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your-local-bnha-writer · 4 years

Note

Hello ur my favorite account😭! Can I request a HC with Tanaka, Noya, Tsuki, & Kageyama where u guys are dating but at a tournament, u run into ur ex boyfriend ( who is a huge douchebag) and is saying a bunch of garbage about u? How would they react? , how would it impact their playing style cause get this- karasuno is playing against ur ex boyfriends team🤭🤭🤭🤭

jealous bfs tanaka, noya, tsukki kags,

hey I’m gonna mash these two requests! I hope you enjoy this was a lot of fun to write!

also favourite account?? me?? 🥺🥺

➣ characters included : tanaka, noya, tsukki, kageyama (separately) x fem!reader

➣ headcannons

➣ warning : a lot of swearing 😳 like there’s a lot, your jerk ex talking crap, scary bfs

ryūnosuke tanaka

- karasuno had made it to the nationals, and right before their game against Tsubakihara, lil ol Tanaka had to use the bathroom

- a horrible decision really, just ask hinata

- he walks in and hears your trash ex talking crap abt you

“Yeah, can you believe it? I saw my ex here, Y/n. I think she’s the manager for her team? Karasuno. Is she really that desperate for attention from other guys?”

- Tanaka is p i s s e d like, no one gets to talk about his precious love without experiencing the wrath from Ryūnosuke Tanaka

- So mans just straight up walks to your ex, “gently” taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, and starts defending your honour

“Y/n? Y/n L/n? The most beautiful, gorgeous, precious girl in the world? That Y/n?”

“Uh, yeah? Who are y—”

“Hi I’m the new boyfriend, and let me just tell you...”

- Tanaka goes oFF he’s not letting this douche bag of an ex get his way, he straight up just goes on a 2 hours speech about how perfect you were

- and how much of a douche your ex was

- Eventually, Hinata finds Tanaka in the bathroom (since his stomach was actin up lol) and goes to alert the other guys + you

- So, the whole gang is here, Daichi and Suga have to drAG Tanaka away from your ex while Noya hypes him up

- You have to calm him down and ask him why the hell he was yelling at someone in the bathroom

“Your ex was talking shit about you, I’m not just gonna let them do that”

- You’re immediately like 🥺🥺 Tanakaaaa you didn’t have to do that omg I love you sm

- When it’s finally time play these guys Tanaka is surprisingly calm, like it’s actually terrifying

- Oh and you bet Tanaka’s going all out he is on fire, he’s landing every spike and you can practically hear the impact on it

- Right after he lands a spike he celebrates with his team and stares directly at your ex who’s shooketh 😳

“Yeah take that! You regret breaking up with Y/n now?”

“Tanaka stOoOoP omg—”

- After Karasuno wins he gives you the most passionate kiss, in front of your ex and you pull away blushing

- Your ex just rolls his eyes and goes to pack up with his team while Tanaka’s looking all smug and Noya’s hyPED

yuu nishinoya

- The boys were getting ready for the match against Johzenji, and were just doing some basic warmups

- You had to help Kyoko and Yachi with something so you weren’t in the gym at the moment

- But your asshole of an ex was talking shit about you, very loudly 😳 and very obnoxiously too

- This mf, instead of practicing and doing fricken warmups, he’s talking crap abt you, and you weren’t even in the vicinity!

- But your boyfriend was, oh and he heard everything, every single word that came out of you ex’s mouth

“Pfft yeah she’s still annoying as ever, not surprised she’s dating the dude that’s 5’2”

- Ohh big mistake bud, not only did you insult his perfect Gf, but his height as well? Like dang pick one or the other dude

- So, Noya can’t take it anymore he’s been holding back bc he’s supposed to be warming up for the game but at this point he just couldn’t

- He straight up runs over to the other side of the gym to knock some sense into the jerk

- Tanaka follows not to stop him (although he is a bit worried 😳) but to hype him up bc that’s his best friend’s gf you don’t get to do that

- Asahi is scared shitless so Ennoshita has to keep the horny tornado in check, while Suga is conflicted

“What the hell did you say? Don’t you dare insult Y/n again! This is why she left your sorry ass! Who are you talk shit about my beautiful girlfriend I’ll fight you right now—”

- Ahem well, as you can see he’s very pissed off and uh he ends up getting scolded by coach Ukai

- except at the very end of him scolding he gives noya a few pointers on how to defend your gf without showing bad sportsmanship

- You witness the whole thing and just go up to Noya to calm him down a little

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to go off like that,”

“Yeah I did, Im not letting that douche talk shit about my crazy hot girlfriend”

- noya stop this isn’t the time 😳🥵

- During the game he is extremely focused and there’s this terrifying aura that’s escaping him

- Like Asahi might actually shit his pants just standing next to him

- Karasuno absolutely destroys Johzenji bc Noya is not letting that ball drop on their side of the court

- After the game, like Tanaka Noya straight up kisses you in front of your ex, leaving you a blushing mess as Noya gives him a smug look

kei tsukishima

- aHEM um, alright get ready folks bc this is a scary one

- So it’s Kagugawa vs Karasuno and Yamaguchi is sort of wandering around with Hinata right before the game probably to try and cool their nerves 💀💀

- When they hear your someone talking abt you

“My ex is here we’re vs her team, I know yeah, she’s probably so annoying”

- Dude Yamaguchi and Hinata have never ran faster in their entire lives, they immediately go to tsukki and it’s just a scream fest

“TSUKKI THERES SOMEONE TALKING ABT Y/N!”

“yeAH!! and he was all like ‘she’s probably so annoying’”

“mHM AND—”

“okay I think I got it, where are they?”

- shits about to go down, when Tsukki gets mad, he doesn’t lose is cool, instead he keeps a level head and strategize on how to completely destroy his opponent

- so Yams and Hinata drag him to where your ex was and point him out, and he’s stILL on the phone

“Mhm, yeah she’s super annoying”

- Oh Tsukki is pissed off, he has this intimidating aura coming from him as he approaches the dude that’s shitting on you

“You’re the ex? Yikes...😬”

- Tsukki will wait for what he has to say and the whole time he just has the biggest smirk on his face, like it’s about to go down

- Yams and Sho are hyped uP but they’re waiting behind the door bc they’re babies and they’re scared

- Mm Tsukki does not hold back, he straight up roasts this dudes ass, mans just releases all the salt that’s stored in him

“Mhm yeah, that’s pretty pathetic”

“Heh lame”

“Wow...I can’t believe she really dated you”

- Yeah that’s not that much salt

- Tanaka find the three of them in the bathroom and as much as he wants Tsukki to keep going, they have to get ready for the game

- During the game, your ex tries to spike and he’s instantly shut down my Tsukki and his 6’3 ass, It’s quite hilarious 😌

- Anyways, Tsukki blocks your ex every single time wiTH A SMIRK, mans is not holding back on this bitch

- He says it’s bc he was predictable

- Later, Karasuno beats Kagugawa and Tsukki hardcore glares at your ex like it’s pretty scary since Tsukki is one to act all sassy rather than mad when he gets irritated

“You don’t talk shit about her, ever”

- SUDHDJD DAMN TSUKKI CHILLL

- You watch all of this happen and you immediately ask your boyfriend if something was wrong bc you’re a tad bit worried

“We just had a disagreement that’s all”

“uHH YEAH RIGHT TSUKKI WENT OFF EARLIER IN THE BATHROOM—”

tobio kageyama

- Um another scary bitch please do not talk trash about his gf when he’s around

- He’s probably filing his nails away from his team bc he needs his peace and quiet and doesn’t wanna get bullied by Hinata and Tsukki

- When he hears a guy talking very loudly to his friend, now usually he’d ignore them or move spots but like this dude is talking abt you

- So, he stays for a bit and listens to what he has to say. Who even is this dude? Why does he know you? Why is talking to loud like please shut the f—

“Pfft yeah my ex is here with her volleyball team, I talked to her earlier and oh my god she’s exactly the same when I first dated her”

- I’m not sure if that’s a roast sorry I’m bad at these

- Oh now Kags is pissed, see he was already a little irked that this jerk was your ex but he was also talking trash abt you? Nahh

- He throws his nail file on the ground and stomps right up to this douche to smack some sense in him

“Yeah she’s hella annoy—”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

“Who tf—”

- So Kageyama is also unusually “calm” about the whole situation which makes it even more terrifying

- Kageyama will most likely go off and tell this dude that he has no business talking abt his gf like that

- he’ll focus more on dissing the dude and let me tell you this dude’s roasts h u r t

- like his insults are like 90% swear words

“goblin lookin ass”

“long titty no nipple lookin ass”

“get outta here you abominable fuck waffle”

- Imagine this scary ass dude coming up to you, telling you to shut the fuck up, then realizing this is Tobio Kageyama, The King of the Court, the incredible setter that has precise aim, the 2nd half of the freak duo, going off on how you should stfu abt his gf

- oh and you’re facing him on your next game

- and he absolutely obliterates your sorry ass

- his sets are perfect, he blocks every single fuckin spike you make, and when you think he’s going setting to #10 think again bc he will do a setter dump

- basically he’s on fire and tear the other team to shreds it’s kind of scary actually, hinata was sweating buckets when kageyama served since he looked so terrifying at the moment

- after the game, kageyama would want to leave immediately he doesn’t want to see your ex anymore

“You doing okie? Did something happen with you and him before the game?”

“Yep, but it’s nothing don’t worry about it”

- kags you have that creepy smile again stop you’re scaring y/n

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12timetraveler · 3 years

Text

Firsts

Chapter 51 of Campfire Stories is up.

Reader shelters with Flaco from a blizzard. The two begin talking about this and that. Flaco discovers that reader is a virgin.

Below is a little teaser. Read the full thing on AO3

“I can’t believe The Terror of The Grizzlies sent me to take care of a bear,” You chuckled to yourself as you tossed the pelt on the back of your horse. It had been a particularly angry grizzly, judging by the trail of carnage you’d followed to find it. But surely it wasn’t something a famous gunslinger couldn’t handle?

You giggled to yourself as you swung your leg over your horse, settling in the saddle. He’d looked so damn cute when he’d asked you to hunt the bear. Huffing and puffing as he fought to push down his pride, grumpily pointing his knife at you when you failed to keep a straight face. Though you weren’t really laughing at his troubles with the bear, rather at how adorable he’d looked, all flustered and pouting.

“Fucking bears.” you chuckled, recalling his final words as you’d left the cabin. You urged your horse into a canter, following the barely-visible road back to Cairn Lodge. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the snow was starting to fall once again. If you weren’t careful, you’d end up stranded in one of the abandoned cabins up here. Again.

Flaco was lucky you were sweet on him. Otherwise you wouldn’t make the journey up here nearly as often as you did. Most of your trips up here resulted in you stuck in a blizzard, either barely making it off the mountain, or finding refuge in an abandoned hut. Your horse huffed and whinnied angrily as you pushed it deeper into the mountains, no doubt wishing you’d picked an easier man to be the center of your affections.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly you’d developed your feelings. Somewhere between him calling you pretty while pointing a gun at your head, and gently telling you to stay warm as you went out on another job. You found yourself making the journey up into the snow more and more. You instructed Cripps to set up your camp near Cattail pond, so you were right near a road that led up to him. You spent weeks hunting down a pristine grizzly bear pelt so that you could have Gus make you a coat just like Flacos. Yes you were a lovestruck idiot. But you’d shoot anyone who said so to your face.

As you neared Colter, you turned up the hill, cutting across the snow to save you a few extra minutes. The snow was already falling harder, so you could only see a few feet in front of you. At this point you’d resigned yourself to a night at Colter. At least there was some firewood in the main cabin where you always took shelter.

You trotted down the hill, stopping just in front of the cabin. With a grunt, you swung the heavy pelt over your shoulder and gently kicked the door open with the toe of your boot. Flaco glanced up from the piece of wood he was sharpening. Was he actually carving something, or just idly whittling away? You’d always wondered but for the sake of his pride you never asked.

“There you are, chiquita. I was starting to worry the bear had gotten you.” He mused as you tossed the pelt down in the corner.

“What, me? Nah,” You grinned. “It’ll take more than a big ol’ teddy bear to bring me down,” You teased. Flaco huffed and gumbled, but didn’t say anything more. You rubbed your hands together for a moment, letting the fire warm them. You really did not want to go back out there in that storm, but you’d have to go soon if you were going to make it to Colter.

“I’d better get going,” you relented, more to yourself than to Flaco.

“In this?” He asked, pulling back the large hide over the window to peer outside. A white curtain of snow met his gaze. He couldn’t even see the outhouse a few feet away from the cabin. “You’ll die if you go out in this.” He scoffed.

“Eh. I’m only going to Colter. Ain’t that far. I’ll be fine. I’ll hunker down there for the night before I head back down to my own camp.” You shrugged.

“Stay for a bit, chiquita. Get some feeling back in your toes before you go back out there.” He said, gesturing toward the fire. “I know you’re eager to get back to your exciting life, and away from old Flaco, but wait until the snow dies down some.” He said You nodded gratefully, sitting on a mat near the fire.

“Thanks,” You said. “And I ain’t trying to get away from you.” You said, narrowing your eyes at him and daring him to argue. “I just figured you wouldn’t want me hanging around too long, in case anyone else came lookin’ for work. Wouldn’t want them thinkin’ you’d gone soft, spending your time with a lady.” You stage whispered. He roared out a laugh.

“Lobita you know it doesn’t matter to me if you’re in a dress or trousers,” He scoffed. “Some men out there, they think women can’t handle the life. We both know you’re one of my most trusted employees. I’ve met women who could kick my ass in a fight, and I’ll admit it gladly.” He said.

“Really? Like who?” you asked, settling back against the wall, ready to hear an exciting story of the old days.

“Ever hear of Black Belle?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow, nodding.

“Course I have.” you said. “I actually work some jobs for her on occasion too. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“Yeah. We ran together for a little while. Worked some impressive jobs.” He chuckled nostalgically. “But we’re two stubborn mules. Especially back then. Eventually we went our separate ways. We work much better as amigos than as amantes.” He said.

“Amantes…” You paused, putting your limited knowledge of Spanish to work. “What, you two were lovers?” you asked.

“Briefly,” He said. “Like I said, we were both too strong willed. We ran together as partners in crime first. Then we tried the romantic bit. Didn’t last very long, and we left on good terms.” He chuckled. “It’s good to know the old cougar is still out running. Send her my regards when you see her next.”

“Oh I think when I get off this mountain I’ll be going straight to visit her,” You chuckled. “I’ve gotta hear this from her.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” He asked with fake hurt.

“No, I just have some… questions for her.” you giggled. Flaco wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Questions I couldn’t answer?” He asked.

“Mmmhmm.” You said. “Just woman’s talk,” You said innocently. In all honesty, you’d never be able to get up the courage to ask her the questions on your mind. How did Flaco’s lips feel? Was he romantic or distant? Was he good in bed? How big was his…

“Alright, chiquita be mysterious if you want.” He huffed, pulling you from your thoughts. “But I think you owe me something.”

“What for?” you scoffed.

“I told you about one of my deep, personal relationships,” He said dramatically. “I think it’s only fair you tell me about one of yours.” He said. You were quiet for a moment, panicking. “Do you have a fella? Some secret man hidden back at home, keeping your bed warm until you return? Or do you prefer the one-night stands with mysterious men you meet in saloons?” He asked.

What the hell were you going to say? How could you tell him you were a virgin? He’d never believe that you of all people were innocent. Not the way you acted and carried yourself. The way you were always lightly flirting with him.

Worse, what if he did believe you? What if he laughed at you, or looked down at you? Patronized you for being so naive about such things? What if he took advantage of you, forced himself on you… no Flaco wouldn’t do that. He may be an outlaw, but he had a moral compass of some kind. He wouldn’t force himself onto you.

“Chiquita” Flaco asked gently, pulling you out of your panicking. You met his gaze. His brows were furrowed in concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think… did you lose someone then?” He asked. You couldn’t help but smile. He was so damn sweet, behind the prickly exterior he’d created for himself.

“No,” you said finally. “I… uh… well I’ve never really been with someone.” You said.

“Oh. Never had a grand romance,” He said, nodding in understanding. “Maybe for the best. This lifestyle isn’t always kind to romance. Tell me about your favorite barfly then? Some poor fool you bewitched in your travels.” He said.

“No… I...erm…” you coughed and looked down. “I ain’t ever actually… been with anyone at all.” You said. You could feel your cheeks warm.

“What you’ve never…” Flaco paused. “You’re a virgin?”

#flaco hernandez/reader #flaco hernandez/f!reader #virgin!reader #flachoes #Campfire Stories

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ludi-ling · 4 years

Text

Crazy Eights

Well, here it is, a little treat for my followers - the first chapter of Crazy 8′s, the sequel to 52 Pickup. I’m sharing since it’s Day 7 (AU) of Rogue/Gambit Week 2020. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish this story, even though I got a fair way through it, since I wrote myself into a corner, and I’m not sure I like it very much. But I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Crazy Eights

Chapter 1

Thieving 101.

Simplest rule in the book.

Don’t get caught.

I can hear pere’s voice in my head, clear as day, literally beatin’ the words into all of us, his snotty-nosed, grass-stain-scuffed li’l Fagin’s gang.

Don’t. Get. Caught.

And then his face, leaning in towards mine, grinning, saying:

Unless, o’ course, you have a reason t’get caught.

Yeah, that was mon pere, full of good, subtle ideas. He’d usually direct them at me cos he knew I was like the worst kind of sponge. I’d be soakin’ all that shit up, swimmin’ in it like a gator swims in swamp water. As a kid, I’d always figured he was just picking on me. As an adult, I realise all he was doing was laying down challenges, cos he knew this punk-ass kid would rise to the bait every time, pushing every damn boundary he could along the way.

You got potential, boy. But you got no discipline. Always halfway t’ bein’ in a rage, t’ ventin’ it out on some poor trash. You play de con, kid, you live de con. No heart-on-your-sleeve shit. Dat stays inside. Cos y’know what? Folks can read dat crap a mile away.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” the man to my right grunts, as the alarms I’ve set off still scream all around us. “Getcha arse in gear. The boss don’t take kindly to waitin’.”

He prods me in the back with the barrel of his gun, a little too sharply than is strictly necessary; but I get it, he has a job to do, and actin’ mean is part of it.

“Yeah, well, that’s what bosses are like, mon ami,” I answer with a smirk. “Never got time for nothin’. Mebbe you should think about goin’ freelance, neh? It has its advantages. No calls at unsociable hours… Don’t gotta do all the dirty work y’self… Get t’ have a couple of pretty femmes hangin’ on your every word… Still. I reckon mebbe you two ain’t smart ’nuff yet t’ graduate from the ol’ ‘Crime Boss 101’ course, am I right?”

“Hey!” The guy to my left gives me a crack on the back of the head with what I assume is also the barrel of a gun. “Shut the fuck up!”

See? Boring, predictable, run-of-the-mill flunkies. These couyons ain’t never gon’ make it past mid-tier bodyguard material.

And those alarms are still screaming. Ain’t some asshole gon’ shut it off already? It’s givin’ me a headache.

Whatever. I do as I’m told and shut the fuck up. Mostly because I’m busy scanning the décor of this corridor we appear to be walking down. The walls are lined with paintings, a mess of eras and styles that could tell anyone with an ounce of taste that whoever’s collecting this shit has none. Taste, that is. All it tells me is that this guy has cash, and he don’t mind throwin’ it ’round. We walk past a Cezanne, and I grimace.

Hang on in there, li’l guy, I say to myself as we sweep right by it. One o’these days I’m gonna free you. Soon.

Cos let’s face it.

You think I’m gonna leave a Cezanne to rot in Cain Marko’s fuckin’ playboy mansion when it could be on my wall?

I think not.

We get to the end of the corridor and, thankfully, as soon as we do, someone finally finds the off switch to the alarms. My lovely escorts throw open the burnished oak doors that I can only assume lead to Marko’s private hidey-hole; and before I have a chance to admire the woodwork, I’m being pushed inside in yet another unnecessary show of who’s boss. I stumble a little over the threshold, and there he is. Cain Marko, kingpin of London town. A big, ugly, concrete slab of a man with a mat of red hair and a jaw like a foot. He’s sitting on a burgundy-red velvet sofa that looks to be late Victorian. Possibly a Chippendale? Something to research later. True to form, he has a girl on each knee.

Crimes bosses. I toldja so. Predictably borin’. Boringly predictable.

“Well, well,” Marko greets me with a menacing grimace and a Cockney rasp. “Robert Lord. Your reputation precedes you. Finally, we get to meet face ta face.”

It’s at that point that Jake decides to kick in, a harassed voice in my earpiece, hissing: “Remy? Remy, where the fuck are you? Is everything okay?”

I jerk my head to one side and Jake’s panicked questioning cuts out.

“Yeah,” I address the man on the sofa. “Coulda been under better circumstances, though. Don’t much care for bein’ kicked around and chained up.” I clink the restraints at my wrists and ankles meaningfully. “Unless, o’ course, it’s consensual and there’s a woman involved.”

An ugly grin crosses Marko’s face. He shifts a little and pats each girl on the ass; they get the message and get to their feet, tottering out on stilettos that take a certain art to walk in – neither of them have it.

“Well,” Marko says with mock disappointment as he, too, gets to his feet. “If ya wanted to meet under better circumstances, you coulda made a less shitty attempt to rob me, Mr. Lord. I’d heard you were supposed to be some thief extraordinaire, but you ask me? You, breakin’ into my safe? That was pretty fuckin’ amateurish.”

“Hey,” I banter back good-naturedly as I watch him walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink. “I got through most of your li’l traps jes’ fine, mon ami. You wanna talk amateurish, let’s talk ‘bout your alarms. They’re more fuckin’ painful than Tante Mattie boxin’ me onna ears. And it takes too long to shut ‘em off. Either that, or your flunkies are too stupid to figure out how.”

Marko, who’d looked half-amused up to this point, lets his mouth drop into a disdainful sneer.

“Y’know somethin’, yank?” he growls at me, turning back from the bar. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

I raise a wounded eyebrow at him.

“Yank? Hey, now you’re just insultin’ me.”

“Oh really?” He laughs; and I take back the comment about his alarm system. This is worse. “Mr. Lord, insults are gonna be the least of your problems tonight. No one steals from Cain Marko and gets to just walk out again. You picked the wrong house to rob, mate. This is one job you ain’t walkin’ out of.”

He lifts his chin slightly and calls out:

“Klein?!”

There’s no answer, and he gives an irate little pause, looks over his shoulder and says again:

“Klein?! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m here,” a woman’s voice replies from a darkened corner, her presence so unexpected it even causes me to jump.

“Fuck me, woman,” Marko rasps at her. “How long you been standin’ there?”

The woman says nothing, simply stepping out from her corner. I realise there’s a door there. It’s impossible to say whether she’d just walked through, or whether she’d been there all along. Marko ain’t big on lighting. Which is a shame, ‘cos Klein is a woman to be looked at. Mile long legs and a figure to get all wrapped up in. Brunette hair scraped back into a bun that begs to be loosened. A glance like wildfire.

“Sorry,” she says with a small twist of humour, all delivered in a perfectly delicious and proper English accent. I feel some sorta expression begin to form on my face; an appreciative little smile begins to shift round my lips.

Forget pretty girls tottering around in sexy stilettos they can’t walk in. This is a woman.

She glances over at me, then back at her boss with an expectant expression.

“This shit thief stole me old lady’s engagement ring.” He takes a cellphone out his back pocket and stares at it. “Lesse how fast you can find it for me.”

Klein don’t waste time mincing words. Unlike the two couyons behind me, she’s calm, quiet, efficient. She marches on up with a roll of the hips that’s entirely unconscious. When she’s finally in front of me, I catch a whiff of her perfume – a barely-there scent that’s not quite fruity and not quite flowery.

I cock my head to one side and hitch her a smile.

She doesn’t take the bait. Her expression is composed as she sizes me up, wondering where to start. It’s as if she hasn’t even noticed my smile at all.

“Be gentle, chere,” I quip.

That’s when she raises her eyes and gives me a look – part disinterested, part unimpressed. Her facade is almost frosty, but it don’t fool me. Beneath the cargo pants and the bomber jacket and the unadorned face, there’s a something to this woman. It’s in the sway of her hips and the sensuousness of her scent. It’s in a whole lot more besides.

She frisks me in all the usual places, and, Goddamn, her hands alone are enough to set me on fire. Her movements are precise, clinical... yet as insinuating as the touch of a lover.

Did I mention yet I haven't had sex in 8 fucking weeks?

She gets on her knees and runs her palms down my legs, and it’s almost more than I can take.

“While you’re down there, chere...” I can’t help but say; and she pauses, looks up at me with steely eyes and says... Nothing.

Her gaze fixes on my fly like it’s the only option left, and now we’re talkin’.

She holds eye contact as she raises both hands, and thumbs open the button of my pants. Her look is impassive; but there’s an undercurrent there, a something that’s signalling to me loud and clear. She unzips my fly slow as a strip tease, and that’s when the shadow of a smile flickers across her face – a brief split second of something more, something to work with.

Jesus Christ, I’m holding my breath.

She knows what I’m thinking. She rises to full height and this time she doesn’t bother to hide the smile. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“Thought you were s’pposed t’be lookin’ for contraband, p’tite,” I can't help but drawl. The comment wipes the smile from her lips and her gaze drops. She yanks open my fly and within a few short seconds she’s found the fob pocket hidden inside the waistband of my pants. Another split second later and she’s found the ring.

She turns and flashes it triumphantly at Marko.

“You made record time, Klein,” he observes approvingly, glancing up from his phone. “Twelve seconds. I’m impressed.”

Twelve seconds? I swear it coulda been a lifetime...

She throws the ring to her boss and I watch on, with a wistful sense of loss, as it arcs across the room and into his hand. Oh well. Next time, maybe.

“If you’re done, chere,” I pipe up behind her, “mebbe you could zip me up again? O’ course, if you ain’t, we can always take dis somewhere a li’l more private... ...”

I hadn’t exactly been expecting an answer, so I’m doubly taken off guard when she whips round and socks me hard with a fist to the face.

I totter a bit, tasting blood and seeing stars.

Damn, this woman packs a punch!

In the background, Marko’s laughing raucously.

“Looks like you chose the wrong woman t’ try and charm, yank.”

Seriously? Enough with the ‘yank’ thing already!

I grit my teeth and scowl as he continues:

“Zip ’im up, Klein. I can afford to be charitable to trespassers. I think we can let him leave here with his dignity, if not his life. He has taste after all. Me old ma’s engagement ring,” and he grins sardonically over at me, “is my favourite piece outta my entire collection.”

Klein obediently turns around and zips me up with more force than necessary. No more smiles and subtle flirtation. She doesn’t even look at me.

“Sentimental value,” Marko is saying, turning the ring between thumb and forefinger as he approaches me. “That’s what this ring has, Mr. Lord. Me old ma woulda been turnin’ in her grave if I lost it. Specially to some shitty low-feeder like you.”

I lick the blood from my lip slowly. Low-feeder, huh? This guy is really throwing out them punches tonight.

“Yeah, I getcha,” I retort with a sarcastic grin. “Momma woulda slapped ya t’ kingdom come if you ever messed wit’ her jewellery. Beat you wit’ a belt, prob’ly, told ya you were a good f’nothin’ piece o’ shit, I’m willin’ t’bet. Sure, I can read a mommy complex a mile away, homme, and you got it bad.”

I dunno what’s gotten inta me tonight. Or maybe I do. Frustration is a thing and a half. I'm fuckin’ wired, and I can’t stop running my damn mouth off. I ain’t usually this lippy. Honestly.

Anyways, I’m steeling myself for a beating from my End-of-Level-Boss, but surprisingly he don’t take the bait. Judging from his get-up, he’s ready for a night out, and he don’t want my blood soiling his purple Savile Row suit. Which is good for me, ‘cos the rings on his fingers look like they could double up for some pretty nasty knuckle dusters.

“I take it back,” he sneers down his nose at me. “This bloody yank don’t deserve jack.”

He sweeps away and grabs his jacket.

“You’ve been lookin’ t’prove yerself, ain’t’cha, Klein,” he throws over his shoulder at the woman still standing beside me. “Take care of Mr. Lord for me, and consider yerself one of the gang.” He walks over to a side table, pulls open a draw and takes out a gun. When he throws it to her, she catches it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “Just make sure you keep some suitably gory keepsake for me to remember ’im by. I’m thinkin’ his teeth. He’s got them pearly whites you can only get in ’Murica. It'll remind me of ’is charmin’ smile.”

He laughs to himself, throws the ring up in the air, catches it, and deposits it into his pocket.

“Sorry, Mr. Lord,” he addresses me, “but I have places to go and people to kill. Don’t worry. Klein’ll entertain you in the playpen.” He waves absently at a door to the right. “I’m sure she’s just itchin’ to get her hands on you.”

He chuckles and heads for the door, followed by one of his henchmen, leaving with a final, gleeful, “So long!”

The door bangs shut and now it’s just me, Klein, and Henchman #1.

Wise strategy on Marko’s part, if Ms. Klein is basically untried and untested. I might break her little heart, and Henchman #1 might have to put me down instead.

I suppress a laugh at the thought.

Klein says nothing. She turns abruptly and sticks the barrel of the gun into the small of my back.

“Move,” she says. Her voice is deadpan – nothing to work with.

“Y’know, chere,” I venture conversationally, as I start shuffling over to the door, “I could speed up some if you’d jes’ untie these chains… Then we could get t’ playtime in the playpen a whole lot faster…”

“Hey, shut up will ya!” Henchmen #1 barks at me, punctuated by a sharp poke in the back by Klein’s gun. All right, all right, already. I get the message. They hustle me up to the door and next thing I know, I’m being shoved inside. Henchman #1 shuts the door behind me and I hear the locks thunk shut. Now it’s just me, and Klein.

It turns out the playpen could give H. H. Holmes’ hotel of horrors a run for its money. It’s a pokey little room, and someone’s done gone and painted the walls in a nice shade of red and crusty brown. Blood, gore and brain matter. The whole place stinks of death. Merde. The light-hearted mood I’ve managed to maintain so far immediately takes a dive.

“I take it housekeepin’ don't come round often,” I quip in an undertone – hardly as insolent as it could've been, but it earns me a kick up the ass anyway. I stagger forward under the momentum, turning to face my would-be executioner as I do so.

She has the gun pointed at me.

“Chere, I’d put my hands up if they weren’t tied behind my—”

The gun fires.

And the bullet hits the wall over my shoulder.

The crazy femme don’t give me a moment to recover.

In a flash she’s lowered the gun and is marching right over to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me down into a hungry kiss.

“It’s okay,” she whispers when she sees I’m too shocked to respond. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”

The words are barely out of her mouth and she’s kissing me again. This time I slip easily out of the chains that I’ve been working on ever since they were clapped on me, and as soon as they hit the ground, I let my palms slide up over her cheeks, pulling her closer, deeper into our kiss. Her fingers wind into my hair, tugging lightly; her body presses against mine, reminding me exactly what I’ve been without the past couple of months. I grab handfuls of her perfect ass and pull her in closer.

God, I’d fuck her right here, right now, if we weren’t in this shithole and this wasn’t a very important job.

We kiss until we have no air left to breathe.

“Lord, I’ve missed ya, Remy,” she murmurs against my lips.

“Mmm, not as much as I’ve missed you,” I answer sincerely, stealing another kiss before adding heatedly, “Eight whole weeks without you, chere... It’s enough t’ drive a man certifiably insane.”

She laughs, soft and sexy, her fingers combing lightly through my hair as she backs up a bit and regards me.

“Darlin’,” she murmurs with a smile, “you were the one who said no contact...”

“Didn’t wanna risk breakin’ your cover, Anna,” I reply, bridging the slight gap between us and feathering light kisses along her jawline. “Cain Marko’s gang don’t got a real nice reputation, sweet.”

“Pfft,” she scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

“For sure,” I agree. “But I’d prefer it if we didn’t tank this mission ‘cos we couldn’t keep our hands offa each other.”

She hums with vague agreement and runs her thumb across my bottom lip.

“Sorry about the fist to the face, babe,” she apologises. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much."

“Peh.” I wave it off absently – I'd pretty much forgotten it already. “You do what you gotta. Speaking of...”

But she’s already way ahead of me, rooting around in her utility belt and taking out the small mem-chip case.

“Nice distraction, by the way,” she congratulates me wryly as she hands me the goods.

“Didja like it?” I ask her, pocketing the small case.

“In theory. Thought you had more style, though, Cajun. You managed to set off every alarm in the fucking building.”

“Heh. Just wanted to make sure you had enough time to pull the heist, cherie.”

She rolls her eyes expressively.

“You thought it was funny pissing everyone off, admit it. And what was all that business with the fob pocket?”

“Chere,” I answer with mock sincerity. “Eight weeks of celibacy and you think I’m gonna pass up the chance to have you feel me up? C’mon.”

The punch she lands on my bicep is enough to hurt.

“You are such a troll!” she shoots at me with more affection than ire, I’m happy to say.

“You love it,” I mutter, grabbing her helplessly and kissing her mouth soundly. We end up wasting a few more precious seconds making out again.

“So what we gonna do, huh?” I ask her once we break apart. “Henchman #1 is waitin’ outside, and I figure we could both take him out pretty easy...”

“Nuh-uh,” she cuts me off with a mischievous grin. “That’ll break our cover for sure. You, sweetheart, are taking the back door out.”

Her gaze slides over my shoulder, and when I look back, I see that the back door is actually a chute in the wall. From the amount of gore it’s covered in, it’s pretty obvious it's a disposal chute – for corpses.

“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, p’tite,” I groan under my breath.

“Think of it as payback for kicking me down that garbage chute back at the Plaza hotel,” she banters back lightly, clearly enjoying this.

“Anna, after this, we’re even and then some,” I say dolefully.

“Yup,” she replies cheerfully. She swoops in for another quick kiss before saying: “I’ll be waiting for you by the East gate in about 30. Got some stuff to finish up here, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

“All right.” My response is half-hearted. I ain’t relishing goin’ down that chute, that’s for sure. Anna, however, is completely indifferent to my plight. She’s almost at the door already when I stop her.

“Uhh… Anna?”

She stops, turns.

“What?”

I point down at my chained-up ankles.

“Li’l help, please?”

She gives a theatrical sigh; but she comes back anyway, dropping to her knees and undoing the chains round my ankles.

“I’m pretty sure you could do this yourself faster than I ever could, Cajun,” she says pointedly, to which I shrug and reply:

“Sure. But havin’ you down on your knees in front of me brings back all sorts of happy mem’ries I’ve been denied the past couple of months.”

The chains clatter to the floor and she quirks an unimpressed look at me.

“Jesus. You’re puttin’ out more pheromones than a skunk puts out spray.”

“Chere, I been insulted ’nuff today, bein’ called a ‘yank’ an’ all. You reckon you could find an analogy a little more flatterin’ than a skunk?”

She gets to her feet and plants her hands on her hips.

“Swamp boy, there ain’t enough analogies in the world for the dirty things I wanna call you right now,” she declares in her gorgeously titillating and rarely-bestowed native Mississippi accent.

“Oooh,” I banter back. “Dirty, huh? Beb, when I get you home tonight, you can call me all the dirty things under the sun. I can’t wait.”

She chooses to ignore the statement, walking over to the chute instead and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling sweetly.

“Sugar, when we get home tonight, the first thing you’re gonna do is take a shower. Cos once you’ve gone down this here chute, you’re gonna be dirty as hell, and not in a good way.”

Trust her to kill the mood. I peer down the hole gingerly. The miasma wafting up from down below is worse than any skunk’s.

“Chere, you wanna rethink this? Only I get the feelin’ one shower ain’t gon’ be enough t’ get the stench out...”

“Quit being such a baby!” She’s smiling way too hard for my liking at this point. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can wrap up this job.”

I step reluctantly up to the edge of the hole, and she leans in over my shoulder, murmurs in my ear: “And the sooner I can get my hands on you again.” She lets that suggestion linger. And, Dieu, does it linger.

“Now buckle up and hold onto the railings,” she warns me.

“What railings?” I manage to get out, before her boot heel connects with my ass, and I’m suddenly tumbling through the filth and mire down, down into the depths of the Marko mansion.

-oOo-

[Chapter 2 now here!]

#rogue/gambitweek2020 #rogue/remyweek2020 #Romy fanfic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #52 Pickup #crazy 8's #crazy eights

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I Could’ve Danced All Night [RadioDust]

[Read on AO3] CW: Blood, knifeplay Summary: Alastor goes to a strip club looking for a victim and ends up finding something very different. It turns out Al and Angel Dust are fucked up in similar (or complementary) ways, and Alastor doesn't know how to handle 'clicking' with someone like this. (RadioDust Week day 1: dancing)

— — –

It began with a dance.

The music wasn’t of the sort Alastor typically enjoyed. Too much bass. No feeling in the composition. Mindless, almost, there for one purpose and one purpose alone—though he supposed he shouldn’t expect much more from a strip club. Besides, it served its purpose well enough; the dancers on stage certainly used the rhythm to their advantage.

Alastor sat on the far left side of the room, simply waiting and observing, keeping an eye out for a potential target. There was a girl strutting and preening on the stage nearest him, but she was focusing her attention on the other men in the area, likely unnerved by his smile. That was fine. She was too meek to be a satisfying kill.

It didn’t much matter to him exactly what type of demon he wound up leaving with: a patron, a bartender, maybe even one of the limber performers. Every person’s death was unique, so it wouldn’t do to count anyone out based on conditions like that. All he really wanted was an individual, someone singular, someone who stood out. And then he planned to spend the entire night exploring exactly how that individual responded to fear, to pain, to panic. The thought had him almost giddy with excitement.

“All right, you filthy fuckin’ sinners,” a gravel-voiced demon announced from somewhere unseen, “how many of you ever seen an angel up close?” A lascivious cheer raised in many of the patrons, but Alastor was puzzled by the phrasing. Surely they couldn’t mean an actual angel. Was it even possible for one of them to survive in Hell? Now that would be an interesting target. “Give it up for the hottest piece of ass in Hell, Angel Duuust!”

The music kicked up louder still as, on the stage in the very center of the room, yet another scantily-clad demon descended into view, spiraling down one of those poles to stop just inches from the floor in a dramatic pose that sent the audience into a frenzy yet again. Not a real angel, clearly, but an interesting figure nevertheless.

He—at least Alastor assumed the demon was a man based on his body language and general lack of curves—was a tall, spindly creature with two sets of arms and legs for miles. A gold tooth glinted in his sharp smile as he danced, and it was obvious from his playful demeanor that he was perfectly at home in this position. And the way he moved… Alastor had trouble taking in every aspect of the performance at once, his eyes lingering on one hand running through Angel Dust’s hair while the others slid slowly down his slender legs. Then all four hands grasped the pole again to fling the dancer’s lithe body around it in another quick spiral.

Oh yes, that was very promising. The entire performance was meant to arouse desire in the viewer, and while it wasn’t of a sexual sort, Alastor’s interest was piqued nevertheless. From the sound of things, this Angel Dust was a popular performer, meaning it would be noticed if/when he disappeared. But that had never stopped Alastor from pursuing what he wanted in the past.

When the song finished (in a manner of speaking, as the music here seemed to be unending), Angel Dust strolled around the perimeter of the stage collecting tips from his audience, pausing here or there to reward individual patrons with a come-hither smile or a stroke of their cheek. So that was the way to get his attention. Fair enough.

As he sauntered across the catwalk that led from the center stage to the one along the far wall, Alastor produced his wallet and tossed a handful of bills at the feet of the dancer in front of him, not making any particular effort to connect with her. Unfortunately, this little stunt had an unexpected side effect; like sharks smelling blood, the dancers saw him so blithely spending money and swarmed him immediately.

“How are you over here all alone, handsome?”

“Is that mean ol’ Stella ignoring you?”

“If you wanted company, you could’ve just asked.”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, another on his arm, a third even so bold as to stroke up his knee, and he struggled not to show how uncomfortable he was with suddenly being crowded and touched without his consent.

“Ahem. You girls are lookin’ pretty thirsty,” a new voice said, and Alastor looked up to find none other than Angel Dust gazing down at them from the stage. The previous girl was now gathering up her tips to move elsewhere. “Why don’tcha go get a drink? My treat.”

Although the other dancers seemed put off by his interruption, they didn’t argue, one by one taking their hands from Alastor’s body and stalking off toward the bar. “Sorry about that,” Angel Dust added, his eyes sweeping curiously up and down the Radio Demon as he gracefully sank to his knees. “Some gals don’t know how to read between the lines, y’know?”

“And you do?” Alastor didn’t even try to pretend he was looking over every inch of the demon in front of him—but then, that was probably what he wanted.

“Sure. Like I can tell by lookin’ at ya that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just any girl. I get the feelin’ your tastes are a little more…” He licked his fingertips and ran them lightly down the center of his chest with a knowing smirk, posing to display his lengthy figure. “Exotic.”

Oh, you have no idea.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Well, you were watchin’ me awful close in my first dance,” Angel Dust pointed out, lifting two of his hands in a shrug while the other two moved along the shape of his body. Seeing the mild surprise on Alastor’s face at having been caught staring, he laughed. “Eyes like yours are kinda hard to miss in a dark room. And I’ve gotten pretty good at noticin’ when someone wants me. So what is it you want, baby?” While he awaited an answer, he rested his hands on the stage and leaned forward, showcasing the unusual curves of his chest.

“Now that would be telling,” Alastor teased, fishing another twenty out of his wallet.

“All right, play hard to get if ya want.” The dancer’s two-toned eyes were fixed on the money in his hands. “How about your name? Will ya tell me that?”

“Alastor.” He offered the bill folded between two fingers, but when Angel Dust reached for it, he pulled away. “Say it for me, would you?”

Though he looked surprised by the request, he still obliged, dropping his voice slightly and purring in return, “Alastor.” His voice was nice enough. Something about the sound, in fact, was enough to send a surprising chill through the Radio Demon’s body.

“Once more?” he prompted, his own volume lowering a bit.

Angel Dust leaned closer still, enough that he was on his hands and knees and leaning off the edge of the stage, and moaned breathlessly, “Alastor.” Suppressing another chill, Alastor surrendered the money without further argument, and a pleased smirk curled the dancer’s lips as he took it. “I’m Angel. And hey, if ya like hearin’ it that much, maybe stick around after my shift’s over and we can talk in private.”

“Is that so?” He’s making this entirely too easy. “You may want to be more careful about making offers like that, cher. You’re certain to get more than you bargain for someday.”

“Mm, you promise?” Angel asked mischievously, his eagerness not fading in the slightest as he got to his feet again. “Hey, I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself. I’d be more worried about whether you can keep up with me.”

Well, he’d never been able to resist a challenge. “I suppose we’ll have to find out, then.”

“I suppose we will.” At the sound of some drunken demon from another table obnoxiously demanding Angel’s attention, his smile soured into a pout, and Alastor’s eyes flashed with irritation. Clearly, Angel had done an admirable job of catching his attention; he now couldn’t imagine leaving with anyone else. “If you’re interested, meet me out back at one fifteen.” With a wink in Alastor’s direction, he strolled delicately down the stage to meet the lummox who had called for him, planting his hands on his hips and playfully chastising the other demon for his impatience.

The following two hours were torture, and Alastor enjoyed every anticipatory moment. He remained where he was, absently tipping whichever dancer happened to be in front of him at the moment, but his eyes stayed on Angel as he worked the room. Not once but twice more, Angel was called to center stage for a feature dance of his own, and both times, he stole a glance or two in Alastor’s direction to be sure he was still watching. Which he was. Intently.

The club closed at 1 a.m., and Alastor did as instructed, going around the back of the building to find out exactly what ‘talk in private’ translated to. Unfortunately, it seemed that some other demons had a similar idea, as he found two of them waiting under the light of a yellow halogen bulb when he arrived. Noticing them watching him warily, he gave them a winning smile and a polite nod. “Gentlemen.”

One of them seemed fully ready to ignore him, but the other narrowed his eyes. “You were the one takin’ up all Angel’s time earlier,” he growled. Alastor only then recognized him as the same brute who had stolen Angel’s attention before. Quite a forgettable face, apparently.

“We spoke, yes. Is that a problem?”

“Only if you think you’re takin’ him home.” The other demon took a step closer, drawing his shoulders back, trying to come off as imposing. Still drunk, clearly. “I been savin’ up for weeks to get him to myself, and no bowtie-wearin’ radio talk show host is gonna steal him out from under me.” He grasped a handful of Alastor’s coat, and the Radio Demon’s smile broadened into something menacing.

“My friend, I’m going to allow you five full seconds in which to remove your hands from my person and yourself from my sight before you lose something much more valuable than a single night of good company.”

“Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do to make me?”

“Four,” Alastor answered simply. Really, the restraint he showed by offering this grace period was impressive in itself. “Three.”

“Uh, Tino, maybe you should listen to him, man,” the remaining demon said as he noticed the shadows lengthening across the ground, darkness edging into the halo of light around the club’s back door.

“Two.”

“Fuck this.” Tino had apparently gotten fed up with the countdown, but as he drew back a fist and Alastor reached ‘one,’ the light snapped out, just long enough for the shadows to overtake both Tino and his companion. Alastor didn’t bother taking extra time to savor their deaths. They were meaningless, nothing but an obstacle to what was sure to be the most enjoyable night he’d had in years. He crushed them and dropped their bodies into the dumpster against the wall without so much as a hair out of place.

When the light flickered back to life, he had managed to contain himself into a veneer of nonchalance. Consider this an appetizer, he told himself. And indeed he was only that much hungrier for something with more substance.

It was actually closer to 1:30 when Angel finally exited the club, but when he saw Alastor there, he smiled brightly. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, now dressed in a scant mini dress and half-jacket, still showing off his shape nicely. “So let’s talk prices before we go any further.” Alastor listened with vague interest as he explained how much his ‘company’ would cost per hour, which acts would cost extra, etc., and he agreed to all of it. He could afford the cost if necessary, but that wasn’t how he planned for the night to end.

He then led the way to the hotel room he had booked for exactly this purpose, Angel clinging to his arm and making all sorts of suggestive comments, none of which really did much for him. Once they were inside and Alastor locked the door behind them, Angel shed his jacket and set it aside along with his purse. “So where d’ya want me, handsome? Right here against the wall? Bent over the table? Ooh, maybe out on the balcony where anyone could see?” It was difficult to tell how much of this was just teasing and how much was serious.

“Why don’t we start here?” Alastor gestured to the bed, and although Angel pouted over the vanilla selection, he sat down nevertheless. It seemed he was always aware of how to hold his body and how it looked, always keen on keeping his angles as attractive as possible. “Are there any ground rules you’d like to set? Boundaries?”

Angel laughed at that like it was a ridiculous question. “Nah, I’m down for pretty much whatever. Whatever you’re into, baby.”

“Really? No restrictions at all?” Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow at him. This was already going much smoother than usual; how could Angel so easily trust a man he’d only just met?

“Well, like what? Whaddaya have in mind?”

“Like pain,” Alastor answered readily enough. Sliding his fingers through Angel’s hair, he grasped a handful of it and tilted his head back, drawing a gasp from his lips. “Biting. Clawing. Cutting.”

“That’s…fine.” He leaned his head easily into Alastor’s touch, apparently willing, even eager, to be abused without protest. Another inexplicable shiver—of what? interest? excitement?—coursed through the Radio Demon’s body. Still, he managed to keep his voice even.

“What about being bound?”

“Yes, please,” Angel purred. “I told you, whatever you wanna do is okay. Just don’t keep me waitin’ all night.” He leaned closer, lifting his head, eyes locked on Alastor’s lips, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine what he wanted. So Alastor gave it to him. After all, how often was his prey so agreeable? Why not explore the more unusual aspects of the situation? Their lips met, and already his tongue was forcing its way into Angel’s mouth, tasting lemon and liquor from whatever cocktails he’d had earlier. Gradually, his blunt ferocity faded into something slower and easier, and his dancer-turned-escort treated him to soft whimpers and whines of desire.

“Uh. You…said somethin’ about tyin’ me up?” Angel mumbled, clinging to Alastor’s coat even as they separated. Something about the gesture felt very different from his experience with Tino earlier, so it didn’t bother him. He unknotted his tie and slipped it out of his collar, then knelt behind Angel to tie his wrists at his back. “Sounds like you’re gonna get a little rough. Maybe we should have a safe word?”

“No need,” Alastor answered, determining the best way to bind all four of Angel’s hands at once and making sure they were tied tightly. “If you want me to stop, just say so, and I will.” Or not. It would depend on how the evening went.

“Huh. What a gentleman.” Once Angel’s hands were bound, Alastor got up to shrug out of his coat and rolled his sleeves up, then turned the lights out to leave a single lamp in the far corner as their only illumination. Despite being so tall, Angel turned out to be surprisingly light, so rather than ask him to lie down, Alastor simply lifted him and then pushed him down against the bed on his back while his breath turned heavier with anticipation. He did look nice this way, sprawled and squirming, awaiting whatever Alastor chose to do with his body.

Part of his enjoyment typically came from his victim’s fear—but he supposed there was no need to rush. They would get there in due time. For now, he pressed his lips to Angel’s neck, kisses quickly turning rough and leading to bites that broke skin and drew blood. Angel shuddered and arched and groaned “fuck” under his breath but didn’t try to escape. His hips lifted slightly, so Alastor pressed them down with his own, enjoying the choked cry that fled his guest’s lips. His blood was hot, hotter than most, and delicious, but Alastor made a point of not lapping it all up, preferring to let some stain Angel’s skin and the sheets instead.

“Beautiful,” he purred, and he could’ve sworn an anemic blush painted Angel’s cheeks.

“Y-y’know,” he breathed, “you were kinda scarin’ me a minute ago. Talkin’ about ‘pain’ and all. But if this is the worst you got…” That almost sounded like a challenge. In fact, judging by the playful smirk curving his lips, it absolutely was.

“Careful what you wish for, cher.” Alastor’s hands slid up the sides of Angel’s thighs, underneath the hem of his skirt and up toward his hips, then dug his fingernails in and dragged them down roughly, forcing Angel’s hips closer to his own and coaxing a deep, tortured cry from his throat. Although visual art wasn’t typically Alastor’s genre of choice, he couldn’t help but appreciate the angry, stark red lines against Angel’s pale skin.

“More,” the dancer begged, pleading at Alastor with eyes hazed in lust or pain or distress; it was hard to say which. Regardless, it was compelling. Slipping a hand into his pocket, Alastor produced an ivory-handled switchblade knife, which he opened with the press of a button. This little blade had seen him through countless situations much like (yet far different from) this one, and it was still sharp as ever. Upon seeing it, Angel’s eyes grew wider, but he still didn’t protest, biting his lip and waiting to see what Alastor would do with it.

The Radio Demon was sure to take his time about this, first running the cool metal along the still-hot welts on Angel’s thigh to make him shiver. He then traced the edge very gently up Angel’s arm, but even this soft pressure was enough to break skin, leaving a thin, thin red line in its wake. The dancer took in a shuddering breath but tried his best to keep still, watching as Alastor ran his tongue along the wound, then sat up to kiss him again. Despite tasting his own blood, he participated as actively as before, even teasing a soft hum of pleasure from Alastor’s lips as well. He couldn’t help himself; everything about this moment was so strangely familiar yet new, so expected but not, and he found his feelings about it weren’t all the same as usual.

When the kiss ended, he slowly, lazily cut an X into Angel’s right shoulder, enjoying the way he shivered from the sensation. “It hurts,” the dancer whispered, so soft as to be almost inaudible. Still, his tone was unmistakable.

“And you like that?”

Again, he flushed slightly, and it wasn’t until Alastor held his chin and forced him to look up that he answered. “Yeah,” he confessed, his gaze shifting between the Radio Demon’s eyes and his lips. “Are you…actually gonna fuck me, or are you just gonna hurt me all night?”

Alastor recoiled slightly. At no point during all this had he seriously considered going through with anything sexual. He was there to satisfy a craving, certainly, but not that sort. This was a game, a farce, nothing but a way of extending his devious enjoyment of his victim’s pain. So what was it in him that wanted to say yes, to pin Angel down against the bed and make him scream in a different way?

“Didn’t you say there were no rules?” he prompted, trying to brush those thoughts away and focus.

“Sure. It’s just…now I’m all worked up.” Looking up to meet his eyes, Angel admitted softly, “So I want it.”

Every moment this went on, every moment that Alastor enjoyed the pain he was inflicting and the moans that came with it—knowing the pleasure was mutual and that Angel wanted it too—served to further cloud his mind about exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable. It wasn’t supposed to be something his victim wanted more of. And worse yet, he wasn’t supposed to like fulfilling their wishes. It was meant to be him taking satisfaction in the suffering of another. Something about this night had thoroughly thrown off that formula.

Trying to move past it and away from all those confusing should-be’s, he sat up slightly and dragged the knife to the juncture of Angel’s neck and shoulder instead, cutting in slightly and watching the dancer—no, his victim—flinch. “H-hey, not there,” Angel finally protested, trying to move away but more or less trapped against the bed by Alastor’s body. “Anywhere below there’s okay, but—”

“Oh, but I thought you liked this, cher,” Alastor insisted, trying to find his way back to the cold and detached tormentor he typically embodied in these moments. His blade moved higher still, closer to Angel’s throat, and he relished the more panicked squirming of his prey’s body.

“I’m serious.” Angel’s voice quavered with nervous fear as he tried to draw away. “Alastor. Stop it.”

“What, does this cost extra?” the Radio Demon chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever you like.” The tip of his knife came to rest just under Angel’s chin, where his pulse was visibly pounding, and he stretched his head as far away as possible. This would be the easiest solution to the confusion that had come with this night. Just end it quickly. Cut right here, only an inch or two, and watch his life spill onto the sheets. No more questions. No more doubt. Just enjoy it for what it is and then on to the next.

“Look, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s working. I get it, okay? You win. Just stop.” The discomfort in his voice was frustrating, in a way. He’d been responding so positively all night, yet now was the moment he faltered? It was much easier to believe that Angel was doing something wrong than that Alastor’s change in behavior had frightened him. As Alastor pressed down on the knife, ready and willing to put all this behind him, Angel snarled and coiled up his legs. “I said, get off!”

His feet planted against Alastor’s chest and kicked, hard, much harder than expected, forcing the Radio Demon to stumble backward off the bed. When he managed to right himself, he realized Angel Dust had sprouted a third set of arms and was trying to use them to unbind his others. There was fear visible in his eyes, but more than that, there was anger. Good. He was indignant, willing to fight. Good. It began with a dance. It should end with a dance.

“Who’s the one playing hard to get now, cher?” Alastor asked with a wicked grin, pouncing on the bed to pin his playmate down again. This part, he could do without thinking, by reflex, which made it much simpler. As he tried to plunge his knife into Angel’s chest, however, the dancer twisted away at the last moment and the blade was buried in the mattress instead.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Angel hissed, still struggling to free his arms.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been enjoying my attention, chéri. Now hold still so I can give you more.” Grabbing up his knife again, he started to attack—but Angel was ready this time and delivered a surprisingly solid kick to his jaw. Apparently, those boots were more functional than they looked. Even as Angel finally got his hands free, Alastor managed to recover and force him down on his back again.

Then something unexpected happened. After a moment of futile struggling and realizing he wasn’t strong enough to break free, Angel met Alastor’s eyes for the briefest moment, then sat up and kissed him again. This reaction came by reflex as well, and he found himself delving deeper into the kiss, as close to ‘turned on’ as he’d ever been before. Angel shoved at his shoulders, rolling them over as one so he was kneeling over Alastor’s hips.

Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible turn to take, Alastor supposed as his hands slid up the dancer’s thighs again. Maybe he could be satisfied with a different form of pleasure, as long as Angel was willing to—

He broke off the kiss with a gasp at the feeling of cold metal against his throat. Angel remained close, still panting against his lips, but his eyes had turned cold. He had apparently retrieved the weapon Alastor had absentmindedly discarded while they kissed, and he now held it firmly to the Radio Demon’s neck.

“Get your hands off me,” he growled softly, and Alastor obeyed without a word.

Somehow, he found himself at a loss. Maybe he was disappointed in himself for being distracted so easily. Maybe he was subdued by the warmth of Angel’s body or the sight of him—still bleeding, flushed, panting hard—or the knife held to his jugular. Whatever the reason, the fight had left him altogether and he was now just a bit bemused.

“Now fuckin’ stay there,” Angel ordered. He shoved away to get to his feet, keeping his eyes on Alastor and a tight grip on the knife. While the Radio Demon watched, he stepped back toward the table where Alastor’s coat had been discarded, then rooted through it for a moment to find (of course) his wallet. It was almost disappointing to see him back away to retrieve his own jacket and purse, then head for the door.

Was that it? All this excitement, then he just took his payment and left? Was this how most sex workers felt about their own encounters? And why didn’t Alastor make more of an effort to stop him? Was he an Overlord or wasn’t he? If he’d tried, he could have easily overpowered the slender Angel Dust, regardless of whether he had two hands or ten. Yet there he lay, on his back, on the bed, watching his would-be victim shrug his jacket back on and walk to the door.

“Guess you couldn’t keep up after all,” Angel sighed, standing in the doorway and combing mussed hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “Too bad; I was havin’ fun there for a minute. See ya around, Al.” With this, he flung the knife expertly across the room to stick into the mattress between Alastor’s legs. Was it a trick of the light, or was he actually smirking as he left the room and pulled the door shut behind him?

Alastor let his head drop back against the bed. Well. That certainly was an experience. It was the first time in his long and colorful career that any victim had successfully escaped him. There were those who fought, perhaps, but none who had ever won. Yet Angel had caught onto…whatever it was that made this night different from all the others, well and truly ruining Alastor’s chances of regaining control.

He could try again, tonight or some other night. But now, he found, he no longer wanted Angel dead. He still wanted something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what. No, Angel had said the word himself. More. Whatever bizarre tango they had just performed, Alastor needed an encore. Next time, he told himself, he would be better prepared. And he had no doubt that Angel would find a way to throw off his rhythm nevertheless.

#RadioDust #RadioDust Week #one shot #Angel Dust x Alastor #Alastor x Angel Dust #we interrupt your regularly-scheduled GS content for some non-AU shit #but still in Alastor's perspective because he's so much fun to write~#fanfiction #my writing

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johnmarstoned · 5 years

Note

Request for shameless smut but fluff with Arthur and a fem!reader? Like she comes back to camp after a mission and he just takes her away so he can have full privacy and do whatever they want? I'm a thirsty bitch sorry 😅

My blog is a safe space for thirsty bitches, trust me.

(and jesus christ i’m sorry i’m allergic to being like… brief… i always get carried away)

There’s nothing like riding back into camp with a sack full of money on the back of your horse, getting cheered by the camp and a pat on the head from Dutch.

It had been my mission, hitting a caravan of a few coaches heading from Saint Denis to Rhodes and carrying a bunch of rich folk in them, and it had gone smooth as can be. I’m red faced, excited and still pumping with adrenaline when I arrive back with Lenny, Sean and John, still surprised we’d made such a good team, being the young ones of the group. It had been quite a take, and no one had got too badly hurt, either.

But it had meant a few days away from camp, staking out the route and the people they’d be robbing, spending a little time in Saint Denis and a little camped out in the Bayou (which I truly hated and will not do again for a million dollars).

So we ride back into Clemens Point that evening triumphant and pleased with ourselves.

“That is what I like to see.” Dutch claps my back when I drop off his share of the cash at his tent, and I smile and appreciate the kudos I get from the rest of the gang too. “Calls for a celebration, don’t you think? Mr Pearson! Hand round some bottles of whiskey, would you?”

“Of course!” He calls.

“Molly, put a record on, my dear.” He instructs, and my eyes are already scanning the group for the only person whose attention I really want, not spotting him.

“You gotta bring me along next time.” Karen catches me by the arm and presses a bottle into my hands. “Sounds like fun, and I lord knows I wouldn’t mind that kinda cash.”

“Sure, Karen, have you seen-”

“Did you see that fuckin’ toff try and get me mouth when I told him to empty his pockets?” Sean puts his arm over my shoulder, still hyped up, and guides me over to the fire with him where people are already singing and chugging. “Gave him a right ol’ bust lip, I did.”

“I saw it, Sean.” I say, slightly impatient, because why hasn’t he come to see me yet? I stand on my tiptoes and try to look over to his tent.

“Arthur’s up the way a bit fishin’.” Abigail holds my elbow to catch my attention, and I sigh and smile gratefully at her knowing expression.

“Thank you.” I say and squeeze her arm. “Was starting to think he’d lost interest.”

“Oh, never.” Abigail chuckles. “He won’t be best happy he wasn’t here to welcome you back.”

Relieved, I slip away from the merriment to where I know he’ll be, just outside of camp down by the shore. It’s best to fish at this time of the evening, and I know he does it when I’m out on the job, keeps him calm, he says.

I spot him just ahead of me quickly, back to me, broad shouldered and tall, horse beside him, and I take a little breath, because it’s always so sweet to come back to him.

“Caught anything?” I ask, and sidle up to him, he turns when he hears my voice, and I see his chest fall in a breath that looks like relief.

“Someone was supposed to come get me when you got back.” He says, and spools up his fishing rod, closing it and replacing it in his pack.

“Well, I’m back.” I shrug as he approaches me, and he puts his hands on my shoulders before he’ll hold me properly, giving me a once over.

“It all go okay?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Anyone die?”

“No.”

“You hurt?”

“Not a scratch.”

It’s the same conversation, the same routine every time I get done with a mission.

“There’s blood on ya.” He swipes his thumb across my chin, and I remember I had felt a little fleck there before.

“Not mine.” I shrug. “Mouthy bastard didn’t wanna part with his pocket watch.”

He smiles at me a little then, his eyes crinkle with it, and he takes my waist and kisses me good and thorough, and I sigh into his mouth and hold his arms. “That’s my girl.” He murmurs against my lips.

I never get tired of hearing him say that.

“Missed you.” I tell him, holding him tight as he loops his arms around my waist and pulls me to him so he can bury his face in my neck and press little kisses there. He’s soft, for one so big and tough, and I can’t help but smile knowing I’m the only one that gets to see that.

“Missed you too, sweetheart, somethin’ awful.”

I can’t help but tease him. “That why I can feel something other than your cattleman poking at me?”

He huffs out a little chuckle against my neck and pulls back to look at me.

“S’been a while, for us, anyway.”

“I know, trust me.” And it has, I’m already feeling starved of his body on me and in me. “Let’s go back to my tent, there’s a party but we can be quiet.” I take his hand and tug him away from the shore, but he doesn’t move, pulling me back.

“Don’t wanna be quiet.” He says simply, looking at me in that way that makes me shiver.

“Me neither, but we don’t have much of a choice.”

He looks at me for a moment like he’s considering something, then up at his horse.

“You got another ride in you?”

I cock my head, wondering what he’s getting at.

“Depends where to.”

“Saint Denis.” He says, and pulls me a little closer to him again. “That fancy ol’ room above the saloon with proper silk sheets, specifically.”

I shudder to think of it, four walls and a roof, a locked door, a big bed, with Arthur.

“Oh, I’m sure I can manage that ride.”

And he wastes no time getting up on his horse and helping me on behind him, and I giggle at the fast pace he sets, booking it through the more unsettling parts of the swamps given that it’s getting dark. I just hold onto his sides, and let myself feel hot with anticipation at what’s about to happen.

It’s completely night by the time we get into the city and inside the saloon, so it’s busy, lively, and boozy, and nobody really looks twice at me in my dirty trousers and battered shirt, sweating a little from the journey and eagerly waiting for Arthur to pay for the room.

Soon as that door closes, he has me up against it, kissing me deep and with tongue, this time, catching me round the backside to hitch my legs around his waist, so I can feel his erection pressing insistently against me.

Usually, I’d want a wash first, but it feels about right for me to be still a little dirty and sweaty, like I’m celebrating my victory in this post primal way I can, like some kind of warrior returning from battle.

Arthur’s strength never fails to turn me on so incredibly, holding me there with his thighs like I weigh nothing to him, and ripping open my shirt so buttons spray across the room so he can kiss and lick at my breasts like he hasn’t seen them so many times before. All I can do is moan delightedly, feeling a pulse between my legs, and hold onto his head.

“Goddamn beautiful.” He mumbles, and sets me down on my feet, to untuck my ruined shirt the rest of the way and get it off my arms. I take the initiative when he does, pulling off his neckerchief and unfastening his shirt buttons with haste so I can feel the skin of his stomach and chest. All thick muscle and boundless strength.

And I’m getting excited, and breathless, so I don’t bother pushing his shirt off, instead unsnapping the clips of his suspenders, and working on getting his trousers open so I can finally get my hand around that cock I’ve been thinking about for days. He hisses a breath through his teeth when I stroke him, and I watch is face close, tongue between my teeth, when I move my hand up and down on him.

“You might wanna stop that.” He says, voice rough as he gently catches my wrist and moves it away. “Ain’t gonna last long with you lookin’ at me like that.”

I smile to myself, ears humming already with excitement, and push his shoulder a little to get him to sit down on the bed. He smiles up at me from there, hands flexing on his knees, he watches me peel off my saddle pants, and my underthings, until I’m naked in front of him.

“You’re somethin’…” He says, and his hands round my ass and pull me to stand right in front of him. He presses kisses down my stomach and bends to kiss the hair between my legs too.

“I’m ready for you, Arthur.” I say, breathy, and he smirks up at me just a little, eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and reaches his hands between my legs to feel for himself, slipping a finger between my folds and finding me slick.

“God, that for me?” He asks it with a tone half teasing, half in genuine disbelief. I’ve never met a man more blind to his own beauty in my life.

“Always.” I bend down to pull off his boots for him, his hands running over my body wherever they can reach, and then his pants follow, which I drop on the ground with the rest of our clothes. When he’s finally naked, I sit on his broad thighs and kiss him again, never wanting to detach from his mouth.

He lays me down on the bed, head on the pillow, and I can’t believe how soft and luscious the sheets feel against my skin, especially compared to the wools and furs we usually sleep under.

“I missed you on top of me.” I sigh and hitch a leg around his hip. “Wish you could be inside of me all the time.”

“Christ.” Arthur groans at that, and positions the tip of his cock at my entrance. I can feel it slick and weeping already, and he plants his elbows under my armpits and lets me hold onto his thick biceps before he pushes inside me, all the way to the hilt.

“Ah! Mmm, yes, Arthur.” I whimper, feeling so hot and fulfilled and relieved to have him fill me up.

It makes me reconsider everything, when we do this, when he moans aloud and furrows his brow as he pushes in and out of me, makes me think I could be a wife and a mother, and take care of a homestead, as long as I had him coming home and doing this to me every night, as long as I had him smiling at me and calling me his girl.

My fingers dig into his skin as he fucks me, both vocalising our enjoyment as much as we want without fear of one of the gang wolf-whistling and shaking the canvas. The bed is creaking under the motion, the sound of skin hitting skin cuts through the room, and my noises of pleasure reach a fever pitch when he puts a hand on the headboard and cants my hips up further so he can pound into me as hard as he can.

“Ohhh, goddamn, Arthur.” My eyes shut, and I hear him make a grunt of effort.

“You feel like a dream.” He murmurs, his voice rumbles through me. “Feel like nothin’ else, sweetheart.”

I can’t vocalise a response, because one of his hands holding my hips moves down so he can thumb my clit as he moves inside of me, and that’s it, I’m done. With an almost shout, my back bows and my orgasm rattles through me suddenly, electrifyingly, making my heel dig into his thigh and my nails scratch his arm.

“Arthur…” I whimper, riding it out, and wriggling while his hands hold me still and he doesn’t let up his pace, sounding like he’s enjoying it as much as I am.

“Yes, just like that, girl.” And that term of endearment shakes me again, gasping as I open my eyes to watch him duck his head, that expression on his face that tells me he’s going to come soon.

“Give it to me, Arthur.” I hold his face and pull him down to kiss me, pushing my tongue into his mouth. “I love you so much.”

And that does it, he makes a rough noise that comes from his chest, and pushes inside me deep when he comes. He kisses me desperately, and his hips move just a little as he gives me everything he has and the muscles of his stomach jump with it. I hold him tight to me through it, feeling the bone deep desire to have him fill me with his spend, knowing it’s foolish when we live like we do.

“Shit.” He curses when it’s finally over, panting against me and dropping his weight onto me a little. And lord, he’s heavy.

It’s nice though, the press of his sweaty skin against mine and even the feel of him softening inside me before he pulls out with a hitched breath and drops onto his back.

Bones feeling like jelly, I finally close my knees and curl up to his side, resting my chin on his chest. He pulls me up to him and holds my lower back, fingers drawing little circles there. I’m still pulsing with aftershocks between my legs, and I can’t help but look at his cock, big and thick, half hard, resting on his stomach. He is something else.

“We don’t have to go back to camp yet, do we?” I ask, and peck his skin.

“Paid for the night.” He says, still stroking me languidly. “Plan to get our money’s worth.”

“Good.” I smile, and reluctantly slip away from him. “I’m gonna have to ask one of the working girls to draw me a bath though, before I do anything else.”

He nods, and watches me slip off the bed and stretch out my arms, taking in my body.

“Love you too, by the way.” He refers back to me saying it before, hand resting across his stomach and looking like he should be painted. “You know that.”

“I do.” I tell him, because he never lets me doubt it for a second.

#Anonymous #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fluff #smut #fic #request #rdr2 fic #when i say smut i mean smut #i enjoyed writing this like too much

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recurring-polynya · 5 years

Text

I thought about Ishida and Renji too much, and woke up at 5:30 yesterday morning with a fic in my brain. I thought it was gonna be another drabble, but I think it turned into a full story. Inspiration note at the end, to avoid an extremely mild spoiler.

~ The Letter of the Law ~

Uryuu has run afoul of the Soul Society criminal justice system. Fortunately, he has, uh, Renji.

(AO3 link)

Takes place immediately after 684. Presumes that Rukia and Renji got together sometime during the TYBW. Before works, too, if you prefer. (If that sort of thing piques your fancy, I got you covered.)

I will not apologize for any continuity errors, the TYBW was extremely confusing.

Rated T for language, because Renji.

~ ~ ~

Other shinigami would surely be here any minute. The Onmitsukidou, trying to get Aizen back under wraps? Squad 12 maybe?

Renji sighed. There was no way around it.

"Hey, Ishida?"

The kid looked at him, exhaustion permeating his entire being.

"Believe me, I don't like this any more than you do, but, uh," Renji rubbed the back of his neck, "you're under arrest."

Ishida blinked. "Come again?"

Renji sighed again. "Under my authority as a Lieutenant of the Gotei-13, I am detaining you under the custody of the Sixth Division, Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain."

"You can arrest people?" Ichigo asked, incredulously. "Can Rukia arrest people?"

"Kurosaki!" Ishida protested.

"Of course I can arrest people, I was arrestin' Rukia the first time you met me, you moron!"

"Oh, right.” Ichigo remembered to get offended. “C'mon, Renji, it's Uryuu! Don't be an ass about this."

Renji shook his head, a warning. "I'm telling you guys, you absolutely need me to be an--"

"QUINCY SCUM, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST--"

So it was the Onmitsukidou, after all. There were about a thousand of them swarming Aizen, but they hadn't forgotten about Ishida, either.

Renji hefted himself to his feet. Time to get to work. "Too late, boys, I've already arrested him."

Two black-clad ninja looked at each other, and back to Renji. "But we're supposed to arrest him."

Renji gave a big, genial shrug. "That's a pickle, now, isn't it?"

"What do you care, why not just give him to us?" one of the ninja suggested.

"Oh, we do things by the book over at the Sixth. Captain wouldn't like it if I just went around transferring prisoners without the proper paperwork. You can fill out a transfer request form, of course. You'll need your Captain or Vice-Captain to approve it, and then you can file it with the Sixth Division front office. I should warn you, though, we've been short-staffed lately, so we may not get to it right away."

"What. Is. Happening?" Ichigo murmured.

"Due process," Renji replied cheerfully. "Sorry, Uryuu, I'm gonna have to take you in. Don't worry, Ichigo, I won't let him outta my sight. I’m sure you’re gonna be real busy for the near future." Renji clapped Uryuu on the shoulder. "Don't you worry either. If anyone can utterly bog down the Gotei-13 legal process by fucking up paperwork... it's me."

~ ~ ~

"Here's a blanket," Renji said, shoving it between the bars. "And I brought you some books." He passed them through one at a time. "This one's historical fiction…this one's a literary novel that was real popular a few years ago...this one's non-fiction, about the history of zanjutsu...and here's some shitty vampire manga I keep around for when Rukia comes over. I didn't know what you liked, so I tried to bring over a bunch of different things."

"These are... your books?"

Renji raised one eyebrow. "Whose else would they be?"

Ishida turned one of the books over his hand. They were cheaply printed paperbacks, the paper much rougher than you’d find in the Living World, the spines all utterly bent and creased to hell. "I, uh, didn't know they had popular books in Soul Society."

Renji narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn'ta guessed I read for fun, is what you mean."

Uryuu took a deep breath. "I assumed. I'm sorry." He turned over the historical novel curiously. "Looks like you’ve read this one a few times."

"That's my favorite book." Renji was thoughtful for a moment. “You got ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ in the Living World, right? It’s a little like that.”

Uryuu raised both eyebrows. "I'll give it a try."

Renji shrugged. "I won't judge you if you read the vampire manga. Anything else I can get for ya? Tea? Playing cards? Get you some ink so you can work on your prison tats?"

"I'll, ah, pass. Um, is there a way to get someone's attention, if I need something?"

"Oh, I'm not leaving you alone down here."

Ishida blinked. “What?”

Renji leaned up against the bars of the cell. “You can trust any and all of the Squad 6 folks on duty down here, I hand-picked 'em. But Squad 2 and 12 are both after you, and they’re lying, tricky bastards, one and all. That’s to say nothing of any of your old Quincy pals we might not’ve caught. Everything outside of this barracks is chaos right now, and I’m not about to get caught on my laurels, so I’m just gonna bring my paperwork down here and hang out with my ol’ buddy Uryuu until the rest of the captains get back.”

“You give all your prisoners this much personal attention?”

Renji shrugged. “Only the ones who don’t make fun of my eyebrows.”

~ ~ ~

Renji leaned back so his chair balanced on the back two legs. The back thunked against the bars of the holding cell. "The problem is," he drawled, "that Squad 3 has also requested a prisoner transfer. And they got their paperwork in first."

The Squad 2 flunky clutched his approved Form PTR-0003-36A like a lifeline. "What do I do with this, then?"

"Oh, I'll take it," Renji offered, delicately plucking the crumpled form from the man's sweaty hands. "But since there's more than one request, it will require adjudication, which means I'll have to wait until my captain gets back."

"When will that be?" the Onmitsukidou squeaked.

"Hard to say," Renji shrugged, shaking his head. "As far as I know he's still in the Royal Realm, and I don't have any way to communicate with him directly."

"What if we got Squad 3 to retract their request?"

"Worth a try, I s'pose. I've already started processing it though, so they'll need to file a formal withdrawal, and they'll probably want to document that it was at the request of another squad, so made sure they attach a Schedule E. That’s ‘E’, like earwax, not ‘D’ like dead dodo."

The ninja slunk off, mumbling "E, not D" to himself.

"Or maybe it was Schedule D,” Renji replied airly, scratching his head. “Or maybe even Schedule C. Who can keep them all straight? Anyhoo, Squad 12 will probably have submitted one of these by the time he gets Kira to back off," he mused, glancing over the form. "Oh, they spelled your name wrong, too, that'll gum things up for sure."

"What does Squad 3 want with me?" Uryuu asked suspiciously, from the other side of the bars.

"Nothin'. I just asked Kira to fill one out. For funsies. You probably owe that guy a drink." Renji thought for a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure he'll be drinking anytime soon. But I bet he's in the market for a real classy lookin' cape, or maybe, like, a caftan? Is that the right word?"

“A flowy garment that a woman of a certain age wears for drinking wine?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Renji nodded. “‘Zactly. Matsumoto has one.”

"Hmmm," Uryuu frowned. “I’ll think about it.” He tried to get back into his book, but after reading the same paragraph three times, he closed it. "There's really no way to communicate with the Royal Realm? I was just wondering when everyone-- I mean, if Inoue and Sado--"

"I absolutely did not say that,” Renji clarified. “I said there's no way t'contact my Captain directly , because that old fogey refuses to carry a spirit phone. If I wanna talk to him, I gotta call Rukia and get her to hand him her phone. What a pain, am I right? Anyway, I talked to 'em all this morning. They'll be back in about two days, maybe sooner."

~ ~ ~

Renji banged his way into the 6th Division front offices. "What is all the commotion up here?" he hollered.

"Renji!" Orihime cried, her voice cracking with relief.

Renji stopped cold. It seemed very weird to see his human friends here, in his office, in the place where he spent most of his time reviewing mission reports and working out tactical exercises with Captain Kuchiki and mainlining too-strong tea in order to stay awake until quitting time. Much weirder than seeing Ishida down in his holding cell.

"That's Assistant Captain Abarai to you, " Third Seat Ohno snapped peevishly.

Renji rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

“We’re here to see Ishida,” Chad demanded. “He’s our friend.”

"This is not the Coordinated Relief Station! We do not have visiting hours !" Ohno went on. He turned to Renji. "These ryouka want to see the prisoner, which, of course, is simply out of the question." As irritating as the guy was, Renji really had to hand it to ol’ Third Seat Ohno. He’d done an absolutely masterful job of gleefully kicking out all the secret police and mad scientists and generalized revenge seekers that had been mobbing the offices for days. The guy did not believe in exceptions. Which meant this was going to require some creativity.

"Yeeeeeahhh," Renji frowned. "We can't just let anyone go down there. Ishida's a dangerous criminal, you know, and a member of a widespread secret alliance and we got procedures to follow, and regulations stating the number of unauthorized personnel allowed in restricted areas…" As soon as he noticed Ohno close his eyes and start to nod along smugly, Renji started pointing to himself and miming punching himself in the face.

Chad might be soft-spoken, but he was not slow on the uptake. He pulled back his fist and slugged Renji in the jaw, at roughly 1/10 of his usual strength.

"That's assault of an officer!" Renji declared, trying to shake off the blow. 1/10 of a Chad punch was still an awful lot of punch. "You're under arrest, I'm throwing you in the brig!"

Orihime was also not slow on the uptake, although she sometimes she got her exits confused and ended up on the wrong uptake. Her fist smashed into Ohno's nose at 100% of her full strength. "You'll never take me alive, coppers!" she yelled.

From the floor, Ohno whimpered.

"I will," Renji corrected her. "I will most definitely take you alive. I will take you down to the brig, where Uryuu is. Because you are also under arrest."

"Oh! Right!" Orihime cheerfully agreed.

"My noooose," wailed Ohno.

An hour later, Orihime and Chad departed Squad 6, released on their own recognizance.

~ ~ ~

"LIEUTENANT ABARAI!"

Renji's disheveled head poked out of Holding Cell B, blinking muzzily. His hair was a rat's nest, his jaw was blue with stubble, and his shihakusho looked distinctly lived in.

Captain Kuchiki swept in on a breeze of cherry blossoms and efficiency. His silks were spotless, his hair perfect. He looked like he had just returned from a relaxing vacation. His sister trailed behind him, a 4’9” echo of his own perfection.

"What have I told you about napping in the holding cells?"

Renji hopped to attention. "Welcome back, sir! And if it's more than three consecutive hours, it's not a nap, it's plain ol' sleepin', sir."

"That's some nonsense, Lieutenant," Lieutenant Kuchiki chided him, making a face that she had clearly appropriated from her elder sibling.

"Welcome back, to you, too, Lieutenant ," Renji replied, unable, or perhaps unwilling to keep the joy off his face at seeing her again.

"Why are you down here?" Byakuya demanded.

"Got a person of interest here, sir, didn't want to leave him unguarded."

Byakuya regarded him with lidded eyes. "Yes, I have already heard quite a bit of angry complaining about your 'person of interest' from multiple other captains."

"It's the paperwork, sir. It's a morass. But I want this done right, I refuse to rush. Crossin' every t, dottin' every i. That's the Squad 6 way, am I right?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. I know what a….stickler you are for these things."

"In fact, sir, I got in a request yesterday that I'd really like some of your expertise in processing. Bit complicated. Political."

Byakuya nodded. "Fine. Meet me upstairs in the office in ten minutes." He glanced sideways at Rukia, who was holding up one finger on her left hand and five on her right and mouthing the word “fifteen” hopefully. A strange, pained look crossed his face, as though he were trying to prevent some glaring new piece of information from actually making its way into his brain. Stubborn obliviousness appeared to win this round. "Make that fifteen minutes." He turned on his heel and glided out.

Rukia scowled at Renji, jerking her thumb toward Uryuu, who did not bother to look up from his book. "You given this idiot what for, yet?"

Renji shrugged. "Not really. I figured he’d get enough grief from everyone else. And he was with us in the end."

"I don't mean that! I mean worrying his friends, the jerk!"

"Rukia," Renji said gently, taking her hand in his. "Is this really how you want to spent the first fifteen minutes you’ve seen me in three days?"

Rukia stiffened, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "Did you tell him that we're…?" she pointed back and forth rapidly between the two of them, and jerked her head to the side twice meaningfully.

"Together?" Renji suggested. "The word is 'together.'"

"He wouldn't shut up about it," Uryuu added. "Congratulations." He turned a page. "Or condolences. One or the other."

Rukia made a face she usually made at Ichigo. "Thanks," she finally sputtered. Then she grabbed a fistful of Renji's kosode, and hauled him into Holding Cell B.

Uryuu turned another page. "Took you long enough."

~ ~ ~

"Glad to see everyone here with so much enthusiasm today," Captain-General Kyouraku said, clapping his hands. "The quicker we get started, the quicker we'll be done! Nanao, do you have my list?"

"There's been a request that item 7 be moved to the top of the agenda," Lieutenant Ise informed him as she passed over a sheet of paper.

His eyes skimmed it. "Well, that seems fine. I've received the approval to name Kuchiki Rukia as Acting Captain of the 13th Division. I know my good friend, Juushirou, had the utmost confidence in her, and I think it's a very appropriate appointment. Are there any objections?"

If there were, no one felt like a big enough jerk to voice them while the Captain-General was getting misty about his fallen companion.

"Wonderful! Congratulations, Kuchiki, please reach out to me if you need any assistance."

"Me," Nanao corrected. "Please reach out to me."

"Thank you, sir!" Rukia barked. "I will do my best!"

"Next...oh, dear. I guess we need to discuss the Ishida boy, who, apparently is in the custody of the Sixth Division?"

Captains Kurotsuchi and Soi Fon both started talking at once, and then Captain Otoribashi started in once someone mentioned Squad 3. Captain Hitsugaya and Acting-Captain Kuchiki both had strong opinions on the matter. Then Captain Hirako started talking because he liked to talk while other people were talking.

"All of this is moot.” The room went quiet. Even though he wasn’t particularly loud, people tended to shut up when Captain Kuchiki bothered to say something. “We have received a request for the prisoner's extradition, on the grounds that he has a right to be tried in his realm of origin, by his own people."

"What?!" Kurotsuchi squawked. "We don't have any diplomatic relations with the Quincy."

"The Quincy of the World of the Living, to be exact. My lieutenant will explain," Byakuya could barely keep the boredom out of his voice. Not that he was trying.

"Uh, technically, we do,” Renji explained. “There's a binding legal entity between Division 13 and all officially appointed shinigami substitutes, of which there is currently one, who happens to be of Quincy heritage and domiciles in the World of the Living."

"Oh, no," Soi Fon groaned.

Renji went on, "And furthermore, there's precedent, namely the previous Captain-General releasing the body of Fullbringer Kuujo Ginjou into Kurosaki Ichigo's custody." Renji blew air out of his cheeks. He hated talking in captains’ meetings.

"So Kurosaki Ichigo has already filed his request?" the Captain-General asked, bumping his hat aside to scratch his head.

"It's already been processed, it just needs my signature," Rukia replied. "Now that I am officially Acting-Captain." She gave a dirty look to the captains of 2 and 12.

"Well, that all seems very neat and tidy," Kyourakou congratulated, amid the groans of his captains. "Great job, everyone. Thanks for taking care of that. Uh....this was the Quincy that was on our side, right? The nice boy with the glasses?"

~ ~ ~

“I should thank you,” Uryuu said quietly, as Renji led him through the shattered streets of the Seireitei.

“Eh, you woulda done the same for me.”

Uryuu was very quiet.

Renji looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye. “Look, man. Every time we go anywhere, you say you aren’t gonna help and you hate shinigami and we ain’t your friends, and the rest of us have learned to ignore you, because you always turn up when the shit hits.” He palmed Uryuu’s head and shook it playfully a few times. “You should learn to ignore you, too. I tell ya, you woulda done the same for me.”

Uryuu snorted. “Still. Thanks.” He gave a small smile. “I liked your book, by the way. Is there any way to get books back and forth from the World of the Living? I think I have one you might like.”

“Oh yeah?” Renji asked, raising an eyebrow. “Talk to Yadamarou. I’ll give it a shot.”

Everyone was waiting in a neat line at the Senkaimon, when they crested the hill.

"Ya did it," Ichigo hollered on behalf of everyone. "You got yourself kicked outta Soul Society, just like you always wanted."

“Well,” Renji said, "I guess this is it for us." Then he twisted Uryuu into a headlock, and proceeded to noogie him to within an inch of his life. Everyone else watched, solemnly, while Uryuu squirmed and yelped. Finally, Renji let him free. "I release him into your custody, Acting-Captain Kuchiki."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Abarai." Rukia turned to her young friend, who was gripping his scalp and cowering. "I do not envy you. His knuckles are like friggin' boulders."

"Diamonds," Uryuu whimpered.

Then Rukia grabbed Ishida’s ear and twisted.

"Owowoeewoow!"

She hauled him a few yards away from the group, and pulled his ear down to the level of his mouth. "Listen up, nerd. I am not planning some Kuchiki-ass, high society wedding without your help, you buttface. You have until that dummy over there decides to propose in order to get back in the good graces of the Gotei-13, you hear me?"

Uryuu tried to escape her iron grip and failed. "That could be the rest of my natural lifetime."

"It could be,” she agreed. “Or it could be tomorrow . You know how he is. So get on it."

It struck Ishida that he did know how Abarai was. And Kuchiki, as well. How had this happened? He blamed Kurosaki. He huffed. “Can’t you just go down to City Hall or whatever?”

Rukia looked hurt. “I didn’t say I didn’t want a fancy wedding. I just said I wanted you to help me with it. And y’know. Be there.”

“Oh,” Uryuu replied. “Oh. I”ll, uh...I’ll do my best.”

Rukia smiled. “Thanks.” She dragged him back over to the others and shoved him in the general direction of Ichigo. "Here you go, Substitute Shinigami and Quincy Cultural Attache, he's your problem now."

"Thank you, Shorty McCaptainface," Ichigo proclaimed formally. "Ishida Uryuu, you have been tried by a jury of your peers (that’s us), and been found guilty of being a crummy friend. You have been sentenced to the following: You will come to the next three movie nights, even if it's Keigo's turn to pick the movie, and you will bring those weird little pink French cookies you made that one time!"

"They were macarons."

"You will answer your texts within 2 business days, even if it's just a smiley face!"

"You're the one who doesn't answer his texts for weeks on end."

"You will let us wear your cape for five minutes each while we make fun of you!"

Uryuu sighed.

"And you will promise to trust us and let us help you and not join our enemies in order to betray them without telling us first, you got it?!"

Uryuu sighed louder. "I promise."

"And!" Orihime added, "you will bring it in for a group hug!"

This had presumably been planned, because the three humans immediately tackled their friend in what looked like a well-practiced maneuver, with Orihime coming in from the back, Ichigo from the front, and Chad coming in last, enclosing everyone with his huge wingspan. Uryuu exhaled one final sigh of long-sufferance, the lament of a man cursed with excellent friends.

"Shinigami are not excused from this!" Chad rumbled, and suddenly, Rukia had wormed her way into the middle , and Renji piled in opposite Chad.

"I promise I will be better," Uryuu from somewhere in the middle of all this.

"See that you do!" Ichigo shouted. "Also, I think you owe Renji, like, ten million yen in legal fees."

“I accept payment in little pink cookies!”

~ end

End note: While I was writing the group hug, I realized that I was just describing one of my all-time favorite pieces of fanart, by the very talented @chameshida I hope this fic has managed to capture a tiny fraction of that energy.

#bleach fanfiction #uryuu ishida #renji abarai #renji uryuu brotp #the rest of the nakama are here too #my fanfic #jail friends #abarai renji ace attorney

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pixie-mage · 6 years

Text

#SamLives - Pt.11

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Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

[This story has been edited and reposted on the official #SamLives Tumblr. The new post of Chapter 11 can be found here.]

(There is a big difference between the phone calls in this version and the updated version of Chapter 11. This version features Signe; the updated version features Robin.)

Jack hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he and Mark were planning on doing some collabs. In the few days that followed the initial video, they recorded a good nine or ten videos worth of content each, most of it consisting of two-player games. (Being able to record one session for two channels had its perks.) Jack still hadn’t gotten over his wariness of technology in that time. He had to steel his nerves before starting every session, had to take a breath before hitting ‘record’. He found himself frequently checking his facecam on the monitor to make sure nobody was in the background, and every flicker, every stutter, every lag in whatever game he was playing made his hands tense and his breath hitch.

Today was no different. After spending a good five minutes mentally convincing himself that his computer mouse wasn’t about to come to life and strangle him, he and Mark dove head-first into a new game of “Sea of Thieves”. It was just the two of them this time, with no time to schedule a play time with Bob or Wade or Ethan. At the moment, Jack was trying to fend off skeletal attackers while his friend dug up the buried treasure.

“Shit! Fuck! Fuckin’ bastards!” He took another swipe at the nearest skeleton, cutting it down. Another attacker was quick to take its place. “Hah! That’ll teach ye not to mess wit’ ol’ Jackaboy.”

He pulled out a blunderbuss and took two shots straight through the newcomer’s chest.

“DIE BITCHES! How’s that chest comin’, Markerino?”

Mark, who Jack now realized had been oddly quiet the past few minutes, let out only a distracted hum in response. Jack turned his avatar to look at Mark’s rather voluptuous character, only to find him standing still over the half-buried treasure chest. Jack chuckled, a little bewildered.

“Mark? Th’ fuck are you doin’?” he took a shot at another skeleton. “Are ye just waiting for it to unbury itself or–”

Thwack!

The familiar-yet-unexpected sound made Jack jump, his heart pounding in his chest as he whipped his head around to stare at Mark. The other YouTuber had turned his seat away from the desk, NERF gun in hand, aiming at the closed door with narrowed, focussed eyes.

What the fucking–

Jack swallowed thickly and took a slow breath, his panic ebbing away to make room for amused irritation. He swiped a small crocheted Sam from his desk and chucked it at the side of Mark’s head.

“Hey! What–?!”

“Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that, shithead!” Jack shoved Mark’s shoulder playfully. “What th’ hell was that for?”

“Target practice.”

Mark’s grin was cheeky and a little mocking.

Jack blinked at him, slowly, fixing him with a look that clearly said ‘Are you fucking kidding me right now?’ He snatched the NERF gun from Mark’s hand with a barely-restrained chuckle and brandished it in the other’s face. Mark took a swipe at it, pouting and trying to take back his toy.

“Hey!”

It turned into a game of Keep Away, with Jack holding the NERF gun high above his head and Mark practically falling out of his chair and climbing over Jack in his attempt to reach it.

“I’ll use you fer target practice if you don’t–”

“Jack! Give that back, you asshole!"

“–get your head back in the game!” Jack suddenly whipped the NERF gun back at Mark, who fumbled to catch it. “I’m dyin’ here!”

Mark clutched the gun tightly to his chest and retreated to the safety of his seat, pouting and hugging the toy as though Jack might attempt to steal it from him again. He stuck his tongue out childishly before turning back to his screen - and he stifled a laugh.

“Uh…” He carefully set his precious plastic weapon on the desk, out of Jack’s reach. “Not to alarm you, but I think we’re already dead.”

Jack’s focus snapped to his own screen, and sure enough, both he and Mark were now standing on the deck of a ghost ship, waiting their turn to return to the land of the living. He threw his hands in the air and flopped backwards in his chair.

“Fuckin’ DAMMIT all!” He sank in his seat with a groan, Mark’s deep giggles permeating the air around them both. “I blame you entirely for that.”

“Yeah...heh...yeah, that’s...that’s on me. Sorry, man…” Mark still hadn’t stopped giggling, his mood far too bright to be dimmed by a death in the game.

“I’m makin’ sure everyone knows it’s your fault,” Jack bemoaned from his slouched position. “I’m gonna make you buy me a fancy-ass tombstone, an’ put one o’ those shitty rhyming couplets on it…”

He held his hands out in front of him, pretending to frame the words.

“Here lies Jack Just blame his friend Whose NERF dart brought Their bitter end.”

Mark’s only response was a slow golf clap while he pretended to be tearing up.

“Beautiful,” he told Jack, voice laced with false emotion. “Absolutely beautiful. You should’ve become a poet instead of a YouTuber. Clearly you were meant for greater things than video game commentary.”

Jack almost fell out of his chair in his attempt to chuck another Sam plush at Mark’s head.

“D’you think that cop really believed that nothing was wrong?” Jack asked Mark with a mutter later that evening.

Mark had already sent the day’s raw videos from both him and Jack to Robin, and Robin was planning on doing a little bit of content cutting before passing them along to Kathryn. There were certain things that had to be cut out from their recordings that really, really didn’t need to be shared with anyone beyond their immediate group. Not yet.

“The guy from the other day?” Mark asked, looking up from his phone. “I dunno. I mean I don’t think he believed all the anonymous tips, anyway. He was trying not to crack a smile the whole time he was explaining stuff to us.”

Apparently, some of Jack’s fans had taken Anti’s appearance on the stream at face value. They had believed (rightfully so) that it was real, and when Jack went silent on all forms of social media for more than twenty-four hours after it had happened, people had started to panic. While nobody knew for sure where Jack and Signe lived, the local police station in Brighton had gotten call after call after call from concerned teens and young adults who all claimed that a YouTuber named Sean McLoughlin had almost been killed on a livestream. If it hadn’t been for the sheer number of phone calls and the video proof that looked almost too real to have been edited, Jack was sure the police would have ignored it.

But two days ago - three days after the stream itself - a police officer had come knocking on the apartment door asking if a Sean McLoughlin or a Jacksepticeye lived there.

After explaining - through stifled grinning and amused chuckles - that a lot of fans thought he had been hurt, Mark and Jack had tried to awkwardly laugh it off and explain that, no, it was just a video, and nobody had actually gotten hurt.

(Jack was wearing makeup on his neck again for recording, thank god, otherwise the bruises might have brought on some unwanted questions. As it was...)

“I dunno man.” Jack sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face, sinking back on the couch. “I swear he kept lookin’ at my neck. I’m sure he watched the video for th’ sake of the calls. Probably checkin’ to see if I really got strangled.”

“Ah, quit worrying. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Mark scrolled through Twitter again, reading a few more tweets before, “...and we’re sure we don’t want to get the police involved?”

Jack leveled him with a blank stare.

“Do you honestly think the police are gonna know how to deal wit’ a computer virus of a demon that came to life from my YouTube channel? I mean WE barely know what we’re doing and we’re fully invested in the lore of it all!”

Mark stifled a laugh.

“Okay, yeah good point,” he admitted. He shook his head, eyes falling back to his phone gain. “Fully invested in the lore...god, we sound like we’re trying to solve Five Nights At Freddy’s conspiracies. That’s how complicated this whole mess has become. Frankly, if anyone overheard what we were talking about in the cafe that first day I showed up, they’d probably think–”

Jack jolted upright in his seat, eyes wide and expression one of stunned realization.

“Holy shit.” He grabbed Mark’s arm and shook him a little, his movements suddenly intense and a brilliant grin splitting his face in two. “Holy shit!”

“Holy shit what?” Mark gripped his phone a little tighter so it wouldn’t go flying out of his hands from Jack’s enthusiasm.

“Mark, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

“Well - I mean, yeah, I thought we established that, but what the hell did I say?!”

Mark was rightfully very bewildered by his friend’s sudden change of mood. He gave Jack a quick once-over with his eyebrows raised, wondering if he should be concerned.

“Five Nights at Freddy’s!” Jack exclaimed. He looked far too excited and far too proud of himself for his own good.

“...Five Nights at–”

“Dude! Don’t you get it?” Jack leapt up off the couch, pacing, and Sam - who had been dozing in Jack’s hoodie pocket - poked his ‘face’ out with a sleepy blink, wondering what all the commotion was about. “This whole thing is too fuckin’ complicated right now, right? We don’t know what exactly Anti is, or how to stop him from comin’ back. He’s solid but he’s not. He’s made of glitches but - who the hell even knows what that means.”

“Okay…?” Mark just watched the Irishman pace the room, his phone long forgotten in his lap. “Where are you going with this?”

“Anti doesn’t make sense!” Jack was grinning like an idiot. He stopped in his tracks to turn and face Mark. “We know why he’s here but that only gets us so far! We need somebody who’s used to picking apart ridiculous bullshit to find the real answers, somebody who already kinda knows what’s going on.”

“Jack, you’ve lost me,” Mark said flatly. “Who are you talking about, Signe? Amy?”

“No!” Jack was talking with his hands, talking with his entire body, like he couldn’t contain all the energy that had built up inside him. “Five Nights at Freddy’s. Crazy timeline. Bullshit lore. There’s only one person I know who was able to tear that shit to pieces and make sense out of it.”

And then it hit Mark like a load of bricks, and he was on his feet too, his exclamation coming out as a loud and incredulous question in the same moment that Jack was busting out the same words.

“MatPat?!”

“MatPat!”

“Waitwaitwait, hold on–” Mark was trying to sort out his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose while he watched Jack rush around in a frantic search for his cell phone. Mark didn’t have it right now and Jack couldn’t quite remember where it had ended up. “What the hell do you mean Matt already knows what’s going on?”

“Well, okay, he doesn’t know about Anti,” Jack admitted, his ass in the air while he leaned over the armchair in the corner to see if his phone was plugged in back there. “He knows about Sam though.”

“He knows about Sam?!” Mark’s jaw dropped.

At this point, Sam had abandoned Jack’s pocket to hover a few steps behind the Irishman, watching him with quiet curiosity. At Mark’s question, Sam let out a happy little squeak and nodded, twirling through the air a little.

“Did you tell him before you told me?” Before Jack could even answer, Mark had continued: “But he posted a video like two weeks ago about how Sam couldn’t possibly exist!”

“Well, duh, he posted that because he knows about Sam,” Jack rolled his eyes and shoved away from the armchair, detouring to the kitchen. He spoke up to be heard across the apartment. “He was tryin’ to throw people off. And I didn’t tell him about Sam.” Jack returned to the living room, cell phone in hand and a sheepish smile on his face. “He...er...kinda found out on his own.”

“How?”

“Tacos and Rachel Ray.”

Mark didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“Look…” Jack huffed and came back over to Mark, sitting on the edge of the coffee table while his friend sank slowly back onto the couch. Sam settled onto his shoulder and nuzzled up against Jack’s cheek with a quiet purr. “Sam was sick, so I brought him with me for the taco-making contest. Matt was on my team. He bumped into me, I tripped, Sam almost fell out of my hood, and Matt saw him.”

“And he didn’t freak out?”

Jack’s lips twitched into a wry smile and he looked up from his phone.

“Oh, he freaked out, but not until later.”

“Let me get this straight.” Mark watched Jack carefully as he spoke. Jack nodded and went back to shakily tapping out a message to Matt. “Just so we’re both on the same page. Sam exists, clearly. Anti exists. You, me, Signe, Robin, and Matt know about Sam. You, me, and Robin know about Anti.”

“And Signe, sort of.”

“And Signe,” Mark agreed. “And Amy too, come to think of it. Is there anybody else who knows anything else, just in case we need to recruit people for a battle of the digital age?”

“Nope, nobody else,” Jack shook his head. He paused and looked thoughtful, setting his phone aside (looking relieved to get the thing out of his hands) and tapping his chin. “...though I probably should bring up that Anti mentioned being late for a date or something last time? What was the name...something...something Warfstache…?”

Mark looked like he might explode

“WHAT?!”

“Oh my god!” Jack cackled, doubling over with laughter and trying not to slip off the edge of the coffee table he was sitting on. “Oh my fucking god your face! That was PRICELESS! You fuckin’ - Haha! - f-fuckin’ believed–” He could barely breathe he was laughing so hard, his laughter sounding a little wheezy.

Mark groaned and flopped backward across the couch, a low, pained chuckled escaping him.

”Oh, you absolutely piece of shit. Fuck you.”

“Y-Yeah, I - heh - I probably...haha...deserve that one…” Jack was grinning, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam had bounced over to Mark to make sure he was okay and was now nestled on the American’s chest, Tim’s curious little eyes watching from the arm of the couch not even a foot away. The little box tumbled forward and landed right next to Mark’s head, patting his cheek softly in what Jack assumed was a comforting motion. Another low, rumbling laugh bubbled up from Mark’s chest.

“But no, to answer your question,” Jack continued once he could breathe again. “I think that’s everyone.”

“Good. Great. Excellent.”

Mark was absolutely done. Just...done.

“Ah, lighten up, Markimoo,” Jack snickered. “Consider it payback fer that NERF scare.”

“Considering that you were implying that Warfstache is alive too, and that he and your evil twin are getting it on–”

“Hey! I only said they went on a date!”

“–I’d say we’re far from even right now.”

“Oh, fuck off! That’s totally even!”

“And what if I tricked you into thinking your Dr. Schneep guy was alive and I caught him flirting with Dr. Iplier?”

“Oh, dude, no,” Jack groaned, laughing through it. “Nooo...I mean, yeah, Henrik totally would. He’d flirt with anything that moved. But hell no.”

“See my point?”

The living room was silent for a long moment, save for the little questioning squeaks Sam was making from his position on Mark’s chest. Then Mark heard the buzzing clatter of plastic against the coffee table. Jack’s phone was ringing, but on silent. Mark cracked open one eye to glance at Jack, who suddenly looked a lot more tense than he had a moment before.

“...you good, Jack?” he murmured, watching the other YouTuber. Jack nodded stiffly, looking a little pale. “Is it MatPat? He calling back already?”

Jack swallowed thickly.

“It’s...Signe.”

“Answer it,” Mark encouraged him evenly. “Go ahead. We’re all in the room with you, it’ll be fine.”

Jack nodded, the motion a little jerky, and he reached over to press the ‘Answer’ button. He quickly put it on speaker and withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned. The phone stayed sitting on the table.

“Sean?”

“Hey Signe,” Jack murmured.

Mark could see some of the tension melt out of the Irishman’s shoulders when he heard her voice, saw the way his lips quirked into a smile at the corners and the way his eyes softened in the moment.

“Hi! I just wanted to check in,” Signe continued, a smile in her voice. “How’s everything going? How’s Sam?”

“Sam’s great!” Jack’s grin became more genuine, and he giggled when Sam bounced over to sit beside the phone. He was wiggling on the spot in excitement. “He and Tim are gettin’ along famously. He’s been so damn happy, Wiish, I can’t wait for you to see ‘em together.”

“You can thank me later,” Mark chimed in with a smirk.

“Is that Mark?” Signe asked. “Am I on speaker?”

“Oh! Yeah, you are. Sorry. Shoulda said.” Jack chuckled softly.

“No, it’s fine!” Signe giggled, the sound melodic even through a phone speaker. “Hi Mark!”

“Hi Signe!”

“How are you doing though, Sean?” Signe’s tone had turned concerned, softer than before. “You still haven’t told me what’s going on with the whole Antisepticeye thing.”

Jack stiffened. He could feel Mark’s eyes on him, his look a knowing one. It had been five whole days since he’d talked to Signe at the cafe, and while they had texted back and forth every day since (in very brief interludes, as there were still moments Jack couldn’t even look at his own TV for fear of Anti jumping out of the dimmed pixels, let alone carry his phone in his pocket all day), not once had Jack brought up the livestream. Any time she asked about it he evaded her questions and promised to explain soon and made her promise to please don’t watch the livestream, I’ll tell you when you get home, please wait until then. So far, Signe had done as he’d asked, but he could tell she was growing concerned.

“Eh…” Jack cleared his throat and shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “I’m fine. A little worn out, but Mark an’ I have been really goin’ hard, knockin’ out tons of videos now so we can get some free time to hang out later…”

“Sean.”

And there it was, the gentle scolding of her Mama Signe voice. How she managed to make Jack feel like a misbehaving child every time she used it was a mystery to him...but it worked. Every damn time. He sighed and let out a quiet groan.

“I’ll tell you soon, I promise,” he whimpered. “I promise I will, it’s - it’s just - I can’t–” He dragged a hand through his hair, and his gaze landed on Mark. The other YouTuber had sat up in the past few minutes and was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his expression a searching one. He quirked an eyebrow at the Irishman.

“One second, Wiishu,” he said softly, reaching over to tap the ‘mute’ button on Jack’s phone. He watched his friend for a long moment before speaking. “Jack...I’m not gonna push you to tell her, but - oh my god, man. It’s almost been a whole week. The longer you wait, the more likely it’ll be for her to figure it out on her own. She already told you yesterday, people have been sending her tons of tweets and tumblr messages asking about you. Didn’t she ask you why they wanted know if you’re dead or not?”

Jack nodded stiffly, wincing.

“I told you I’d help you tell her the truth.” Mark smiled reassuringly. “I meant that, okay? And - hell, I can get Amy on the line, and we can have a big ol’ Double Date Egos Theory Skype Call.”

Jack snorted out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in amusement. Double date…

“Only you would see it as a date opportunity, Mark.”

“What can I say?” Mark grinned cheekily and winked. “I’m a hopeless romantic.” His grin faded back to a soft, understanding smile and he tried to catch Jack’s eye. “Waddaya say? You up for it?”

“...I eh…” Jack stared at his hands, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt while he thought.

Was he ready to tell Signe yet? Would she even believe him? Would she freak out, or take it all in stride? He didn’t want to worry her and didn’t want to put her in danger. He had known that, once she was home, he would have no choice but to tell her - so that had been his plan. To tell her when she got home, and let her enjoy her time with her family free of any of Jack’s current stresses. Once she was back in Brighton they could clear the air and talk about how to move forward.

But Mark was right too. The longer he waited, the worse it could get.

Jack sighed heavily. His hand was shaking when he reached for his phone, but he still pressed the ‘mute’ button to let Signe hear them again.

“Hey Wiish,” he mumbled, to let her know he was back. “You there?”

“Still here, Sean.” The usual sweet lilt was in her voice, her tone smiling and her words kind.

It helped Jack with what he knew he had to do next.

“I...eh. D’you mind waitin’ a few minutes?” he asked, wringing his hands in his lap. “Mark’s gonna get Amy on a Skype call wit’ us, an’ we can all talk face-to-face, and I’ll...I’ll fill you in on what’s been, er, happenin’ in my part of the world.”

“Really?” Signe asked, sounding surprised. “You’re actually going to tell me this time?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I am.” Jack took a breath. His nervousness was clear with every word that left his mouth. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Wait!”

Mark’s outburst made Jack jump and his head shot up.

“What–”

“My smoothie! I totally forgot my smoothie!”

Jack stared, and he heard Signe giggling on the other end of the call.

“Your smoothie,” he repeated, his lips twitching into some semblance of a smile. “You mean the one from after dinner? From, like, two hours ago?”

“Yes, from after dinner!” Mark rocketed off the couch, skirting the coffee table and grabbing his rental car keys as he went to the door. “It’s still in the car. This is super serious.”

“Super serious?” Jack repeated. He watched Tim bounce off the couch and hop curiously around the room in pursuit of Mark, doing his best to keep up. “More serious than Serious Shit?”

“YES! MORE SERIOUS THAN THAT!” Mark, who almost stepped on Tim in his haste to get to the door, let out a rather undignified squeak and immediately crouched to the ground beside the tiny box. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? C’mere, my little biscuit, let’s get you off the floor. I would neeeever want you to get hurt, I would neeeever step on you…”

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re such a mom.”

“What? It’s not like you’re not the same way with Sam!”

At this, Jack chucked a pillow from the couch across the room, hitting Mark in the legs to avoid hitting Tim.

“Go get your fuckin’ smoothie!”

“Fine! I will!”

Mark flipped him off and pretended to storm out of the apartment, putting Tim on his shoulder and “slamming” the door shut (only to stop it at the last second to close it with a quiet click.) Jack shook his head with a smile. Only Mark.

“Hey...Sean?”

“Hm?” Jack returned his attention to his phone, still sitting beside him on the coffee table. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask...you said Anti is real, right?”

“Yeah…” His answer was a tense one, his hands coming up to fiddle with the strings of his hoodie.

“Did…” Signe’s voice trailed off, and there was static in the speaker, like she had taken a breath. “Did he hurt you, on the stream?”

Jack swallowed thickly. He was suddenly very aware of the sore bruises on his throat, and he felt rather than saw Sam land lightly on his shoulder.

“What...eh…” He cleared his throat, and Sam nuzzled up against his jaw, little waves of reassurance and worry filtering into the back of his mind. “...w-what makes ye ask that?”

“I told you I was getting messages and asks,” she told him. He could hear footsteps in the background, movement. Like she was pacing. “And I turned them off for now, because I was going to wait until you told me what was going on. And I know you’re going to! But...I’ve been tagged in a few things too. I saw some gifs of you and Anti–”

Jack closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tightly. Oh. Hands shaking, Jack picked his phone up off the coffee table and took the call off speaker, holding the mobile to his ear and getting to his feet.

“Holdin’ me up against the...eh...th’ wall?” he asked hoarsely. His movements were stiff, his footing a little unsteady as he crossed the room to pick up the pillow he’d thrown at Mark. He squeezed the edge of it tightly in his hand, lingering there by the door.

“...yeah.” Signe took another deep breath on the other end of the line, and when she spoke again her voice was shaking. “He – Sean, he was hurting you. That...th-that was real, wasn’t it? It wasn’t Robin’s editing?”

Jack’s chest felt tight, his throat constricting from both the memory and his own emotions. He took a shaking breath and dropped the pillow into the armchair closest to him, his free hand coming up to rest against his opposite shoulder. By Sam. Sam’s tail trailed down and brushed against his fingers, helping to soothe some of the uneasiness that had begun to build inside him.

“N-No, that...that was. Um.” Real. It was real. He blinked rapidly and his grip tightened on his phone. “It really happened.”

Signe gasped sharply from the other end of the line.

“Oh, god, Sean–”

But whatever Signe had been about to say, Jack never found out, because the call was suddenly filled with static and audio distortion, Signe’s words lost in a mass of broken sound that had Jack freezing where he stood.

“...Signe?” he whispered, eyes widening. “Signe...Wiish...I need to go. Okay? I can’t...I can’t hear you, but I th-think–”

The call dropped before Jack even hit the end button, the cell phone slipping from his hand and tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump against the carpet.

There was a static in the air, a crackle, an energy to it that made the hair on the back of Jack's neck stand on end. His breath hitched. The hand that still lingered near his shoulder tensed, and he could feel Sam curl closer to his neck.

"I'm not the only one feelin' that, yeah?" Jack breathed, his eyes darting around his apartment and landing on nothing. He took an involuntary step back toward the door.

"Nuh-uh. I feel it too..." Sam's worried voice floated across the back of his mind. Jack nodded. Alright. So he wasn't crazy.

A lamp across the room sparked and popped, the bulb blowing out suddenly, and even as small of an occurrence as that was it made Jack jump. The room was plunged into darkness. Wide blue eyes latched onto the deadened lamp. "W-What the hell is going on...?" His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

But the question he asked was one he was almost certain he knew the answer to. This static, this...tension. Electricity. He knew this feeling. It was one he was far too familiar with, one that he had experienced before.

Anti.

The room had felt much the same as this when Anti had appeared during his stream last time, when he had pinned Jack to the wall by his throat and toyed with him in front of an audience, had left him scared and shaking in a way he never expected he'd have to feel in his life. Until then he hadn't been sure if Anti was real. But now? Now there was no denying it. So the feeling in the air, the tension, the spark? It flooded him with a very real and tangible fear that wasn't without reason.

"Ďid̎ ÿo̊u m̰i͋šs̶ m̰ē?"

A voice, so close, a cold breath against his ear. Jack cried out and flung himself away from the sound, knees hitting carpet as he hurried away from his own front door now, scrambled across the living room with desperate movements, one hand clamped over Sam so he wouldn’t lose him. There, by the door, his smile just as sharp and as wicked as Jack remembered, was the glitch himself. His image crackled and distorted for a moment - Jack could see the pixels separating as he stood there - and a moment later he had flickered forward, appearing a few steps closer.

Shit...shit, shit, shit...he had half a mind to scream, to call for Mark, but at this point Mark had probably already made it down to his car and wouldn't hear anything. All he could hope for now was that he could stall long enough for his friend to make it back inside. Two on one were better odds in this situation.

"I̥ d̠on̪'t e͊v͐enͥ g̴ét a h̒e͊llo̖, J̠åc̮k̾a͈b͗ö́y?"

“Go away!”

Jack’s eyes widened and he went stiff, panic doubling. Sam had wriggled free from his spot on Jack’s shoulder and he was hovering in mid-air between the two men in the room, planting himself boldly before Anti as though he was planning on defending Jack himself.

“Sam, don’t–”

“Leave him alone, you meanie!” Sam sounded so brave, so determined, so…so angry for such a small little being. “You hurt Jack, and you made him sad, and - and–” Sam wriggled in the air and tried to make himself look intimidating. “–and I’m not gonna let you hurt him again!”

Contrary to what Jack was sure Sam had wanted, Anti didn’t look scared at all. In fact, he smiled...a gleeful smile that had Jack dreading whatever was about to happen.

“W̠e͆ll, a̒re̮n't y͞oṳ a̸ b̸ra̢v̜e lĭt͉tle t̹oa̤s̈t̤èr̔?” Anti crooned, his head tilting far to the side in a way that was eerily non-human. He held out a hand, palm-up, and the air above it distorted and warped impossibly. A worn, dark jewelry box appeared there in a flurry of pixels, its lid popped open to reveal the empty space within. “Sȯr̬r̗y t̸o b̓ur̢s̈ţ ŷou̬r͊ b᷆u̫b᷇b̍l͑ě, S̕a̺m̮my̳, b̝u᷈t...yo̔u'rē no̸t̹ ne͑e̓d̐ed f̔o͍r̈ toñḯgh̠t̡'s ća̧s̱t̎ o̱f͗ c̟har̐a͐ct̊e͓r̊s͊.”

Quicker than Jack could react, Anti glitched, vanished, and reappeared inches from Sam with the jewelry box held out before him. With one swooping motion, Anti had flicked Sam into the box, snapped the lid shut, locked it with a key and tossed the box over his shoulder to land neatly on the armchair in the corner.

“NO!” Jack sprang forward without thinking, arm outstretched as though to reach the box–

“D̹ǐd̵ I̽ s͌a̝y y̪o͚u͘ c̡o̾u͎l̦d͗ m̐o͋v̫e͕?”

Before Jack could register the giggling words, he found himself tripping head-over-heels, colliding soundly with the front of the cabinet his television rested on. A jolt of pain pulsed through his shoulder and he cried out, biting his lip, biting his tongue. Desperate fingers clutched at his aching shoulder and he gritted his teeth.

“What the fuck do you want?!” he bit out, panting and tense as he watched Anti slowly stalk toward him across the room. “You here to...to k-kill me? Hurt me? S...Strangle me again?”

“Wh͔a̠ţ d᷁ō ÿ́o̊u̖ t͔ak̓e m̉e̥ f̓or̓, a᷇ s᷀a͂di͉s͟t͊?” Anti scoffed incredulously.

Jack blinked at him, a sassy retort on his lips before he could stop himself.

“What, you - ngh - aren’t one? Could’ve f-fooled me...”

“I'̗m̺ m̛or̬e̍ ǫf a m̭a͒s᷅ochi͙s̜t̕,̘ r͖ea̪l͟l̓y,͏” Anti shrugged. Jack was surprised that Anti had even bothered to answer the question at all. “Bu͂t̢ bo͑t͐h̬ a᷊r̛e͞ p̭r̂ett͒y̎ a͘c̬c᷅u͑ra̻t̎e̍.”

Great. Good to know. Wonderful.

“N̚o̫, i͓t̋'s no͙t̘h̺i̝n᷆g s͕o̻ s͑i̔m͕pl̖e̍ as a̖l̥l̆ t᷁h̄a̓t,” Anti smirked, waving the thought away with one hand.

The air around his palm distorted and glitched, and a shining blade appeared in his hand on the way down.

Oh, fuck.

Anti was a few steps away now, and Jack scrambled backward across the floor, trying to get as much distance between himself and the glitch as possible...but he was cornered, pinned between the side of the TV cabinet and the wall, blocked in with no way out. It was starting to become a struggle to keep his breathing steady, his heart hammering away a tarantella against his ribs, his throat coarse and tight from tension.

The burst bulb from earlier had thrown the room into near-darkness, but what moonlight was coming through the living room window reflected off the sharpened blade in Anti’s hand, the light bouncing off into Jack’s eyes as the glitch knelt in front of him - close, too close - his eyes beginning to swirl with an inky blackness that Jack never wanted to see this close again.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the blade, wide as saucers, and his breath hitched when he saw it inching closer and closer to his face. The touch of cool metal against his cheek made him tense and he clenched his jaw with a gulp. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t painful. Anti was dragging the flat side of the knife along his jawline, and Jack could hear the sound of its edge scraping against the coarse facial hair there.

“No̫…” Anti shook his head, and the sharp grin widened wickedly, appearing to split his face in two. “No, I ẖa͗v̶e m̪ůch...͛mùch᷆ b᷆i͈g͗g᷄er p̓lan̶s᷉ foͥr᷆ yõu͕, Jaͅc̻k.”

Mark was humming to himself as he made his way down to the rental car, the keys jingling in his hand. Tim sat perched on his shoulder, one tiny hand clutching the collar of Mark’s shirt, and he was trying to hum along to whatever song Mark had stuck in his head right now.

It wasn’t his fault Katy Perry’s music was so catchy.

By the time he unlocked and opened the driver’s side door, he was well into the chorus, mumbling the words in an undertone to himself and for Tim’s entertainment.

“California girls, we're undeniable! Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock~” Tim was giggling, and the sound brought a warm smile to Mark’s face. He shifted into the driver’s seat so he could reach his smoothie easier, but not before belting out the next few lyrics at the top of his lungs.

“West coast represent, now put your hands up!”

He did so, dancing in his seat, grinning and playing it up for his little biscuit’s benefit.

“Ooh, oh, ooh! Ooh…”

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, something red...or was it blue?...and he trailed off, a crease forming in his brow. Tim was still giggling softly. Had he been seeing things? With a soft chuckle, he reached over and plucked his half-finished smoothie from the cupholder, still somewhat chilled from the cool weather of the evening.

Yeah, it was probably nothing. The whole Antisepticeye thing had been keeping him on edge since he’d arrived here in England. He pushed himself out of his seat and shut the door behind him. But when he turned to head back inside, something in the reflection in the car’s window caught his attention.

Mark dropped his smoothie.

A quiet thumping rose up across the living room, a rattling that caught Jack’s attention as well as Anti’s.

Sam. Sam was trying to get out.

Anti looked away from his victim for a moment, only for a moment, some space coming between Jack’s cheek and the metal of Anti’s blade.

A moment was all he needed.

Jack lashed out with a fist and a knee, landing a punch square across the glitch’s face and driving a knee up into his gut. Anti tumbled away from him, distorting and flickering, a static-fused snarl of pain and annoyance bubbling up from his prone form. Jack shoved himself to his feet, leaping over Anti and heading for the front door. He had to get out, had to leave, had to get Sam and go–

“I d͓O̬n͈’Ṭ t̉H͠iN̼ḱ sͅO͊!”

Static, feedback, a crackle in the air, and Anti was in front of him again, seething with fury, blocking his exit. Jack was running on pure adrenaline now, veering left and heading down the hall toward the bedrooms. The bathroom. Recording room. Anything.

“y̜O̰u̯’̒R̡e̿ N̈o̽T͔ g̓O̩i᷈N̸g̽ Ản̉Y͋w̳H̤e̦R̸ë́!̉”

There he was again, cutting him off, keeping him trapped in the same room. Shit...fuck…

Mark. Mark was downstairs. He just - he needed to stall, to wait it out until Mark came back with his stupid smoothie. He could make it that long.

Jack did a one-eighty and darted back down the hallway, the rug slipping beneath his feet and making him stumble. He caught himself on the wall and kept going, kept dodging. He could do this. Distract him. Hold him off. Something. Anything.

Green.

...green?

Something green, in the corner of his eye. Green and orange.

Jack risked turning his head, risked a glance, and he caught sight of the NERF gun - Chase’s NERF gun - sitting on the kitchen table. Mark had been playing with the damned thing for days, and for the first time since it had resurfaced Jack was unendingly grateful that Mark had found it again. He made a detour through the kitchen, snatching it up and shoving the ziplock of foam discs into his hoodie pocket.

Disc. Pull back. Load. Click. Wait for it. Be ready.

Jack circled his way back into the living room, Anti’s laughter echoing through the apartment, and he dove behind the coffee table with his plastic weaponed primed. He was ready.

He was terrified.

Jack would be an idiot if he pretended that this entire situation wasn’t scaring him within an inch of his life. He knew - he was trying not to think - that he could die at any second tonight, and that the pixelated parasite hunting him down in his own apartment was far too strong of an opponent for him to handle, with or without Sam. With Mark, maybe he had a chance, but even those odds were slim. If he didn’t die tonight, or if he didn’t at least get stabbed, he was going to drink until morning then invite every single one of his friends over to England to have the party of a fucking lifetime.

“O͗h͢,᷄ Jȁa͚a̕a̓a̻c̈́k̘~” Anti’s distorted, chilling voice echoed through the room and sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. “W͘h̅e͔re a᷇r̰e̶ y̑ou͏ hid͛ǐnͅg̤?”

Jack caught sight of a flickering black sneaker from his hiding spot and he popped up from behind the coffee table, firing the NERF gun at the center of Anti’s chest.

Anti barely flinched as the foam disc bounced off of him with a spark of electricity. He blinked - dark, void-like eyes - and stared down at the harmless green projectile on the floor.

“A̛ n᷄er̼f͈ d̑i͞sč? Ȓe͏a̧ll̐y̕, Ja��c͂k̇?᷀”

Jack shrugged. He pretended that he wasn’t sweating buckets and shaking like a leaf behind the nerf gun in his hands.

“N-Not like I’ve got anythin’ else.”

“H̆o̲w͘ v᷁e̛ry “C̰h̦a͘s̟e B̜r̵o̦d͔y” o͈f̹ y̬öu͍.”

Somehow the mention of another Ego’s name on Anti’s lips made Jack tense up. It was surreal. It was strange. They were all fake - all of them fictional - yet Anti had somehow become so much more. The concept of the living incarnation of his once-fictional character mentioning another of his still-fictional characters so casually like that...it was unsettling, to say the least. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. He just needed to hold out a little longer, just a little while longer, until Mark came back from the car. Keep talking. Keep going...

“W-Well...well…it’s t-technically his gun...s-so…”

Jack opened his eyes.

Anti wasn’t there.

“I̚ kn̴ơw̼ w̖h̖a̽ẗ y᷆o̠u᷄’͍r͖e do̕i͖n̖g̉.”

The chilling voice seemed to come from all sides at once, and Jack could make out flickers of pixels and static in the dark shadows of the room. He fumbled with the ziplock in his pocket, pulling out a foam disc to load his NERF gun again.

“Oh?” Jack asked, his voice coming out higher than he’d intended. “Do…” He cleared his throat. “...do you now?”

“M᷅a̪r̿k̀i̟pl̻i̘e͛r᷀ i̵sn̄’t͡ c̊o͇m̕i͝n̩g͚ to͆ s̲a͙v᷀e͎ yo̫u̥.”

Jack’s blood ran cold.

“What–”

“H᷁e’̘s̎...ă li͢t̺t͖l̷e᷄ ţie͓d᷄ u̯p̉ a̳t̀ th̪e͡ m̘oͥmȩn͇ẗ́.” Anti’s distorted giggle echoed and circled in the empty air, causing goosebumps to sprout up along Jack’s arms. His breath hitched, eyes flying wildly around the room, trying to spot any sign of his doppleganger. “Y᷇o᷅u̥ wer͖e̸ṇ’t̃ p̼l̯a̿yi̟n͘g̉ fa̯ir̤, Ja̒c̉k̩a̫b᷉o͎y…” The next words came front right over his shoulder, whispered into his ear like a dirty secret. “...s̥o̾ Į le͍veͅlèd͎ t̏h̬e͕ p̭l̎ay᷊i̹n͑g̵ fi̥el͔d͙.͝ Ġot̥ ą c̋er̒t̛a͙i͇n da̢r͍k a̭cq̑ŭa̖in͊t̮a̠n̸ce̬ of̿ m̪i̎ne t͖õ ẖęl̍p̖ m̓e̺ o̢u̟t a̲ li̫t͕t᷈l̪e.”

Mark was scared to blink, staring at his own reflection in the car’s window with his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his neck. A figure stood just behind his shoulder, his body outlined in a familiar red and blue, looking so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. By the time his smoothie hit the concrete and burst open, splattering the ground, only fractions of a second had passed...but it felt like an eternity. He blinked.

Dark was gone.

“Mark?” Tim’s voice cropped up beside his ear, confused and a little worried.

“...hold on to me, okay?” Mark murmured, and he brought a hand up to try and shield his familiar from whatever might happen. Whoever might happen.

“I’m not here for him, you know.”

The voice, deep and echoing and so like his own but different, startled him into turning around. He hadn’t been in the reflection, but he hadn’t actually left. His name left Mark’s lips in a strained whisper.

“Darkiplier.”

“Face-to-face, at long last,” Dark nodded. He smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “And like I said...I’m only here for you. This is all coming from your mind, Mark.”

“Mark? What’re you lookin’ at?”

Tim. He sounded so innocent and confused, so worried about Mark, and what Dark was saying suddenly registered in Mark’s mind.

“Tim can’t see you, can he?”

“Tim doesn’t have to see me,” Dark corrected, raising an eyebrow in clear impatience. “I don’t want him to see me, therefore he can’t. But you…” His head tilted to the side and he made his neck pop, his shell cracking and separating for a moment. Then he leaned forward, intrigued. “...you, I can never quite hide from. Not completely. Why is that?”

“I...don’t know,” Mark shook his head, confused. Lost. Dark was here, and he was very real, and he was talking to Mark as though none of this was odd. “Maybe...uh....maybe because I made you?”

“Y̙̭o͏̖͔͙͓̼u d͇͈̭i͎̤͉ḍ̼̠̭̟̯͡n̡͕͎̙̜’̠̹̫̦͙͡t ̝ma̟k̼͎͝e̗̗̱͈̬ͅ m̰̥ḛ.”

There was an echoing fury boiling under the words, and the air around Dark seemed to darken considerably in the moment. Mark took an involuntary step back towards his car.

“I - what?”

“You didn’t make me.” Dark’s anaglyphic image was separating, tearing itself apart, and one of his echoing reflections seemed to scream silently into the cold night air. All the while, his core image remained stern and unyielding, showing barely any emotion at all. “You destroyed me - destroyed us. You stole his body. You condemned her to hell. You drove him to insanity. You ruined their lives.”

It clicked, then, what Dark was talking about. This was exactly what Mark had been scared of, worried about, when he was talking to Jack in that cafe. This was why he was regretting the creation of “Who Killed Markiplier”...or more accurately, he was regretting the addition of the character of Mark. The Mark who was an actor. The Mark who was an asshole. The fictional Mark who ruined everything and destroyed so many people…

...Dark was under the impression that Actor Mark and YouTube Mark were one and the same.

Mark blinked, and suddenly Dark was so much closer than he had been before. The darkness that had been enveloping the demon was surrounding Mark too now, and it was absolutely suffocating.

“...but, I suppose I should be thanking you,” Dark continued, a smirk finding its way onto his face. He tilted his head to the side, regarding Mark thoughtfully. “In a way, you...are the reason I exist. Your damnation of your friends led to my creation. A part of me is furious...but a part of me is more than grateful. You set the darkness free, Mark.”

Mark’s heart was pounding, rapid, in his chest and he could feel a minute panic slowly flooding his very soul. He gulped and shook his head, one hand still holding Tim close - Tim, who had fallen strangely silent, though Mark didn’t stop to question it.

Dark wasn’t here to hurt him. Dark didn’t resort to physical violence unless he had to, Mark had written him that way. While Anti went straight for the knife, Dark resorted to other means of making his point and making his mark.

This was all in his mind. Dark wasn’t physically here.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You...I’ve been seeing you, for months, but this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to me. What changed?”

Dark’s gaze trailed off to the side, toward the apartment, before settling back on Mark.

“A friend asked for a favor.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I merely agreed.”

A cry of pain broke the odd non-silence of the evening, a cry of pain that sounded all too familiar and was coming from the apartment Mark had been trying to return to. His eyes widened.

A friend asked for a favor.

A friend of Dark’s. Anti.

“Jack!”

Mark shoved away from the car and ran through Dark’s mirage of a body, the blue and red dispersing into wisps of dark smoke. Mark only made it halfway to the stairs.

“Clever boy. But you can’t leave. Not yet.”

Dark’s voice echoed in his mind, sending a blinding pain through his skull that brought him to his knees with a shout. He clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair and digging into his scalp. He felt rather than saw Tim tumble off of his shoulder, falling the few feet to the ground, making Mark wince in sympathy. There wasn’t enough strength in him to free himself from the mental onslaught, let alone help his tiny friend.

But he needed to. He needed to get Dark out of his head, needed to help Jack. If Dark was out here, then Anti must be in there, and he’d already seen what Anti had done to Jack the last time he had shown up. It wasn’t pretty. Mark didn’t fancy seeing a reenactment.

Get out...get out!

“Why would I? I have a job to do, Mark. You better than anyone should know that I never put in a half effort.”

Images began to surface in his mind, horrible images, memories that had never happened...memories of his friends, his real friends, getting hurt…

Please don’t. They don’t deserve this.

“Neither did Damien. Neither did Celine. Neither did William.”

“That...w-wasn’t me!” he protested, finally finding his voice, the words hoarse and weak. “You’ve got it - ngh - wrong! I’m - y-yeah, I’m Mark, but I’m n-not that Mark! I–”

“Oh, quit with your pitiful lies,” Dark sneered. “Celine is already angry enough with you as it is.”

“No, listen! I made up that version of Mark the same way I created you and Wilford and Abe – I’m just a writer, okay?!”

“Give up, Mark. Nobody can hear you. Let’s see how long you last before you begin pleading for forgiveness. I have all night…”

Hold on, Jack. I’m coming. Hold on–

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jack shuddered and shot to his feet, almost tripping over the coffee table in his haste to get away from Anti, who cackled in amusement from where he’d appeared directly over Jack’s shoulder. Jack rounded on the glitch and aimed his NERF gun at the glitch’s chest, not even caring that it was basically harmless.

“What did you do?!” he demanded, his concern for his friend overtaking his fear for his own life. “Is Dark gonna kill him?”

“D̙o͕n͑’̚t b͐e͟ s͋i̧lly!” Anti smirked and rolled his eyes, playing with his knife out of sheer boredom, tossing it between his hands and flipping it in the air. It was clear he was skilled with his weapon on choice, throwing it around with ease like one would a half-filled water bottle. “O᷄l’ D̜a̩rki͈e̚ do̶ẹs̨n̈́’ť ju͊st̽ ķill̔ p̠eo᷈p̰l͌e̞. O᷀r͋ hē w͈on̎’̞t k̇i͏ll̫ Ma̻r᷊kipl̮i̧er͕, an̋y̑w̩a͕y̒.”

The knife soared a good foot or two in the air before tumbling downward, making Jack tense even as he watched Anti catch it cleanly by the handle.

“Fa͐r a͓š I̩ c̠a᷊n̅ t͂ell͚ he̟’̤s̄ p͞r̃et᷇ty̚ p̝i᷅s̱s͚e͔d͐ a̤t᷆ ṱh͔e̓ g̹uy̗. Be̘en̒ t͑oy̕īn͗’͈ w̶it’ hi̛m᷆ f̦o͐r̬ m̽o᷆nt̾h̟s̞,̈ o̊ř so̊ h͍i᷉s̝ r̓oboͅt́ s̽a᷁ẏs͍.”

Robot? Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. Dark had robots now?

“N̛a̡h᷾, Da͖r̓k̺’s͗ n̠o͊t̻ g̦onnå k̬i͗l͙ḽ Mar̃k̝. P͑ŕe̽t̩ṯyͅ s̒u̕r̾e ḣe᷇’d̈ r̯a̱the̗r dr̹i͖v̓ę h͂i͔m̃ t̰o̐ i͢n᷀s̷a͛nityͅ ḅefo᷾r̞e͓ tͅh͙a̓t ĥap̆p̝e̾ns.”

Jack swallowed thickly. Drive him to insanity? Could Dark so that? He was brought back to the conversation he and Mark had had almost a week ago, in the cafe. The first morning Mark had shown up.

“Dark’s more subtle,” Mark had said. “He works behind the scenes. He doesn’t deal with face-to-face conflict as much. He mostly sticks to the shadows. I mean, I gave him his backstory, I should know this…honestly, it makes me wonder if ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ wasn’t a horrible, horrible idea.”

Mark had been worried, beyond worried, about the concept of Dark actually making his move. Jack had noticed it that day but hadn’t bothered to ask about it. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, he should have pushed a little more.

“Bu̼t y̾o̲u̱ h᷁aͅve̕n̰’t̰ goṯ th᷁a͗t͓ to w᷁o͢r͊ry̽ ab̻o̱u̺t̍, Ja͖cͅka᷁b͐o̱y!” Anti was grinning again, and Jack would swear that his doppleganger’s teeth were sharp, pointed. Deadly. “A͟ft̸ëṙ t᷁o᷁n̎ig̙h̸t, you̅ w᷄o̓nͅ’̥t͂ b͐e̡ w̢OR̵r̈Yi͇N̞g a᷊BoUt a᷅N̡ÿ́T͒h̛i͙N᷇g͋.”

Anti’s distorted shadow grew around him, engulfing his side of the room in a glitching, pulsating, corrupted darkness, and from its depths shot out a dozen or so venom-green cords of light. At Anti’s command, they darted forward and curled tightly around Jack’s wrists, his ankles, his knees and elbows, his chest - his throat. Not tight enough to strangle, but with his bruises still healing, it was more than tight enough to hurt.

Jack gasped sharply and gritted his teeth, snarling and tugging against the green strings, fighting for his freedom. He had to get out. He had to save Sam, had to help Mark. But there was something...odd about the strings. With each tug against his restraints, Jack felt a little more of the fight leaving him, his will to rebel slowly draining away. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and his shoulder was throbbing with pain...so...so wouldn’t it…

...wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?

The NERF gun fell from his hands, tumbling to the floor with a clatter of plastic and a muffled thump against the carpet.

“No͊w be̺ a̦ go͟õd̏ li᷅t̏t᷁l͋e᷊ pup̝p͟ét, an̂d̯ ğo᷊ t̥õ s͕le̗e̥ṗ.”

Yeah...yeah, sleep sounded so wonderful right now. Jack slowly let his eyes drifted shut.

Click.

“You let ‘im go right this fucking second, or I blow your fuckin’ brains out, bro.”

[A/N] - Woot! It's done! ^^ And ending on a cliffhanger too? Shocking! :0c

This chapter actually took a lot longer to finish than I originally intended. For some reason I was really struggling to get going on it, but once I started into the ambush, it really started rolling. Believe it or not, this chapter is about twice the length of all the others. While most other chapters finish off at around ten pages in Google Docs, this one? This one hit a solid twenty. Absolute insanity.

Anyway! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and comments and critiques are always appreciated! Ta!

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[Chapter List]

#SamLives #Sam Lives #Jacksepticeye #Sam Septiceye #JSE FanFic #JSE FanFiction #Jacksepticeye FanFic #Jacksepticeye FanFiction #Sam #Antisepticeye #Darkiplier #Markiplier

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daisysouthmoore · 6 years

Text

This delicious combo is for my girl @ne-gans I fucking love you!

Category 2 - Smut

“So, Lisa… It is Lisa right?” I ask and you just nod stiffly. “So let me get this straight. I, your knight in shining fuckin’ armor, sweep in and rescue you from a pack of fuckin’ biters. I risk my own fuckin’ life to save yours and all I ask in return is half of your shit. You tell me ‘no’ and then your feisty ass proceeds to grow a fuckin’ pair and take a fuckin’ swing at me?… Wow! Do you even realize how fuckin’ close you were to death just then? And I’m not even talkin’ about the fuckin’ biters! If you weren’t so god damn gorgeous I’d have knocked the piss outta you with Lucille here but… Damn! It’d be a god damn shame to waste a pretty little thing like you… No, no… I can’t fuckin’ kill you… -But I can’t just let that shit go either. I’ve gotta figure out what to do with you… What to fuckin’ do darlin’… How should I punish you? Huh? Any ideas?” I ask and you have the nerve to just glare at me. “Speak when you’re fuckin’ spoken to!” I growl.

I swing my bloodied bat up just a few inches from your cute little nose. Just enough to make you flinch and grimace. The thick, coagulated biter blood drips off the end of Lucille and falls right into your lap before you manage to squirm away from the decay.

“Oh shit… Sorry ‘bout that darlin’.” I chuckle.

With your hands bound behind your back, you can’t do much to clean up the fuckin’ mess yourself and I’m quite the fuckin’ gentleman when I wanna be. So I take it upon myself to start searching your camper for somethin’ to wipe you down. I snag an old dish towel and eventually find a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Then I turn to you with a triumphant grin before I playfully toss the bottle up in the air and catch it again. Your breath hitches when I squat down in front of you and your knees start to shake when I drag the cool, dampened cloth over your thighs. For just a hot second my fingertips graze your skin and I can see goosebumps starting to form.

“That’ll fuckin’ do it.”

I wink at you but you’re not the least bit fuckin’ grateful for any of it. You just sit there dwelling in your fuckin’ silence and you give me your shittiest, darkest little scowl again.

“You know, you’re a real fuckin’ asshole but you don’t actually think you fuckin’ scare me do you? I’m damn near twice your fuckin’ height. Hell, I could sweep you off your fuckin’ ass right now and bend you over my knee if I wanted to… And boy do I fuckin’ want to, Lisa. I really fuckin’ do.”

I stand to tower over you so close my dick is just inches from your face. I can already feel a little tickle in my balls just lookin’ down at you from this angle and I can’t help but fuckin’ smirk. I’ll be damned if I don’t see a flush of pink cross your cheeks before you lower your head in your lap to hide it from me. I laugh deeply before giving you a little space to breathe again.

While I settle in across from you I can feel you watching me. I start to clean and polish Lucille. I make it a point to hold her in just the right spot while I buff and shine the sleek wooden handle. I take my time stroking my hand slowly up and down the length of it and it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious what I’m insinuating. And no matter how long you wanna sit there and pretend to disdain me, no matter how fuckin’ hard you try to glare at me, there’s no denying the thirst in those big ol’ eyes of yours.

“You know, this camper kinda smells like an old pile of shit but I think I’m gonna take it. A little spit shine and some elbow grease and I think there are some good times to be had in this thing. Real good times… How long has it been for you anyway? I mean, since you had a dick in you.”

Your eyes bolt up from my hands and linger on my tongue as I drag it across my lips. I see that blush on your cheeks again before you shift restlessly in your seat and look away. Damn, it’s easy to get you squirming.

“Oh, it’s been a fuckin’ minute, hasn’t it? Tell you what darlin’… Why don’t you and I exchange a little skin for skin and then we can call it all fuckin’ square? What do you say?”

Your eyes are peering into mine but it’s not a look of fuckin’ hatred anymore. Now you look like you might actually be down for the fuckin’ get down. I test the waters a bit and run my fingers up the length of your leg until I can hear you shudder. Your eyes start to burn a little brighter while you watch my hands glide up the inside of your thigh.

“If you want me to stop you just gotta say the fuckin’ word.”

My fingertips inch up closer and closer to the heat between your legs but you still can’t bring yourself to say a fuckin’ thing.

“So you don’t want me to stop?” I ask.

Despite the look of trepidation in your eyes and the way your lip starts to quiver you just shake your head ‘no’. I reach up and grab you by the chin and bring your mouth so close to mine I can feel your breath against my beard.

“What did I say? I said, speak when you’re fuckin’ spoken to. Right?” I ask and you nod.

“…Don’t stop…” You manage to whimper.

Your voice suddenly squeaks when I yank you up by the waist of your shorts and into my lap. I press my lips to yours and the second they part I feel your tongue tangle up with mine. I can taste how bad you fuckin’ want it. How fuckin’ thirsty you are and how badly you want me to quench you. -But I still don’t trust you not to try and fuckin’ kill me so I keep your hands tied up behind your back.

I shove your t-shirt and bra up your chest to get a mouthful of your tits. The way it makes you purr makes my dick so hard I can feel it pressing against you, begging to be inside you. When your hips start to grind I moan against your skin while my hands start wrenching away your shorts. You fumble in my lap a bit and we manage to get one leg free but I don’t bother with the rest. I can’t wait another fuckin’ second.

I hook my fingers in the crotch of your panties and pull it tight until the fabric rips and splits apart. Then I slide my fingers between your folds and dive deep inside you. I soak in your wetness for a moment but I just have to fuckin’ taste you. So I bring my fingers back up to my mouth suck them clean again. Your eyes deepen for more while you watch me lick my lips clean. I’m pleasantly fuckin’ surprised when you reach down and yank away my belt. You unzip my fly and when my dick springs out between us your eyes widen a bit.

I grab hold of your hips and lift you onto the tip of my cock. We both let out a long and hungry moan as I sink into you. Every inch stretches you wider and wider until I feel the pressure down to the base of my cock. You’re so fuckin’ wet I can feel you dripping down between us and I let out a primal fuckin’ growl and bite down on the skin of your neck. I don’t know if it’s the taste of you, the way you smell, the way your voice hitches when I thrust even deeper inside you but you bring out this fuckin’ animal instinct in me. Pretty soon I start to fuck you so hard I’m lifting your feet off the fuckin’ floor.

“Let’s see how tough you are now, huh?”

I lay a hard, loud smack on your ass. So hard it makes you cry out and double over on top of me. -But your a tough fuckin’ girl. You sit up again and arch your back, begging for another fuckin’ ass-whoopin'. The look on your pretty fuckin’ face is fuckin’ priceless. Just pure fuckin’, unadulterated lust. I lay down another smack, and another, and another until your riding me so fuckin’ hard your body starts to shake. Then all the sudden I feel you tighten around my dick. You scream out and tremble all over and I feel you spill out into my lap. You’re cumming so fuckin’ hard I can taste it. It pushes me over the edge until I fuckin’ shoot my load inside you. It feels too fuckin’ good to pull out.

“Hooolyyy shiiiit! God damn!” I groan.

You fall limp in my lap, struggling just to catch your fuckin’ breath. When I come down again I manage to scramble up onto my feet but I’m struggling my fuckin’ self just to buckle my belt. When I’m done I bend down with shaky knees and lift you into my arms. I set you gently on the small couch where I help tug your clothes back into place. -But I keep your hands bound ‘cause I’ve decided you’re not goin’ fuckin’ anywhere.

“Like I said, I’m takin’ this fuckin’ RV… And now, I’m takin’ you with it.”

#DaisyNeganGIFGame #negan #jeffrey dean morgan #negans thirst squad #the walking dead #smut #writing prompt #request

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magicalbuffalotransformerman · 3 years

Text

The End. [unfortunately for mafia soldier, non-canon. apologies, mafia soldier.]

[yeah, i decided to write about a possibility of how and when mafia soldier completes his mission. enjoy.]

[Awakening. Oh, the pain. StreeaAAAAAUGH FUCK--... intense stretching pain. Bones and joints, popping and cracking. On your feet, soldier, you've got a group of people to interrogate. Out the room... and down the steps.]

[Doctor]: Hey, Solly!

[Ah, Dr. [name redacted for privacy]. An exceptional master of the organic arts. Not a master in Soldier's eyes, unfortunately, they haven't done much yet. Accepting this, he holds a wave.]

mafia soldier: At ease, Doc. What's the situation?

[Doctor]: Well... not many of us are left. [Vigilante], [Messenger], [Hunter], and [Detective] are all gone.

mafia soldier: And who would be left, if I may ask?

[Doctor]: You, me, [Cupid], [x4 Vanilla Townies], [x2 Mafia Goons], [Mafia JOAT], and [Town JOAT].

mafia soldier: [Quick maths on his achey fingers... plus one.] That leaves... 11 people left. Who died in the worst way, then?

[Doctor]: Well, [Detective] was gunned down in the golf course, so... maybe her? I'm not sure.

mafia soldier: Mmm. If I may, fetch everyone into the living room.

[Doctor]: Alright. I'll be a bit.

mafia soldier: Affirmative.

[Waypoint in the kitchen. Bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, wait in the living room. Crunch, wait... crunch. Repeat, until the living room is at full capacity. Get to it.]

mafia soldier: Friends, these are the facts as I understand them. One: three of you are not my friends. Two: four of us have died in gruesome ways. Three: If one of you has knowledge about which three of you are not my friends, report to me ASAP. Dismissed.

[Back to functioning at minimum power. Everything hurts, as it does. The remainder begin conversations with one another. Not that much happens for a couple hours.]

[Rolenames will be switched to initials, followed by their roles upon their first appearance (then it'll just be initials), starting now.]

[[T: Cupid] approaches. Request an answer.]

mafia soldier: [T].

[T]: Soldier. I might know the identity of one of the mafia goons.

mafia soldier: Permission to speak.

[T]: What if... I watched [C: Mafia Goon] kill someone?

mafia soldier: Well, do you have proof? I don't want to kill an innocent, now, do I?

[C is beyond the door, briefly.]

[T]: Good point, but... I-I'm not sure, okay? I, they- [ahem] I might have been on the turret while [M: Detective] got gunned down, and I might have seen a lock of [C]'s hair... at the crime scene.

mafia soldier: Thank you for reporting to me. Now, if you die next, I know who to bring down. Much appreciated. [T].

[T]: Don't fret. You've already got a bunch on your plate, being our drill sargeant and a good friend. I only hope you're able to protect us when the time is right.

mafia soldier: I'll definitely do my best... which, well.

[T]: I'm sure you'll do fine. Good luck.

[Vacating the premises. Left alone. Again. Bah, humbug. Pillow igloo has a television. Watch some Transformers while you wait.]

[A few hours later.]

[T is having trouble breathing. Slowly wake up. Bones popping again. Lift helmet. Suspicions were right.]

[C]: Did you hairbrained idiots forget to kill off the pathetic war hero again?

[c: Mafia Goon]: What, no! I'm sure he's dead!

[C]: WHY ELSE WOULD HIS BONES BE POPPING?!

[c]: Good point... [W: Mafia JOAT]? Can you check if Soldier's dead?

[W]: If you're gonna be so lazy about it, I guess I will.

[A wild [W] appears. Completely motionless. Unsuspected.]

[W]: He's dead.

[C]: I guess I'm going insane, then.

[c]: I wouldn't put it past you. Anyways... what about [T], here?

[C]: Put him down.

[T]: Wait, wait! I can at least tell you if Soldier's ACTUALLY still alive! PLEASE!

[W]: ...god, I must be deaf. Say again?

[T]: He... he's still alive. He's probably laughing at you from the comfort of his igloo. Go search again!

[W]: And here I was, betting on [C] being insane. Sigh.

[[W] is by the igloo again. Nowhere to be found.]

[W]: ...there's a bit of disturbed blankets. [She ruffles through them.] He's not here!

[C]: [T], as you are of no further use to me, I'll say this now. Thanks for the info.

[T]: WAI-

[Pow. Thump. The Cupid is no more. Insufferable rage. Should've known.]

[...realization. Why isn't anyone awake from the gunshot? Check everyone's rooms.]

[[A: Doctor] is the only one awake, and wide awake at that, from the gunshot.]

[A]: Soldier?

mafia soldier: shhshhshshh! I'm gonna hide in the closet, and [C], [c], and [W] are gonna come in. Don't tell them I'm here. Please.

[A]: ...I understand.

[Get hidden. Get waiting. Don't wait for too long, they're here.]

[W]: [A], where's Soldier?

[A]: Not sure, dude. I've only just woken up... also, what was the gunshot?

[C]: Search the house. I don't want him to live again. Prolong his suffering, if you will.

[A]: ...you know about his illness?

[C]: Who doesn't? He's the only one that I've seen on the Memento Mori, as well as here, twice. We've even shot him down from retaliation. He's nothing to us but a toy to break.

[c]: I mean... that's not quite how I would put it, but... yeah. We know.

[A]: Oh. I, uhm... don't know how to respond.

[W]: Don't? You're hella annoying anyways, haha.

[C]: Rude. Bring her hostage, into the living room. Find Soldier, bring him too.

[c], [W]: On it.

[...]

[Appear from under the bed.]

mafia soldier: ...freaks of nature. all of you.

[Bring the noise. Ol' Faithful's not starved, perfect. Arrive in the nick of time.]

[C]: Ah, Soldier. What wakes you? [[C] cocks the hammer of her revolver.]

mafia soldier: Let's say... [CHHK-CHHK. Rack the first of eight shells.] I have some issues with your methods of interrogation, MAGGOT.

[C]: Ah, you've gotten cocky, have y-

[BLAM. [C] falls to the ground, in critical condition.]

mafia soldier: You're not going anywhere. [A], how are you?

[A]: Scarred for life, bu-

[Pow. F U C K !]

[W]: Heyyy, big boi! Hands where I can see 'em... or what's left of em, at least!

mafia soldier: [G r i m a c e .]

[W]: Quite the mandibles you've got left.

mafia soldier: I've been on this gravestone of a planet for longer than you have, and I'm not about to let anyone else die to your hands. [CHHK-CHHK. Second of eight.] You're not the Grim Reaper, she's hotter than you are. Drop the Smith 'n' Wesson.

[W]: ...hmph.

[[W] drops her revolver, so it may join her confidence in the Lost 'n' Found bin.]

mafia soldier: That's a good pard'ner.

[[c] walks in on the situation.]

mafia soldier: [c]. Drop your .357.

[c]: Are you one of us...?

mafia soldier: Absolutely not. I've been trying to kill creeps like you since I was in the Badlands.

[c]: M... my apologies. [[c] also drops her revolver.]

[W]: grr. [c], come on. You coulda taken him easily.

[c]: He knows his way around a hostage situation, man!

[W]: Not when he gets ambushed, you sksks-lookin' ass motherfucker!

[c]: I mean...

[W]: DO YOU NOW?

[The end of the mission, or another baittrap? Look at the disappointments. Look to the Doctor. Unhealable injuries. Stomp on the injured fool's neck. Mourn the Doctor for the time being.]

[c]: Wh--! HEY! Please, don't kill us!

[W]: STOP TRYING TO-!

[BLAM. [W]'s a goner.]

[c], on the verge of crying: [quick breaths]

[Staring down the barrel. [CHHK-CHHK]. Third of eight. Haven't missed yet. Evaluate.]

mafia soldier: List your reasons or perish. I'm not going to walk in on another goddamn crime scene unless I make it myself, do you hear me?

[[c] begins to sob.] [c]: I haven't even been able to shoot anyone yet! I'm effectively a pacifist! Please! Don't do this to me!

mafia soldier: Let me tell you about pacifism, [c]. Even if you haven't shot anyone, that doesn't exclude you from being a tormentor. Example. The Memento Mori. The Doctor aboard accused me of being a FREAK like you, because I was poking a corpse with a stick. He threw me out of the train, into a tree, and thus under the train. I am going to give you five seconds to list another reason. Go.

[c]: I... I-I... I don't want to die...

mafia soldier: Well, [c], I'm sorry to say this, but I do. You're the last one left in this place, and if I kill you now, I'll finally see my mercenary pals again. [c], do you have any last words?

[c]: [sobbing] please tell my friends i loved them like a family...

mafia soldier: Affirmative. See you in Hell.

[BLAM. Down with [c]. Reconcile.]

[Realization. It's finally over. Ol' Faithful trips onto the floor. Ol' Faithful is gonna need to be adopted. Call the Machine from Heaven, possibly? Think about it later. Ow, my knees. Hiccup... finally. I... it's done.]

[Red mist fizzles out of Mafia Soldier's skin pores... or what's left of them.]

[A situation walks in.]

[D: Vanilla Townie]: Soldier??

[m: Vanilla Townie]: I... dude?

mafia soldier: I'm sorry, guys. They were a part of the Mafia, I had to. And now...

[Tears fall like rain.]

mafia soldier: I'm finally gonna see Tavish and the lads again. [hic]

[m]: No, wait! You gotta think about this shit, dude! What about us?!

mafia soldier: You're safe now. That's all that matters.

[The mist dissipates. A sack of potatoes, as it were. A smile plastered across the Tormented One's face. A final breath, and...]

[D]: ...he's gone.

[m]: let's go home, [D].

[Mission complete. A bright light, 'n'... Tavish.]

Demoman: Jane!

Soldier: TAVISH!!!

[Bear-hug.]

Heavy: Hello, Soldier. Welcome back.

Scout: Hey, Solly!

Soldier: [giggling] Hey, guys!

[Thus marks the (unfortunately non-canon) end of the Mafia Soldier. Battered, bruised... worth the struggles faced. Rest in peace.]

[alright. i hope y'all enjoyed that. i sure as hell did. i hope the poor guy doesn't realize that this one's non-canon, though. he's gonna get real sour. see you next post!]

#mafia soldier #The End (non canon)#nsfw: blood warning #nsfw: guns warning #nsfw: terrible situations warning #this was fun! can't wait for this to become canon in the future! :)

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zendozebra · 6 years

Text

All the Time in the World Chapter 5

Oh god, his head hurts. What was he doing here, again? Wait, where the hell is he? This isn't his apartment. It's not Inko's apartment, either, and those are usually the two places he wakes up at. What wa- Oh, god his head hurts. Is he hungover? But he only drank three bottles!

"Ah, did you have a nice rest, Majima-san?" Whose voice was that again? The mouse guy right? Where the hell was he? Okay, everything's coming into focus, and there's Nezu, staring at him. Along with like, 20 other people. Okay seriously, what's going on? "You're in the spectator's booth, waiting for the UA Entrance Exams to begin. Are you alright?"

"Well, that explains a few things." He needed a drink. Water, this time, he's not that crazy as to start drinking on the first day of the job. He leaned forward in his seat, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, the exam's already started? Why didn't ya wake me up earlier?!" Son of a bitch, now he has to use Time Stop to get his shit together, walk around the room and copy the notes from all the other teachers- Oh hey Iwata- and then make his own notes based on whatever the hell is on the screens. By the time he comes out of it, he's got everything together and is one professional-lookin' teacher man. He notices that the other teachers look a little surprised at his quick transition from hungover to ready, but whatever, they're gonna be working together for a while, they'll get used to him and his particular brand of bullshit sooner or later.

"Alright, well what are we- Oh shit, is that Izu-chan?" Iwata jumped at the mention of the green haired kid, which caught Majima by surprise. "What's with you, Iwata-kun?"

The skeletal hero seemed confused with Majima calling him the wrong name, but he pushed on, "How is it you know about young Midoriya? Shouldn't this be the first time you've met the boy?"

"Hardly, I've known the kid for years, got some kind of strength quirk, though I've never seen him use it."

"How do you-?!"

"Saw him with this big-ass list of strength exercises a few months back. Figured I'd put two and two together." He explained, which seemed to appease All Might, as he relaxed back into his seat. What's that about? "Either way, I'm confused why he's not using it. He's just running around like a chicken that's lost its head. C'mon! Punch something already, kid!"

"Majima-san, Yagi-san, need I remind you that you should be making notes on all of the participants?" Both men felt a chill wash over them under Nezu's gaze, and quickly got back to work. Majima only used his Time Stop once more towards the end of the exams, making one more circuit around the room, copying everyone's notes again. He liked the spaceman the most, whoever they were had some great handwriting, despite that suit they wore. Only one minute left in the exam, huh? Wond- What the fuck is that thing?!

Some giant-ass robot just marched its way onto the field, destroying buildings left and right. What the hell is wrong with this school? You're really gonna put you kids up against something like that? Sure, he gets that they need to keep an eye out for the best and brightest, but throwing a giant, smoking, explodi-

The robot just blew up. The fucking robot just blew up. Who the fuck?! Midoriya? Little Izu-chan? Blowing up robots the size of a skyscraper? How strong is this kid, anyway? Iwata looked super happy over somethin', but the rest of the teachers seemed to be freaking out just like he was. Wait, a minute, there were other people on the other side of the arena, weren't there? Okay, snap of a finger, coin flip. Heads is Jin, he goes out there, pulls some people out of the way of the debris. Tails is Akira, he sits pretty in his seat and he doesn't bat a god damn eye. Alright, flip of the coin and- Fuck, damnit! He hates coin flips, he always gets Jin! Oh, he was going to have words with this boy when he's done here.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Majima brought himself out of Time Stop, watching Izuku stumble around and fall to the ground as he tried to used to being moved so far so quickly. Good thing he figured out how to manipulate his quirk like that, let him interact with the frozen world without completely obliterating anything he touched. It's usually pretty ugly when that happens to a person. Ah, that takes him back. That was how he originally met Akira, right? And then he met Jin a week later in the karaoke parlor, with Aimi. Or were they bowling? Didn't Jin hate bowling though? Fuck it, he'll write all this shit down when he gets a chance. Okay, Izuku finally stopped vomiting, back to work.

"You already know what I want to talk to you about, kid. So spit it out, and then we can get on with our day." He has a bottle of Johnnie Walker waiting for him back at his place, and he'd like to drink it as soon as he could.

Of course, Izuku looked terribly nervous and confused, but that should go without saying. "I'm sorry, Majima-san, but I still can't control my q-"

"Oh, I don't give a shit about your quirk, boy!" Oh, wow, he hadn't yelled at anyone in a long time, forgot how that felt. Much angrier about this than he'd thought he was. Not as much fun when the person you're yelling looks close to tears, though. Trying to calm himself down a bit, he lit a cigarette, giving them both a moment to collect themselves. "I get what you were going for, kid, I do. I'd have to be an idiot not to. But you gotta understand that brute force, as great a card it might be, isn't always the best way to go. Sure, ya saved everyone running south of the bot. But what about the people running north?"

There we go, now he's starting to see where he went wrong. "They… They were running away too, right?" Instead of nervous, he was starting to look just a bit scared. Good, making some progress, but we're still not there yet.

"'Course they were. Now, normally you'd be right, and this wouldn't be a problem-"

"But it was a giant robot. It could have still fallen on people!" There we go, this kid is gonna be a treat to teach if he gets in. Now to drive the lesson home with a good ol' guilt trip.

"And it would have, if I hadn't been around. Don't think Iwata could have buffed himself up fast enough to be of any help, which means that quite a number of injuries would have been on your head, kid, and we both know you don't want that." Ah, Akira's methods to get Jin's results. They would have been so proud. Well, Aimi would have, the other two would've probably been fighting over who could take the credit for his choices.

"But… Majima-san…" Ah great, the kid's still got questions. Doesn't he realize that Majima has a life outside of this crap. He still has to make dinner later, for christ sake. Or maybe…

"Tell ya what, Izu-chan. You invite me over for some of your ma's cooking, and I'll answer every question that you have. Just don't go asking about whether or not you got accepted. Don't have the answer to that one myself." With that, he once again throws an arm around Izuku's shoulder and starts leading them down the street, a good, hearty meal awaiting our future hero, and the bored old man who realizes that he seriously needs to find some new friends.

A/N- If there are any artists who would be willing to draw a reference picture of Majima, please leave a message in the comments. This is, of course, a paid position.

#izuku midoriya/ mina ashido #midoriya izuku #mina ashido #inko midoriya #izumina #slow burn #toshinori yagi #all might #all for one #one for all #time stop #oc

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jon-daddy-dominus · 3 years

Text

Kitten's Collar

Chapter, 19

As Clint turned into the driveway, and older lady around sixty, or so came outside, and met him at his door, before he could even get out.

"Thank you so much for coming! I was about to let Chucky out, when I seen it back there. All I could think was, "Oh my goodness Chucky would be like a snack to that big ole thing!" She exclaimed, lifting up her tiny little dog for them to see.

Chuckling politely, Clint replied, "Yes, Ma'm, probably so, but don't worry. We're gonna get him outta here so Chucky can go poop in peace."

"Well, thank you again. You can get back there from this way." She said, pointing to a walk through gate, on the side of the yard.

"Yes, Ma'm, just give me a minute to grab a few things." Clint said, reaching into the back of his truck.

"I'm Elaine." The woman said, sticking her hand out to greet Alexis, as she stepped around the back of the truck. "You catch those things too, honey?"

"Nice to meet you, I'm Alexis, and No, Ma'm. I'm just taggin along for today." She smiled, shaking her hand.

"Oh, okay." She smiled, before leaning in close, and whispering loudly. "Your daddy sure is a good lookin man."

Alexis's eyes almost popped out of her head, as she smiled hugely, and swallowed hard to choke back her laughter, when she saw Clint cut his eyes, and slowly turn a, "kiss my ass" frown Elaine's direction.

"Yes, Ma'm. Daddies even got girls MY age chasing after him!" She giggled teasingly, as she shot Clint a naughty smile.

"Mrs. Elaine, you wanna show me where this gator is?" Clint stated, heading toward the gate.

"Oh yes, he's right back here." She said, quickly following him to the gate.

Standing at the fence, Elaine pointed around the corner of the house. "He was right there by the shed, a little while ago, but I'm not going back there."

"Okay, we'll get him for you. Alexis, you coming?" Clint said, holding the gate open.

"Yes Sir, I'm coming."

Cautiously making their way across the yard, Clint grumbled. "Seriously?"

"What?" Alexis asked.

"We better look out! It sure is a big one." He grumbled, sarcastically as he pointed to a small alligator, roughly three feet long, sunning himself next to the small building.

"I thought she said, "it was a big ole thing"?" Alexis laughed.

"Yeah, most people exaggerate a bit when they call." Clint shook his head.

"So, how do we catch it without gettin bit?" She asked.

"You gotta be careful with the ones this size, they're fast as hell, and their teeth are really sharp, but luckily they're not as strong as the big ones."

He took the catch staff he'd gotten out of the truck, and put some slack in the slide loop. Slowly stretching it out, he eased the loop over the alligators snout, and quickly drew it down. The animal began flipping, and rolling as Clint held out the staff for Alexis to grab.

"Its already latched into place, so just hold it tight, and lifted up a little bit."

"Umm... I don't know if I can do this." She said, nervously, wrapping her fingers around the pole.

"You're completely capable, Sweetheart. Be confident." He smiled.

She held on tight as the animal continued thrashing about. Clint casually walked up behind it, and knelt down, straddling it's back. He grabbed a roll of duct tape he had hanging on his belt, and began tightly wrapping it around the alligators closed snout.

"Okay, flip the little lever by your left hand, and slid the hand piece forward to put some slack in the loop." He instructed.

He slipped the loop off, picked the alligator up by the snout, and tail, and started for the truck. Elaine took a few steps backward, as Clint walked through the gate. Reaching over the side of the truck bed, he sat the reptile down, and turned around to get the catch pole from Alexis.

"How much do I owe you?" Elaine asked.

"It's fifty, for removal, and relocation."

"That's all? Honey, this is dangerous work! You should probably charge more than that." She said, excitedly.

"Yes, Ma'm." He smiled, "I probably should."

"Well, thank you again. I'm so glad you got that thing, before it took a bite out of Chucky."

"Yes Ma'm, you're very welcome." Clint smiled.

Turning to Alexis, Elaine smiled, "It was so nice to meet you, Alexis." Loudly whispering again, she continued. "And you keep those trashy young girls away from that handsome daddy of yours, okay!"

She smiled, a very sarcastic smile, as her eyes got big again, "Bless your heart, I'll sure try!"

Elaine was waving goodbye as Alexis closed her door, and asked. "Did you hear that shit?"

"Hear what?" Clint chuckled.

"Dont try, and play dumb, you heard what she said!" Alexis grumbled, making an over exaggerated, fake, angry face.

Laughing, Clint replied, "Old age must be catching up with me, cause I didn't catch that."

"Oh, so you missed her, basically calling me a "trashy little girl"?" She asked, rolling her eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

"Awe... I'm sorry, should daddy get you some ice cream, to make you feel better?" He laughed, sarcastically.

"No!" She snapped, poking her lip out, making a pouty face.

Laughing out loud, Clint joked. "You do that pretty well."

Holding her pouty face, she grumbled. "Stop pickin on me."

With a huge grin, Clint turned onto the highway, and chuckled to himself, as he turned the radio up.

A few seconds later, Alexis blurted out. "We're you serious about gettin ice cream?

Bursting into laughter, Clint replied, "Yes Sweetheart, if you want to, we can go get ice cream."

Quickly grabbing his hand, Alexis leaned her head on his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek, laughing hysterically. "Thank you Daddy!"

After a quick stop off for ice cream, they headed out of town. When they passed the turn off to Clints house, Alexis asked. "Where we going?"

"There's a pretty big pond, near the swamp, a few miles up ahead, that I've been using for relocation. Most of the land out here still hasn't been developed yet, so for now, it's about the only place to put them, where they're not going right back to the neighborhoods I pick them up from."

"Oh, okay. So you just let them go in the pond?"

"Yeah, the department of natural resources had to approve the area before hand, but the biologists in charge, said it was big enough, and far enough out, that they shouldn't come back."

"No, I meant, like, you don't have to feed them, or anything first?"

"No." He chuckled. "They do okay on their own, when they're this size."

When they reached the pond, they got out, and Clint pulled the gator to the tailgate. Grabbing the snout, and tail again, he carried it to the edge if the water. "You wanna take the tape off his mouth for me?"

"But won't he try to bite you?"

"No, most of the muscles in their jaws, are used for closing their mouths. So it's actually alot easier to hold their mouths closed, than it is to hold it open."

"Okay, if you say so." She laughed, as she began unwrapping the tape from the animals mouth.

Once the tape was removed, Clint gently tossed it into the water, and with a loud splash of its tail, the alligator disappeared into the deeper water.

"Damn, he didn't waste no time, did he?" She smiled.

"Nah, they usually get gone in a hurry."

Pulling up to the house, Billy-Bob was stretched out on the roof of Alexis's car. The big cat lifted his head, and twitched his ears, as they pulled around the corner of the trailer, to Clints back porch.

"I'm hungry." Alexis stated, as they walked through the back door, into the kitchen.

"I took some steaks out before we left. You wanna just have an early supper?" He asked.

"That's fine with me." She replied. "What we havin with'em?"

Looking in the refrigerator, Clint called out. "I've got potatoes, and onions in the pantry. And asparagus, broccoli, brussel sprouts, corn on the cob, and cauliflower in here, and I think there are a few tomatoes in the windowsill."

Alexis yelled, laughingly, on her way to the bathroom. "Your kitchen is like a little kids worst nightmare!"

"Maybe, but I'm not a child, so I eat adult food." He shouted back.

Mocking him under her breath, she mumbled. "I'm not a child, so I eat adult food."

"What was that?" He yelled, laughing.

"I was singing a song." She quickly lied. "How the hell did he hear me?" She thought.

"Yeah, okay." He chuckled.

"Do you mind making the potatoes, while I get the grill started?" He asked.

"Of coarse not. How do you want them?"

"Can you bake them in the microwave, so they'll be done about the same time, as the steaks?"

"Yeah, is there any specific way you want them, or can I just put them in a bag, with a little bit of water?"

"No, that's how normally make them. Do you know how to make fried green tomatoes?" He asked.

"You just bread them, and fry them like squash, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Yeah, I can handle that. You want me to start on them after I get the potatoes going?"

"Yes, please." He smiled, as he made his way out to the porch.

"No problem, Honey." She smiled back.

He poked his head back in, and asked. "How'd you want your steak?"

"Medium... ish."

"Gotcha!" He winked. "Oh hey, it's nice out, do you wanna eat on the porch?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Alexis brought the tomatoes, and potatoes out, and sat them on the small metal table, before walking over, and stealing a kiss. She put her head on his shoulder, and hooked her arm around to rub his back, as he finished pulling the last steak from the grill.

"Those look good." She smiled, making her way to the table.

"I hope so. I've only used that grill two, or three times since I got it a few months back, and I haven't quite got it figured out yet."

They sat down to eat, and Clint took her hand, and began praying.

"Amen." Alexis said, as he finished. "So... I've noticed that you pray at every meal, but I've never heard you talk about goin to church, or anything. Do you go to church a lot?"

"Not in a while." He replied.

"Oh. So, you just haven't had time, or..."

"No, I've just always been the type, that likes to think for himself, so when I used to go to church, I noticed that most of the people there, have never even read the bible. They just show up on Sunday, and listen to the one guy who has read it, and accept his interpretation, as if it came from God's lips. So, I sat down one day, and prayed to God, and asked him to help me understand his book, to the best of my ability. Then I started reading the bible for myself. And the more I read, the more I disagreed with what most religious leaders are preaching. So, me being who I am, I asked the preacher some questions, and when he gave me the same answers he'd been preaching in church. I challenged his stance on a few issues, and when he couldn't rebuke my argument, he got pretty upset. So I tried explaining to some of my family, why I feel the way I do, and because most of my views, go against what their preacher has been telling them, they got pretty angry too. So, I figured, it'd probably be best, if I just stopped going, and not ruffle anymore feathers."

"So what veiws do you have, that made them all mad?"

"It's a couple of different things, but if it's okay with you, can we discuss them another time? If I get to rambling on, I'll never finish this steak before it gets cold." He grinned.

"Oh yeah, of course." She grinned back.

They made small talk over their meal, and finished off a bottle of wine, before they moved to the couch, and started searching for a movie to watch.

"What you wanna watch?" Alexis asked.

"Last movie we watched, was one of my favorites, so this time, you pick one of your favorites." He smiled.

"Really? Okay!" She smiled, happily. "But what if you don't like it?"

"Well, if it's one of your favorites, I guess I should at least give it a try. Don't ya think?"

"Ooo... they've got Sweet Home Alabama! That's one of my favorites!" She exclaimed. "You know, people tell me I look like her all the time, but I don't see it."

"Who, Reese Witherspoon?" Clint asked.

"Mhmm... like all the time." She laughed.

"Yeah, I think it's the accent, and her mannerisms in the movie, but yall do favor a lot too."

The movie started, as Clint untied his boots, and kicked them off next to the end of the coffee table. He layed back, and stretched his long legs out to the end of the couch. Alexis layed down between him, and the back of the couch, snuggling in close, resting her head on his chest. Gently rubbing her hand back, and forth on his stomach, Clint softly stroked her head, playing with her hair, brushing it behind her ear, over and over, as he lifted small tufts each time, just to let it drop back down.

Clint felt her breathing change, so he leaned up to find her fast asleep, before the movie was even half way over. Not wanting to wake her, he pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it over them both, before leaning over on the back of the sofa, and falling asleep himself.

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