to have you. Cassian never mentioned having visitors today.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Dana let out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard. She was one of those people who, when nervous, laughed after every sentence. I’ve come to despise the sound. 

“No, Rhys,” Cassian shook his head. “They are not welcome. Take your fucking shit, take your goddamn bags, and go. You’re not allowed back here.”

At least that’s something we could both agree on. Neither side of this party wanted to be here. The feeling was mutual. 

“Welp, you heard the man,” I clapped my hands together. “Sorry to disrupt your whole life, to remind you that I still exist but we’ll go now. We all know that you don’t want the responsibility anyway. You didn’t want it six years ago, so why would that change today?”

“You know goddamn well that if I had a choice I would’ve–”

“Okay, okay can we cool it a couple degrees here? Someone better start explaining what is going on,” the man, Rhys, said. He put an arm between Cassian and I. I wasn’t sure when I got in his face, but he might want to remove the barrier before it gets ripped off. 

There were a couple too many silent heart beats, but both of us backed down. Cassian glanced at Arthur and Dana, taking a deep breath. I watched his chest rise and fall. 

In for four, out for four. In for five, out for five…

A lump rose in my throat. 

I could practically hear the conversation between Cassian and Rhys. This silent exchange of glances and body language I’m sure I’d never understand. But then Cassian backed down. Literally, he took a step back, hands on his hips.

“Would you guys like to stay for dinner?” Rhys asked Arthur and Dana.

Dinner? Dinner? Oh fuuuuck no. The four of us haven’t been in a room together for six years, and this crackhead just asked if we wanted to have dinner?

“We would be delighted,” Dana accepted, shooting me a look from head to toe. “Since it’s still midday, would you mind showing us around the property? It looks gorgeous.”

“Certainly,” Rhys says, offering his elbow. Dana latches on like a lost duckling, Arthur trailing after her. 

And then there were two. 

I looked up at the clouds, finding no discernible shapes amongst them. Welp. Here fucking goes nothing. 

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Do not,” he pointed at me. “You are not staying here, whenever this little tour is over, you’re gone with them.”

“Gladly.” 

“How the fuck did you guys find me anyway?” His eyes were full of rage. Full of hate. Full of resentment.

“It's amazing the things you can find with twenty bucks and a library computer.”

“You hacked into a library system and stalked me?” Cassian was dumbfounded.

I just smirked. “It wasn’t that hard, don’t give yourself too much credit. Kinda hard to hide somewhere when your face is plastered all over your website. ‘Velaris Hotel and Casino’ has a catchy ring to it, come up with it yourself?”

“I swear to god if I ever see you set foot in my hotel or my casino you’re gonna regret it. I cannot believe you hunted me down.”

“And I cannot believe you abandoned me,” I screamed. Years and years of pent up aggression. Years and years of shower thoughts and late nights wondering what I’d say to him when this moment came. And every single thing I’ve thought of has flown out the fucking window. 

Cassian had the gull to roll his eyes. I almost smacked him across the face. 

“Yo, are you coming inside or what?” A third voice sounded. God, how many people live in this fucking house?

A petite, blonde girl was in the doorway, her eyes bouncing between us. 

“Well? You gonna invite me in or is that privilege only reserved for Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumb?” I asked, rocking back and forth on my heels. 

He looked me head to toe, and I got that same feeling as when Dana did it. Just raw disgust. 

“Break anything and I’ll murder you.”

“I’m thinking you’re gonna murder me regardless but eye-eye-captain,” I nodded, following behind his solid frame. 

The house was absolutely massive. I thought shit like this only existed in movies, not… wherever the fuck we were. Certainly not my normal run-down streets I was used to, and certainly not somewhere I ever thought Cassian was going to end up. 

There were cabinets filled with fine dishes and a chandelier hanging in the front entrance. There was a massive living room with the biggest TV and couch I’ve ever seen. Same with the kitchen and the dining room, which was being prepped by maids. Legit, actual maids. For fucks sake could this get any stranger?

Cassian took a left and went up a set of stairs. Classic Cass, running away at any chance he gets. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 

Cal: your a piece of shit I hope you know that

Me: You’re* but it’s fine.

Cal: i cannot believe you fucking left me

Me: Whoops. Sorry bud, I couldn’t stick around. You dicked me over so… guess that karma’s a bitch.

Cal: you know im bad with names

Me: WE USED EACH OTHERS MOTHER FUCKER. HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO FORGET MY NAME

Cal: hopefully pretty fucking easy because i don’t ever want to fucking see you ever again fuck you ira

Me: Right back atcha, asshole.

The only person that I had remotely trusted was out of my life. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone to trust. There were plenty of things I never told Cal. Plenty of things I kept hidden for my own safety. It was a strictly need-to-know partnership. I always got a little weary when he started asking too many questions. 

And I learned pretty fucking quick you can’t trust your own blood either. 

Lesson learned. Always. Trust. Your. Gut. 

I trailed behind Dana and Arthur, always five steps behind, close enough to hear, but far enough to make an escape should I need to. 

“Oh, and this is my wife Feyre. My darling, this is Arthur, Dana, and Ira, Cassian’s foster parents and his sister,” Rhys spared me a glance and I scrunched my face. Had Cassian really never bothered to tell them about me?

“Wow,” she had a small smile on her pretty face. Why was everyone here so pretty? “You look just like him. You both have the same eyes. And the same hair.”

“Great, what I’ve always wanted to be. Cassian's clone.” I couldn’t stop the eye roll.

“Ira,” Dana hissed. “Some manners?”

“Thank you, your Royal Highness.”

Dana smacked her forehead, mumbling something about gray hairs and a headache again. I chuckled. I thought it was funny. Especially the curtsy. 

“They are staying for dinner, I’ll let them know to set a few extra plates,” Rhys said.

“Good, I wouldn’t mind getting to know some of Cassian’s family,” Feyre nodded, that small smile still on her lips. We had all meandered outside to look at their yard, at the fountain in the front of the house. 

To no one's surprise, there was a matching one in the back by the pool. 

We all went inside after seeing the yard, but Cassian lingered at the back of the pack. While Rhys took Dana and Arthur around to the kitchen, Cassian yanked me–why was everyone throwing me around?–into a room off to the side. 

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Off to a great start.

“Wow, Cassie-”

“Do not call me that.” 

He used to hate it when I called him Cassie. Especially around his friends because they would make fun of him for days after. 

“No hi, how are you? No ‘it's good to see that my sister is alive and doing well?’” “Clearly not well enough since they dragged you all the way out here.” Cassian’s eyes were full of fire. Looks like he still had that canyon of a line between his bushy-ass-eyebrows when he was upset. 

“You don’t know anything of what I’ve had to endure the last six fucking years without you.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

I swallowed, I hated when he scolded me. “It wasn’t even that bad. They just gave me community service.” I lied out of my ass.

“Jesus Christ, Ira. What did they want to give you?” Cassian shouted for the whole house to hear. 

“Doesn’t matter, I got myself out of it. Like I always do, without your fucking help. I am capable of taking care of myself without you.”

“Yeah you seem to be doing a swell job,” Cassian looked me up and down, clearly judging my tangled hair and ripped up jeans that I’ve probably had since middle school. “I thought all of this was behind you, Ira. When I left you were-”

“Abandoned. You didn’t leave, you abandoned me.”

Cassian relaxed his shoulders. “You know if I could’ve taken you with me I would’ve.”

“No you wouldn’t have.” I was waiting for him to argue, to deny that fact. But he didn’t, and his haunting silence was enough of an answer. I scoffed, a hard, bitter noise. “You know I don’t blame you, no one would want to take a juvenile delinquent anywhere, especially somewhere like this place.”

“Ira-” “Save you’re fucking breath, Cass. You don’t have to pretend around me, you’ve never had to. Just play along with it for one night and I’ll be gone by the morning. Then I won’t have to be your liability to shoulder ever again.”

I didn’t wait around to see his response. Somewhere deep inside I was actually excited to see him. To meet the person my scrawny, gangly brother had turned into. Now he was… a man. Like a real man. I never thought I’d see him with long hair, but here we are.

He looked healthy. He looked happy. For fucks sake he was engaged. Albeit to the most terrifying looking woman I’ve ever seen, but they looked like they somehow worked.

I found Dana and Arthur with glasses of wine around a large table, two other women that I hadn’t met yet. 

“Ahh, this is her,” Rhys stood up, putting his hands on my shoulders. I immediately shrugged them off. “This is Ira, Cassian’s sister.”

“After all this time,” the pretty blonde woman spoke, looking at me from head to toe. “Who knew Cassian could keep you a secret.”

“You look just like him,” a girl who looked similarly to Feyre said, eyes wide. “I’m Elain. And that’s Morrigan.”

“Mor is fine, dear,” Mor smiled, coming over to me and Rhys. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Not really,” I grimace, but she linked her elbow with mine anyway, dragging me away. “I know that look. You’re overwhelmed. Follow me.”

I thought I was doing a good job at masking it. “You don’t know the fucking half of it.”

“I know Elain said this already, but fuck you look like Cassian,” she laughed, opening a room and revealing a giant bed with a balcony on the other side of some french doors. 

“It gets really fucking annoying,” I rolled my eyes. 

“Understood,” she nodded, not pushing it. “This is my room, you can go out on the balcony if you need some fresh air. Or the bathroom, whatever you want.”

This entire room was as big as the trailer I grew up in. I’ve never seen such a big bed, or a big closet. Jesus, she could have the entirety of Macy’s in there. 

She must’ve caught me staring at it cause she walked over and flipped on the light. “Wanna take a look?”

I snapped back to her, shaking my head. I shoved my hands in my pockets, digging my nails into my palms. Everything in here was so pristine, and I was so… not. I didn’t wanna step anywhere but the hardwood floor.

“I like your jacket, those are some really cool patches,” she smiled, taking a closer look. She reached out and touched one, the blue plaid square fraying at the edges. 

It was a cut out of Cassian’s flannel he left behind…

“Thanks,” I nodded, ignoring the lump in my throat. “I’ve spent a lot of time making them.”

“That's so cool, I have zero creative ability,” Mor sighed as she flopped back on the bed. 

“Neither do I, just something to pass the time, I guess?” I took my hands out of my pockets, digging some grime out from under my nails. 

I could feel her eyes on me. That tension. Knowing she’s about to say something. 

“Look, I know it’s not my place to ask, but–”

“Then don’t ask. Cause I’m not saying shit,” I said bluntly. “Sorry if that's rude but I don’t know you and you clearly don’t know me so… I don’t need the whole ‘I know what you’re going through’ speech. You don’t. No one does. Not even myself.”

Mor nodded, sitting up, propping her arms behind her back. “I’m a little pissed at Cassian too.”

My eyes snapped to hers. “Why?”

“Because he has never once mentioned you? I know some of where he came from, of bouncing around the foster system, about ‘siblings’ but… he never went into detail. I just assumed they were all other kids in the system, you know? If he would’ve mentioned something about you, trust me, we would have not waited this long to be introduced.”

That… makes me feel slightly better. 

“There's not much to know about me. I’m a fucking nuisance to basically everyone. Especially to Cassian, Arthur, and Dana apparently.”

“What the fuck is their problem?” Mor scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t know. Well– of course I know, it’s me. I’m their fucking problem and they’re trying to get rid of me. I made a dumb fucking decision, but I already did my fucking time. I don’t want anything to do with Cassian so I’m not sure why they’re dragging him into this mess.” 

Mor just looked at me sorrowfully. Fuck, why did I say that? I don’t want her pity. I can’t pretend she cares about me. 

She got off the bed and stood in front of me. She was shorter than I was, but not by a whole lot. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I know it’s fucking awful what they’re making you do, so I don’t blame you for wanting to hide. Help yourself to anything you need.”

And then she was gone. Blonde hair bobbing with her steps. 

This isn’t fucking happening. I’m not in some strange girls room, alone nonetheless, in a different city hundreds of miles away from my familiar streets. I was not about to be abandoned here by Arthur and Dana because they couldn’t stand to take care of me anymore. Not the first, not the second, but the third time I’ve been abandoned. 

Man this is some fucking bullshit. 

I just looked around, envying all of this. It was all hers. All this space, all these things. All these clothes and dresses and jewelry boxes… Why can’t I have these things?

I swallow my tears. I’m so fucking pathetic, why am I about to cry? This is so stupid. Everything about this is stupid. 

I head to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. 

A plan flickers to life in my brain. I know for a fact they’re going to sneak out and leave me and all my shit here. But, I’ll just leave in the middle of the night. Who the fuck is gonna stop me? No one. Who cares if I leave? Also no one. 

I won’t make the same mistake that Cassian did. When I disappear, no one will be able to find me.

I took a long look at myself in the mirror. My tired eyes, my tangled, ratty hair. But I could see it… the resemblance between him and I. The same eyes. Same nose. Same hair. I’ll never be able to unsee it now. 

Okay, Ira. just a few more hours and you're done. Done for good. You can change your name and move to Puerto Rico or something. Paris. Wherever you want to go. Well, you don’t know how to speak Spanish or French, which might be important but… that's why they have translating apps, right? You’ll be fine. You always are.

When I got back downstairs, there was a light chatter in the air. But it stopped the second I walked in the room. 

My hood was quick to go over my head. No one spoke as I sat down and poured some water from the pitcher into my glass. 

Thankfully conversation between Rhys, Feyre, and Dana resumed and the silence wasn’t eating me alive. I took out my phone and scrolled through instagram, posting a picture of a lake I had taken on the drive up here. Just like all the other posts, it wouldn’t get any likes. 

“How do all of you know each other?” Arthur asked. 

“Well I met Cassian when we were in high school, as well as our other friend Azriel,” Rhys started. “We made a deal with each other that when we graduate, we would do everything in our power to become the most powerful business owners we could. As you can see, that little pact is working quite well.” “How long have you lived here?” Dana asked next, clearly eyeing up Rhys. 

“For about three years now?” Mor answered, Rhys nodded. “We kind of all found each other on the same paths and stuck together. We sort of own and share everything around here.”

“That is lovely,” Dana smiled. “And what do you do?”

“I own a casino and a neighboring hotel,” Rhys smiled. The moment I had learned about this hotel and casino, alarm bells rang in my ears. The devil's playground, and it was calling my name. Maybe I’d hit up for a few poker hands. “Cassian runs the whole thing, and Azriel kind of has his own thing.”

“Who’s Azriel?” Arthur unfolded the napkin and laid it across his lap. 

“He is our other friend,” Cassian butted in, lips pressed in that line that I remembered. “He’ll be by later.”

“Great,” I rolled my eyes. “More people.”

“Will you please be polite for once in your life?” Dana whisper-yelled, clearly not being discrete enough since everyone looked at us. 

I just shut my mouth, grinding my teeth. It’s not worth it, it's not worth it, I told myself. A few moments later, a large tray with some type of bird on it came out. It was too big to be a chicken, but too small to be a turkey? Duck maybe? I don’t know, it didn’t matter. It was food. 

Everyone around me took their time while I ate like a heathen. Putting a little bit of everything on my plate and scarfing it down like someone was going to take it away from me. Guess I’m taking on the stray dog title pretty well. 

“So, Ira. What do you like to do?” Mor asked me. 

I don't know what part of my hood being pulled over my head gave off ‘I want to be a part of this conversation’, but here we go I guess. 

“I have many hobbies.” I could see Cassian’s eyes narrow from across the table. 

“Like?” Rhys stuck a green bean in his mouth.

“Uhh, f-fashion. And I’m very good at handling money. Other people's money. As well as picking locks and hotwiring cars-”

“She’s joking,” Cassian gave the fakest laugh– besides Dana’s– that I’ve ever heard. “We used to play cops and robbers when we were little, she always wanted to be the robber.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” he practically growled. “You did.”

This was crazy. This was actually crazy to be doing this right now. If I had any particular feeling about the things I did, guilty and ashamed were not some of them. Who gave a fuck if I stole from Walmart or faked being a waitress to make a few extra bucks? If anything they should be thanking me for the extra set of hands. Which they didn’t have to pay for. 

It wasn’t like I stole the Mona Lisa for fucks sake. 

“I guess I did.” 

“What was Cassian like growing up? I can only imagine some of the stories you have,” Nesta chimed in from next to Cassian.

“I have a few. One time, Cassian was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich-”

“Do not-”

“And he thought that the peanut butter was in the fridge for some reason. Turns out he grabbed a bottle of dijon mustard and used that instead. He took one bite and threw up everywhere. It took Dana a week to get the smell out of the kitchen.”

Everyone grimaced, poking fun at Cassian for making a jelly-mustard sandwich. “I guess that explains the nausea every time I make one.”

“You still can’t stomach even the smell?” My eyes were a little wide. That had to have been from when we were still in elementary school.

“Nope,” Cassian’s tone was harsh, fork forceful as it went into his mouth. 

“What is everyone laughing about?” A new voice said from over my shoulder. When I turned to look… holy mother of Jesus fucking–

“Azriel,” Rhys, still in a fit of laughter. “Listen to this: Ira, Cassian’s sister, told us why he runs for the hills every time he sees peanut butter.”

“S-Sister?” 

I could not have ignored the exchange between Cass and Azriel if I tried. Those alarm bells from earlier? They were deafening now. Much like Cassian and Rhys earlier, their eyes and body gestures were like a language in and of itself. Impossible to understand, but something was said. 

“Azriel, this is my sister. Ira,” Cassian gestured to me without looking. “This is Azriel. And my foster parents, Arthur and Dana.”

I held Azriel’s gaze for a second. I couldn’t quite figure out what his problem was, but he better not have one with me. I challenged his gaze, but he refused to back down. 

Azriel gave a not-so-subtle look at me, but didn’t say anything as he moved to sit with us. A sharp kick to my shin had me wincing. When I looked up, Cassian met my heated gaze. 

Don’t even think about it, he mouthed, glare set so deep in his eyes I wasn't sure his eye lids would peel off his face. 

One raise of my eyebrow told him I was up for the challenge. I could see his jaw clench, and that only made me want to push his buttons. 

I managed to break my vice hold on Cassian and look at Azriel from across the table. He had these lighter colored eyes, hazel I think. And a dark mess of hair. He wore a fitted black athletic tee, and black sweats with a Nike swoosh on the hip. I think I stared a little too long, cause when I looked back up at his face, he sent me a wink. 

I damn near gagged. He wishes. 

“And you’re engaged? That’s wonderful, Cassian. I am so happy for you,” Dana gushed while looking at Nesta’s ring. “Congratulations, you two. Do you have a date picked out?”

“No,” Nesta said sternly. “We are just going to wait things out. Until both of us feel ready.”

Cassian nodded, not offering up any words. 

“What would you guys like for dessert?” Rhys asked, listing off a few options. I stopped paying attention after chocolate cake because who would want to hear anything else?

“I’m afraid we better get on the road, it is a long drive back to our home. Thank you for dinner, it was delicious,” Arthur stood up from the table, shaking Rhys’s hand. “Cassian, a word, please?”

With a deep breath, Cassian stood up and followed the old man out of the room. 

“Okay, now that he’s gone, can we all agree that there is something wrong with him? I’ve never seen him so… so rigid in my life,” Mor blew out air from her lips, shaking her head. 

I offered a tad bit of insight. “Dana and Arthur are kind of fed up with me so they’re just gonna take off. And leave me here. But don’t worry, I’m just gonna find a bus stop in the morning and be gone before any of you wake up. No biggie.”

The room was silent except for my fork scratching on the plate. When I looked up, everyone was looking at me funny.

“Ira, what? They’re gonna leave you here?” Mor gasped.

“It is a long story. And they think I need a role model to get my life together. Why Cassian is that role model I’ll never understand because the last I knew of him he was just as irresponsible as I was.”

Rhys took a sip of wine, “How long has it been since you’ve seen each other?”

“Six years. But I mean you all probably know him better than I ever did so, might wanna ask that prick why he abandoned me.” I took a big piece of this chocolate cake into my mouth. “Fuck, this is good.”

“What happened?” Feyre prodded.

“We are lightyears away from you being able to ask that,” I laughed. “No offense but, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Again, the room was silent, except for a small snort at the end of the table. It wasn’t Elain because she was so red she looked like she was gonna pass out. And the only other one was Azriel. 

“Hint taken,” Rhys pressed his lips in a flat line. “Well, you are Cassian’s family, so you are always welcome in our home.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be. I’ll figure it out, I always have. It’ll be like I was never here,” I took another forkful and shoved it in. Damn, I was gonna miss this cake. “So, Rhys, you own a casino and a hotel. What do the rest of you do?”

I’ll pretend like I care for my own amusement.  

“Well, Cassian runs the casino and hotel,” Rhys pointed out again. “Azriel owns and runs the adjacent club. We basically have our own empire here.”

“Sounds riveting,” I rolled my eyes. “What about you Mor.”

“I am the best fucking bartender this place has seen,” she grinned. “And I model here and there.” “Wonderful.” So she’s a princess. Got it. 

“I have an art studio. I teach classes and do some workshops,” Feyre said. “But most of the time I am at home with our son Nyx. He is… he’s a handful. A spoiled handful.”

“Hey,” Mor said, “to be fair, he is the first kid in our group, what did you expect?”

“He’s barely two, he doesn’t need designer clothes that he won’t fit into after a few months anyway. It's a waste of money.”

“Feyre, darling, I don’t know if you’ve looked around, but we kind of have a lot of money. It could use some wasting,” Rhys patted her thigh under the table. 

I can only hope to have enough financial security to be able to say sentences like that. They could probably retire right now, all of them, and never make a dent in their fortune. Lucky bastards. 

“What is it that you do, Ira?” Azriel poked his head from around Mor. 

“Oh,” I sputtered. What the hell was I supposed to say? Certainly the fact that I commit petty crimes won’t go over well. “I’ve had a lot of jobs. I don’t have a set career yet.”

“So hot-wiring cars is just a hobby then?” 

A stream of water shot out of Mor’s mouth and onto the table. How did he even hear that?

“It’s a skill. Don’t come crying to me when your battery dies and you don’t wanna pay a hundred and fifty dollars for AAA to come and pick up your ass,” I deflected. Another skill I had built up over the years. 

“And the locks?” Wow, he was kind of an asshole with supersonic hearing. I could see why he and Cassian hung around together. 

“I was a locksmith,” I mustered up my best smile and scooted my chair so I was sitting at an angle.

“Ah, so it wasn’t just the ‘cops and robbers’ you and Cassie used to play growing up. Good to know,” Azriel wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He stood up, saying something about having to leave because he had to open up. 

Just as he was walking by, I stuck my toe into the walkway and he tripped over me. Azriel all but went through the wall, Cassian coming around at the last second and catching his arm. 

“You alright?” He asked as Azriel straightened himself out. 

“Yup. Fine.” The glare he gave me sent a smirk curling at my lips. Two can play that game, mother fucker. 

I, very gracefully, scratched the corner of my nose with my middle finger. He got the message. But so did Cassian.

“Your stuff is in the driveway. Go get it and meet me upstairs.” Cassian looked so pissed off. His shoulders were pinned to his ears again as he stalked away, that silence settling back in the room. 

“Guess that’s my cue to get a move on. Thank you everyone, a pleasure to meet you all,” I said with a genuine tone. They were all cool.  

The three duffle bags and backpack were not light as I carried them up the stairs, trying not to knock over all the decorations and pictures on the wall. One of them didn’t survive. It crashed all the way down and shattered on the hardwood floor. Cassian cursed from somewhere. 

With a thud, I let go of all the bags in some random room at the end of the hall. It was barely big enough to call a hobbit hole. There wasn’t a window or a real bed, just some cot with a pillow and a blanket. “Glamourous.”

“It’s the best that I could do,” Cassian all but rolled his eyes. 

“A couch would’ve been better,” I plopped down on the taught fabric, bouncing a little. “Sorry about the frame.” “It’s fine,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Ira I’m sorry about how I left you.” “Yeah well apologies don’t mean a fucking thing to me unless you fix it, Cassian,” I folded my arms over my chest. “And for the record, I would’ve understood if you would’ve just fucking told me what was going on. Instead, not only did you not tell me, you ghosted me.” I just blinked up at him, waiting for an explanation. “Well?”

Nothing. Not even a strangled breath. “I just had to.”

“That’s the best you can do? Are you seriously still that fucking thick in the head?” “I didn’t have a choice, Ira,” he shouted. 

“Yes,” I nodded. “You absolutely had a choice. You could’ve at least left me a fucking note with a number on it so I could talk to you. You were all I had, Cass. All I fucking had and you just disappeared. What did you expect me to do?”

Cassian shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I-I don’t know. I thought you’d get yourself together and make it out too. Build your own empire, like the one we have here.”

“In case you forgot, I didn’t get to finish school like you did.”

“Well that’s not my fault.”

The fucking nerve. I stood up, barely coming to his chest, and smacked him across the face. His head jerked to the side, and his mouth fell open. I shoved him into the wall on the other side of the hallway and he fell into it. 

“You are a piece of fucking shit Cassian.”

“Ira–” “Did you really think that I would end up alright without you there? Could you really be that fucking stupid?”

“I didn’t think that–”

“Of course you didn’t. You never have. You’ve only ever thought about yourself and what would benefit you. You never gave a shit about me, I was just a burden you couldn’t get rid of.” “That’s not true,” he gritted his teeth. 

“Tell me that I am not a constant reminder of dad. Or mom. Tell me.” I waited for a response. When nothing came, I felt the nausea roll through my body. “You are one sorry son of a bitch Cassian.”

“Jesus Ira you think I wanted to abandon you?” “You haven’t given me one other reason to believe anything different,” I was screaming now. I didn’t care if anyone else heard. “The last memory I have of you is seeing you packing a fucking bag and climbing out your window, what else am I supposed to believe about you?”

A door clicked open, and Azriel emerged. He looked at us with raised eyebrows. “Everything alright?” 

No, you fucking prick. 

“Just re-kindling our sibling rivalry,” I gave a mocking look, staring down Azriel. “Mind your own damn business. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Ira,” Cassian said, somewhat appalled. 

“Just fuck off, Cassian,” I waved my hand at him. “Like I said, I’ll be gone in the morning and you don’t ever have to worry about making it up to me again because you won’t be able to. Hope you are happy living in your perfect little bubble with your perfectly little circle. Hope they’re all more important to you than I ever was.”

I slammed the door shut quicker than he could get a response out, leaning against it. I hadn’t ever realized that I was shaking.

Whatever. Fuck him too. I don’t need Cassian. I haven’t needed him for the past six years. God, has it really been that long?

There was no use in unpacking so I just piled the bags in the corner of the room. And there was also nothing to do besides lay down simply because there wasn’t enough room to do anything else. 

Maybe when everyone has gone to sleep, or home, I’ll go sneak around. Take something just to piss him off. Nothing too valuable, but something really inconvenient like all the salt and pepper shakers or all the spoons. 

Or one of the Corvettes in the driveway.

My mind was racing with thoughts, but eventually I had fallen asleep because the sun was peeking through the crack under my door. I stirred and sat up, sighing loudly. 

I changed into a hoodie and some other jeans, slipping my jacket on knowing it'll be chilly. 

With far more precision, I made it downstairs to the front door. It unlocked easily, thankfully no alarm system went off. The crisp morning greeted me and I slipped out silently. 

Fuck, this driveway was long. Couldn’t they be normal and have a normal fucking sized driveway? It was so unnecessary. 

And of course there was nothing at the end of it. Just the road and nothing else. Not another house or anything. Who knows how far it could be until a bus station. Hopefully this place wasn’t filled with a bunch of weirdos and I wouldn’t get kidnapped. 

The thought of carrying all these bags for miles would tear up my back and shoulders. I didn’t have that much but… I needed all of it. 

“Ira!”

I whirled around and saw a Cassian shaped silhouette coming down the driveway. Oh great. 

“Come to demand I pay for the broken frame?” “Stay.”

What? “What?”

Cassian breathed heavily, “Stay. I-I am so sorry for what I said. And you’re right, I don’t ever think of anyone other than myself. And I’m sorry I never told you where I was going. I want to fix it, but I can’t if you don’t at least let me try.”

I dropped the bags, totally not believing what I was hearing. “And what if I don’t give a flying fuck if you want to or not?”

Cassian completely deflated. “Please, Ira. I made a promise to mom and dad that I would look after you. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I don’t feel like a piece of shit for what I did. I miss you.”

So what if he made a promise to mom and dad? He made a promise to me. To always stick together. To always be there. He hung me out to dry before I even had a chance to notice. His apology means nothing. His desperation means nothing. 

I fucking hated Cassian. More than anything right now I wanted to watch him be boiled alive. Could he really even help me anyway? What was the fucking point of any of this? I was already humiliated, and dragging innocent people into my bullshit surely didn’t help. 

I sucked in a big breath, hiking my bag up on my shoulder, ready to bolt. “Why should I?”

“Because what other option do you realistically have?” 

“That is not fair,” I flare my nostrils. “You have no right to waltz back into my life and pretend you give a shit about me.”

“You were the one who was dropped on my doorstep,” Cassian pointed out, making my stomach drop. 

“You know, you’re doing a shit job at showing that you legitimately want me to stay, asshole.” I was getting a little angry. Good things did not happen when I felt betrayed. “And for the record, I tried to talk them out of bringing me here, but they went around me and got a fucking court order. So, whether you want to believe it or not, it was not my choice to be here. I can’t even go back with Dana and Arthur because there will be a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Shit…” Cassian dragged a hand over his face. “Ira I’m-”

“Sorry? I know. But you lost the privilege of my forgiveness long ago. It is gonna take a hell of a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix what you’ve done to me.”

“I know, I know,” Cassian softened his eyes and his voice, standing tall in front of me. “Just… give me something. Anything, and I will never betray you ever again.”

Should I believe him? I have no fucking idea what to do. All my senses are telling me to run and don’t look back, but that gaping pit in my stomach that formed when he left seems a little less… gaping.  

This was gonna be a rough fucking time. Nothing about this is going to be easy, but… he was right. I didn’t have another option. Prison, if I really was desperate, but I didn’t quite feel like losing all my basic human rights.

If he wanted me to stay, there were going to have to be some sacrifices on his end.

Maybe a little room for petty behavior. 

“I want a real fucking room.” I demanded

“Any one in the house.”

“I want yours.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassian furrowed his brow. “Plus, I don’t even live here anymore. Just Rhys, Feyre and Nyx. Nesta, Azriel and I live in the next town.”

“So what, you all just visit together and pretend to be a big happy family?” I scoffed, kicking a stone. 

“We don’t pretend, Ira,” he didn’t say it rudely, but more matter of fact-ly. And he looked at me like I had never known what a family was. I guess he forgot that when he left it kind of ruined me. Or again maybe he just didn’t care what it would do to me back then. 

Cassian looked sad. Not depressed or upset, just sad. 

“Your room or I’m gonna walk away right now.” There was no room for negotiating in my voice. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but with a sigh he gave in. 

“Fine, you can have my room,” Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Actually it was. I spent weeks designing that room. All for it to go to fucking waste.”

“Sucks to suck I guess,” I smirked, shouldering two of my bags. I took a long, non-rage-filled look at my brother. Man… he looked so different. Six years is a long time to not see someone. 

I gotta make this work. “I’m gonna work hard, you know. I’m tired of always being in the fucking mud.”

“Yup. Me too.” Nice, asshole. “You’re going to have to follow some rules and check in. This isn’t going to be a free-for-all, you’re gonna have a curfew.”

“A curfew? What am I, thirteen?”

“Until you can prove to me that you’re not gonna go and rob a bank, yes, you’ll have a curfew,” Cassian picked up my other bags and started walking back to the house. “We’re gonna find you a job because I will not be funding your operation.”

“What happened to ‘we have a lot of money. It could use some wasting’?”

“Rhys wasn’t wrong,” Cassian said. “But just because we have it doesn’t mean you get access to it.”

“Jeez, sorry I brought it up, grumpy pants. And what kind of rules anyway?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Some of us like to get a full eight hours of sleep every day so I am going back to bed. You’re not allowed to leave the house until I say so, so find something to do.”

“Or someone,” I whispered to myself. But Cassian heard. “A joke.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you eye fucking Azriel,” Cassian practically gagged. “That is one of your rules. You are not allowed to be engaged with him in any type of way. The last thing he needs right now is you.”

“Right to the heart. And please, I could do better.” That part was debatable for sure. 

“I mean it, he’s been through a lot the past year and a half. It took him a long time to get to where he is and I won’t let you ruin it for him,” Cassian said possessively. “He, along with everyone else, is my family. Fuck with them and you’re dealing with me.” “News flash, buddy, so am I. We share the same DNA, and hair and eyes according to everyone else on the fucking planet.”

“Ira, I’m serious. If you fuck around with Azriel and I find out I sweat to–”

“Jesus, calm down Vengeance. Gotham is safe from the Joker,” I followed him inside, clicking the door shut behind me. “I won’t get involved with Azriel.”

“Good.”

He carried the bags to his car, telling me we’d make it to his house sometime in the afternoon. After that? I just… wandered. I looked in the kitchen, grabbing an orange and a few granola bars from the pantry. I slipped out the back door to the pool and sat on one of the lounge chairs. 

The sunrise was full of oranges and golds. Much different from the other sunrises I’m used to up on the roof. The soft wind blew the water in the pool, making gentle lapping noises. I closed my eyes. Stretched my legs. 

I’ve gotta be careful or I might get used to this. 

I know the ending of this book. Read these pages, seen the titles. It’s gonna be no fucking different. I’ll give it the good ol’ college try, but it’s never gonna fucking work. I’ll do something stupid, piss off the wrong person and Cassian will kick me to the curb. Just a waiting game. 

Nothing I can do about it, so I might as well see where fate takes me.

[divine-misfortune]

Number 2 with Phantom and Swiss mayhaps????

Read on ao3

His body has long since sagged into the thoroughly abused hotel mattress. Limbs shaking and spent, Swiss couldn’t hope to hold himself up. They couldn’t support him, let alone the added weight of Phantom folded over his back. His arms had buckled on their own but Phantom had selfishly pushed him off of his elbows. Shoved his face into the starchy sheets in favor of hiking his hips up even higher, seeking out a better, far more self serving angle to abuse. 

Every snap of his hips was frantic, growing sloppier with each semi uncoordinated thrust. Driving him further and further into sheer mindlessness each time his heavy balls slapped against his little dick, somehow still so full despite painting the inner walls of his pussy multiple times. 

He was finally starting to unravel. Three loads shot into the burning clutch of his body before he’d even started showing signs of slowing. Two more than Swiss had been prepared for - he was far from a young ghoul, and he often forgot that fact until he found himself in situations like these, bedded down and outpaced by a fresh summon. Phantom had spent hours bruising his fingers into his waist and the head of his cock into the deepest part of him, carving a place into his cunt that only he’d be able to fill, and was still far from satisfied. 

Bones gone to jelly, blood gone to syrup, Phantom had taken the poor multi ghoul for all he was worth and then some. Taking more than Swiss could have offered. The tears had started at some point, and Phantom zeroed in on them. A shark drawn to the blood in the water, and somewhere in the small functioning part of his brain Swiss noted to stop letting him spend so much time with Rain. He heard Phantom’s breath catch when they pooled in the corners of his eyes, his whimpered sob deserving of a groan stemming from deep in his belly. 

Phantom’s nails kneaded into the soft pudge of his hips as he pulled them back to meet his thrusts, the obscene squelch of him bottoming out almost lost beneath dog-like panting. Even if Swiss could scrape together the brain cells to tell him to slow down it would fall of deaf ears, lost to the throes of passion and deafened by whatever blood remained in his head absolutely roaring. 

“Still fucking tight,” he gasped, nosing into the sweat dampened hair at the nape of his neck. “Cunt is still just milking me.” Phantom nipped at his ear and Swiss let out a warbled sound. 

The claws leaving his skin honestly hurt more than they did piercing the skin. There would be dark half moons to remind him for days to come. A clumsy hand reached underneath him to rub wildly at his swollen over sensitive clit, spreading the filth dripping from his abused hole over his lips - creating an entirely new mess that would dry uncomfortably in the overgrown bed of curls. The multi ghoul jolted beneath him, almost trying to squirm away from the sudden onslaught of sensation. 

“Fuh-ck.” Swiss slurred, drooling helplessly onto the sheets. His face had gone almost entirely slack aside from the pinch of his brow, the coiling pleasure in his gut tightening to a painful degree. Wound well past its limits and twisting deeper each time his walls involuntarily clenched around Phantom’s cock, body hurtling towards another orgasm he didn't think he could spare. “Shit, shit! ‘antom-!”

Phantom half laughed half growled. Dissolving into frantic rabbit humps, the head of his cock nestled somewhere that put stars in Swiss’ already bleary vision. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Course you are.” His tongue darted out, a thick stripe licked up the side of his neck. Clove and salt tinging his sweat, Phantom wanted to lap up the raw taste of him. “Give me what I’ve earned, baby.”

Instead of blindly rubbing at his tdick, he took it between his fingers and began to stroke. Jerking him off in earnest, albeit selfishly. Swiss knew he wasn’t going to last, Phantom knew he wasn’t going to last, and he certainly didn't. A few sharp tugs had his body spasming, twitching and bucking as Phantom continued to work him through it to drag out the velvety vise bearing down on him. 

Whatever strength Swiss had left was instantly sapped, his wounded whines and moans lilting towards absolute devastation as Phantom refused to relent. 

“Yeah, yeah, just like that,” the little ghoul panted. He reeled back simply to slam home one more time, nails scraping down his hip as he scrambled to keep a hold on the overstimulated body fighting to go limp and retreat from him. 

Swiss typically adored the sound of Phantom spilling. The way his moans turned reedy and feminine as he lost control of himself, he was always so eager to wring them from his delicate little body till the lines of pleasure blurred and his cries became agonized. He came with a cry that betrayed his prior cocky behavior, shuddering and jolting as his balls pulsed, trying to empty entirely.

He struggled to even blink, eyelids heavy as Phantom slowly pulled out of him. They hissed in unison, another almost agonizing aftershock crashing over him. Empty for the first time in hours, he’d almost forgotten what it was like not to be wrapped around Phantom’s dick.

Behind him, the little ghoul slipped from the edge of the bed and his knees hit the carpet hard. Swiss made a vague sound of concern and tried to lift his head to cast a glance at him but gave up on the idea before his face could leave the mattress. Phantom grabbing and spreading his cheeks stopped him in his tracks, using his thumbs to part his lips to properly inspect his spend being pushed from his pretty, puffy cunt. 

“Arch your back,” Phantom breathed. “Left you fucking gaping…Couldn’t keep my cum in if you tried.” He chuckled, sighing too close to his twitching sex. It made him rightfully tense, knowing even in his fuzzy brain what was coming. 

His forked and unglamored tongue darted out, teasing against his rim before whispering “Not gonna let you waste it…” Swiss couldn’t even muster up the energy to wail. All he managed was a small, strangled sound that died in his throat as Phantom pushed it into him. 

[kittynugg]

i did it guys i rewrote the draft

words: 3,216 (on tumblr, on ao3 its 3,210)

chapters: 1/? (multi-chap not yet confirmed, could stay a oneshot

DO NOT TAG AS STANC*ST

"There's only one journal left," Stanford said as he walked up to his twin, the first journal–the first record of his eight-year folly–clutched in both hands. He handed it to him. "And you are the only person I can trust to take it."

He looked Stan in the eyes, his twin's reflecting a fraction of the exhaustion in his. His brows furrowed and he spoke. "I have something to ask of you. Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?"

And Stan's eyes widened slightly, and he smiled. This was a good sign.

"Take this book," he gestured behind him with his thumb. "Get on a boat," his arms flew upward emphatically. "And sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth!"

Stan's expression faltered. This was a bad sign. Ford turned around and paced toward the portal.

"Bury it where no one can find it!" He swiped a hand downward, then folded his arms behind his back.

“..Uh, no.”

A word and a vocable, the last ones Stanford had expected to hear the voice behind him mutter as Stanley padded over and turned him around with a hand on his shoulder.

The only thing that could escape him before the journal was pushed back into his hands was a confused stammer. “I’m not doing that,” continued his twin with narrowed eyes.

Ford could sense a chill running through the room, not the harsh winter outside but the finality in those words. His thumb drifted over the tattered binding of the journal and its golden insignia reflected the anger in his eyes just as it formed.

“..No?” He quoted, eyes flicking up from the journal to turn that glare onto the first human he’d interacted with in what must have been weeks. His shoulders were relaxed, and he fiddled with a piece of lint from his coat. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

Stan mirrored his glare, now. “I mean that’s dumb.” Just as Ford remembered, he was not taking this seriously. Surely he’d gotten across the urgency of the situation, he just chose to act like this wasn’t life or death. Or like he didn’t care if this did kill his own brother. Or destroy their entire dimension.

Instead of lashing out like his old Pa had taught him to and like he so desperately wanted to, he stood there with his jaw hanging open for a few moments and extended the journal back to Stan. He crossed his arms with no intent to take it. “Stanley, you can’t just say no, this is the fate of the universe. Take the journal.”

“I can say it. No, I’m not gonna be your diary’s drug mule.” Now he was grinning, just the way he would when they were children and he knew he was starting to get to him. And unfortunately, that seemed to get even further under his skin than the refusal itself. That damned smile of his. “Listen, Sixer, I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

Ford flinched at the nickname, but was interrupted with a raised finger from Stan when he tried to speak up.

“Except for this one thing.”

His jaw had been clenched throughout the entire interaction and was now starting to ache. This was.. fascinating, really. Even after he was given years to pull himself together into a sane, functional human being, Stanley remained just as miserable of a prick as Ford remembered. Astounding.

As little as he wanted them to those observations came out verbally. More crassly than he’d have liked. “Stop being an ass and take the damned book.” Truly, he wasn’t one to swear. Swearing was a barbaric way to get a message across. He just– he wasn’t prepared for this. 

Stan was supposed to take the journal. He was supposed to say, “okay, Ford! I’ll leave and never come back!” and take the journal and leave and bury it somewhere and then Ford was supposed to be able to live, to sleep again. That was how it was supposed to be.

But it didn’t happen. Because of course things couldn’t be that easy.

“Name calling, really?” Smile widening to a point where Ford was sure it was starting to hurt, Stan placed his hands on his hips. That foreign-yet-familiar fire in his eyes seemed to burn a little brighter. “You’re gonna just do name calling?” He was enjoying this! Ford knew it!

He had to turn around to avoid exploding from rage at that expression of Stan’s. “I’m not calling names, alright? I’m just stating facts.” Six fingers curled into an angry claw-like gesture, and his other hand stashed the journal in his coat for the time being. “And the fact is; you’re being an asshole.” In Stanford’s defense, he was. This was supposed to be simple. Take journal. Leave. Go sailing like you wanted to so badly. Bury journal. Dimension is safe.

“Hey!” Barked his twin with all the maturity of a toddler. “You’re the one who called me up to cold-ass Oregon during a goddamn blizzard just to say, ‘hey, fuck off!’” The quote–which was entirely incorrect and never said by Ford–was uttered with a slightly higher voice, air quotes and an eye roll that almost made him look like a teenager again to go along with it. But Ford couldn’t help noticing a certain melancholy edge to his tone, like the entire sentence hurt to say. “Maybe I’d’a done it if you at least acted like you wanted to see me.”

“..maybe sat down for coffee..”

“..talked..”

“It’s been a while, yanno?”

Hm. Well. That was a fascinating display of simulated emotion in a husk of a person. Ford ensured he wasn’t facing his twin for a different reason now. Because he could feel his expression having pinched into one of guilt and “ooh, wait, I’m in the wrong” and he refused to let Stan feel as if he was in the right for flippantly brushing off his one chance to make up for the years his own brother could have spent studying in a nice dorm without having to brush insects off of his books. The years that Stan ruined for him when he decided– he should be saying this out loud. This was a good argument.

“Maybe I’d be more willing to have coffee with you if you didn’t ruin my–”

“God, you and that fucking science fair experiment!” Stan cut him off with a stomp, kicking up dust and the sound echoing through the basement. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he continued in a high-pitched mockery of Ford’s voice. “WAAAAAH, YOU BWOKE MY PWOJECT!! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, IF YOU AREN’T GONNA ACCEPT THAT THEN YOU CAN KEEP CRYING ABOUT IT!”

The shout echoed for a little longer than the stomp against the spacious basement’s walls, and left both of them staring at each other in shock as it finally died down. Both of their shoulders had hunched up to their ears. Ford’s hands had made their way behind his back again and Stan’s rose to tap his fingertips together.

The silence stretched on.

And on.

Until Ford spoke up.

“..But Dad said–”

“Dad’s a liar, Ford.” Stan’s interruption came in a strikingly soft, almost broken voice, his twin’s eyes directed at his feet with shame.

That meant Ford hated Stan over of an accident.

No, Dad made him hate Stan over an accident.

Of course, all this time, he was just– that was the only reason he kept them in the first place! Because maybe, just maybe they’d be useful one day. And when the prospect of “use” faded, well..

His right eye twinged. He’d been taught how easy it was to dispose of a human being when it became a waste of resources. He’d been taught thoroughly.

Somehow, though, he had a feeling in his gut or his heart or wherever that was telling him this was his deus ex machina. A chance to let go of his grudge and make long-overdo repairs to his relationship with Stanley.

..No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He chose to do what he did best; fight the narrative until it really hurt him.

“You still did it. Accident or not.” Before Stan could speak up and shout at him again he lifted a hand to silence him. “And you brushed it off with your sailing pipe dream like it was nothing.” With a stressed hand combing through his hair, he started to pace. “If you told me beforehand that you broke it, fine, I’d be mad. I’d be enraged!” 

His coat swished as he whirled to face him. “But I’d have been able to fix it and then I’d have been accepted and I wouldn’t be here wallowing in my own mistakes and begging you of all people to help me right now.”

The narrative had to have been offended or something of the like, because it fought back. “I didn’t want to be alone!” Stan shot back in a cracking voice that didn’t get to Ford at all. “I wasn’t– jeez, Ford, you were seventeen too! You know what it’s like!” He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at his boot as it kicked at the floor. “Being scared, thinkin’ about the future.. you’ve gotta know what I mean.”

His eyes turned up to Ford’s, and he saw the eyes of a puppy staring up at the bottom of its master’s boot. The same eyes that looked up at him from the pavement the last time he truly saw him. Or whatever parody of him that could be so helpless. He’d avoided those eyes for a long time, and yet he saw them in the mirror every night.

“I don’t, Stanley,” he got to watch as that metaphorical boot dropped, as Stan’s expression pinched into one of shame and his shoulders slumped. “My future was planned out for me, remember? I was supposed to go to college and get Dad out of whatever debt he was in with whoever. I didn’t have a choice.” Especially not after what happened to Stanley. His shoes hit the floor a little harder now, with less time in between each footfall. “The first thing Dad did after I stopped–”

He paused mid-step, foot hovering in the air. Then it slowly fell back to the ground and back into rhythm. “..after I got a good night’s rest, the first thing he did was pressure me into finding a new college to go to. I thought I’d be next if I didn’t.” Stars, he couldn’t imagine being in Stan’s shoes. 

“Yeah, that’s rough..” His brother snapped him out of that tangent before it could happen with a huffed sigh, a normal, five-fingered hand drifting up to rub the back of his neck. “I remember my first night after I got myself kicked out, heh, cried like a baby.” There was no humor in his chuckle, no joy in his eyes with the plastic smile he gave. 

Just emptiness. Sadness.

Likely another blow from the narrative since Ford did not like thinking about Stan crying despite how much he despised him. He swore he hated him. 

Unfortunately for our hero, it got to him. Tally that up– narrative, one, Stanford Pines, zilch. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, more like he kept making fists and deciding that a good punch to the face wasn’t worth it. Okay. He missed Stan a little. He’d admit it.

..Here goes.. any second now..

His mouth remained clamped shut, and he must have looked pretty odd because Stan had an awkward furrowed-brow expression as he waited for him to respond. Couldn’t he just telepathically beam the words into Stan’s mind? That’d make it much easier. No, no, he had to say it.

“I.. cried, too.” He inevitably managed to force out through gritted teeth and grumpily puffed cheeks (he hated that habit). “More than I’d like to admit.” Stan’s eyes widening caused him to wince away, gaze automatically flicking around for anything else to focus on.

They landed on the top left corner of the portal. That would suffice. 

“Wait– hang on.” Another flinch as his twin’s hands rose in a shocked gesture. “You cried?” Why was Stan surprised? They were twins, after all…

Stanford feels like he’s dying. Being torn apart from the inside out, hands and blades digging into his chest and ripping and tearing and cutting everything they could get to. Ma is holding him and he’s sobbing–no–heaving into her chest like it’s all he knows. Because it is, now, everything else he knew had just left him.

It feels like he’ll actually die if he goes back to that empty room.

And so he has no plans to. Not while his head is pounding, while he can’t breathe, while he knows his mother is also crying by the way her shoulders hitch as she holds him. She holds him tightly. Like if she lets go she’ll lose him, too. Something about the way her fingers dig into his back is comforting despite the way he always hated that.

Eventually, could have been a few minutes or a few hours, he finds that whatever had been lodged in his chest had loosened, and pulls away just enough to look up at her. 

Just because he isn’t in hysterics anymore doesn’t mean he isn’t affected. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, pupils thin, glasses pushed up to his forehead.

“Ma,” he speaks up, voice a weak rasp with how sore and tight his throat had become, “is– is Stanley gonna be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay!” There are tears streaming down Ma’s eyes, and it makes his breath hitch and his voice come out louder, more desperate than intended. 

Somehow she manages a smile and brings a hand up to his hair. “You don’t need a psychic to tell you that, honey..” Her voice is as steady as the fingers carding through his locks. Both trembling. Normally a hand in his hair helps him at least a little, but he can’t bring himself to do anything other than bury his face back into her chest to muffle a sob. “He’s gonna be just fine, you know,” she tries, “he isn’t as useless as your Pa says. He’ll figure somethin’ out.”

 And speak of the devil, Pa chooses that exact moment to walk in. Like he’d been summoned. “Your brother?” His lip quirks downward into an even bigger frown than usual just at the mention of him. Ford can’t look at him anymore. “Don’t bullshit your son. He’s probably gonna end up in a ditch by the end of the week.”

It’s as if he didn’t just say that. He pics up his newspaper from the armchair and sits down to read it. Ma’s hold on him loosens.

He sobs harder.

…Ford found himself back in the real world from whatever distant land he’d just been in, and made a point to keep his eyes wide open to prevent the tears welling in them from running down his cheeks. 

Surely it wasn’t too obvious, judging by their distance between each other and Stan’s lack of glasses that Ford knew he needed, Stan probably couldn’t tell. Good. He’d like to keep it that way. “A little,” he uttered with a shrug and averted gaze, “but I got over it.” 

“Damn, you’re still pretty bad at lying,” snickered his twin. “So.. you’re sayin’ you missed me?” There was that puppy look again, except even more painfully, stupidly hopeful and accompanied with that tick he’d always do where he tapped his fingertips together that Ford had to resist doing sometimes because he– 

…

His gaze turned upward, the stars up above him somewhere, and cursed them. Cursed fate, cursed whatever deity may have been listening, but most of all he cursed the narrative.

You win this round, bastard.

“Stanley, you know that’s a silly question. Of course I missed you.” Oh, that made him feel much lighter. Awful. Now he knew what that overused “weight off your shoulders” metaphor was about. “..and I still do.” Huh, that wasn’t what he wanted to say, that just slipped out. A twitch in his bottom lip made him bite down on it to prevent it from quivering. 

And then they stared at each other, Ford struggling to hold in what would certainly be a pathetic confession and Stan clearly struggling to process his twin’s words.

Damnit! He couldn’t take it! “Fine! Fine, I’ll say it!” Hands scrambling to open his coat and tug the journal out of its pocket, he stomped up to Stanley. “Perhaps part of me wishes this wasn’t the only way!” His arms jutted out to shove the journal into his chest, the force of it making his twin stumble slightly. “But it is, okay!? Stop making me feel unwanted emotions and take it! We can become pen pals if you must–”

Before he had the chance to register it being thrown, he heard the journal hit the floor across the basement from them with a thud and saw the plume of dust rising from it. And his bewildered look was replaced by one of a dying fish as a pair of arms wrapped around him in a bone-crushing hug.

Instead of reciprocating, he stood there like a scarecrow with a stiff posture. “What– Stanley, what are you–”

“Ssssh.”

Like an animal, he was shushed. Fingers traced over his ribs, and Stan went tense. In a slow tone, like someone confronting an animal (how topical), he spoke. “..Ford, when’s the last time you ate?”

Hm. Maybe he was a little on the skinny side, when was the last time he..

Okay, yes. He really had to think about it but the deep recesses of his memory spat out an answer. “Tuesday, why?” Today was Wednesday, that wasn’t bad.

“Last Tuesday?”

“Yes.”

“..No wonder you’re not thinking clearly!” Stan pulled away to gawk at him. Like Mom would when they felt too busy playing to eat lunch. “Bet you haven’t slept since then, either!”

Ford shot him an icy glare. “Of course I ha– could you hug me again?”

“Oh, sure,” mumbled Stan as he let Ford settle back in his arms.

“Anyway– I slept for an hour yesterday and I’ve got the wounds to prove it!” He pointed to his arm with a huff, and Stan’s expression dropped into one of a mix between shock and horror, jaw agape.

After opening and closing his mouth like an idiot for a few moments, Stan parroted, “wounds?”

Ford realized his mistake right then, and threw his arms around his twin so tightly that he wheezed. “It isn’t important!” He gave a manic chuckle. “Brotherly love is! Come here!”

“Are you just tryna change the subject or do you mean that?” A chin rested on Ford’s shoulder.

Ford whispered, “..a little bit of both,” and couldn’t fight the smile off his face when Stan’s hold on him tightened. To Hell with the narrative, this was his choice. His deus ex machina. 

And maybe he needed it more than he thought.

“We’re talking about the wounds later, though.”

“Shut up and hold me.”

[pastelchaos12]

PHIGHTING AU TIME BABY!!!

Okay, I'm gonna call this the Gear Swap or Gear Switch au, something like that.

To put the premiss in a nutshell; Darkheart got bored one day so he decided to do a little trolling and switch up the gears of almost everyone in the Inpherno, including the SFOTH (excluding himself and Firebrand since he's canonically missing)

And no people couldn't just find whoever got their gears and just switch because their new gears essentially replace their original, their skills and general instinct for their gears are gone and they now have to learn how to use their new gear.

I drew up some designs for a 6 month time skip after the switch up occurred, starting With Coil, Skateboard and my OC Rainbow because I want my girl to get roped into the chaos :D

First up Coil!

Unfortunately for him he got Subspace's gear, fun...

Yeah he's not okay with this lol. Despite the less than ideal circumstances he has gotten the hang of his new gear although there were a few bumps in the road lets say...

Ah who am I kidding? He got hit with the rot like Subspace did. It effected his arms the worst to the point he had to get them amputated, he has bionic replacements but he has to use the crystal's he has stolen from Blackrock so they can function.

He's doing okay now, still up to the usual shenanigans just with a new more deadly gear... he hasn't killed anyone thankfully.

Yet...

Next up is Skateboard, who got his gear switched with Rocket's.

Yeah don't trust this man with explosives, he's like Soldier from TF2 lol.

In all seriousness; he is probably the most okay with the new gear, he still misses his skateboard though since he loved racing around and just the general speed from riding it.

He's mostly just making sure his gang and friend group are adjusting to their new gears, he's a good friend that makes sure that no one is left behind in this madness.

Finally Rainbow who is no longer the multi-coloured chaos queen, at least appearance wise.

She got her gear swapped with her girlfriend Vinestaff. Being thrusted into a support role was not on her agenda, despite this she has gotten the hang of her new gear and is still able to kick butt by whacking people on the head with her staff, blunt force trauma!

She is still a graffiti artist at least! Though its harder for her to make a speedy get away when she is spotted...

Should I continue making designs for this AU? It has me in a chokehold rn lol.