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dxppercxdxver · 1 year

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and now for something completely different!! (it is once again that collaboration with @chiropteracupola)

you already know i love you

A crisp spring breeze crested over the hilltop near Teufort Manor, ruffling grasses and skirts alike with warmth and the promise of better things to come. It was saturated with sweet lavender and the tang of onion grass, and Filomena took a deep, soothing breath, letting the dawning season blossom in her lungs, before another explosion rocked the bucolic meadow.

“Do you suppose they’ll hurt themselves?” she murmured, licking her finger to turn over a page in her book, some dense medical volume in Ansel’s native German filled with extensive diagrams and footnotes she could barely follow. Beneath her, Ansel shifted, peering across the clearing. Far off in the distance, Jeremiah and Mikhail were continuing their jovial pyrotechnics; chain-shot whistled and cracked against pine bark, rippling out on the wind, whooping and guttural laughter nipping at the echo’s heels.

“Oh,” Ansel said, adjusting his glasses as he peered over Filomena’s shoulder, “almost certainly.”

Filomena snorted, knocking her head against Ansel’s temple.

The two of them were curled up underneath a sprawling oak whose roots gnarled and twisted into shapes almost resembling waves. Its whorls provided a comfortable place to lie down with a friend and a good book, both of which Filomena was fortunate enough to have to hand. Of course, Ansel bore the brunt of the wooden seating, as she was quite neatly slotted into his lap, but he was hardly complaining, and the good doctor made more than adequate a cushion for such an occasion. Beside them sat two glasses of cider newly dredged up from the mansion’s cellar, sweating in the sun. The scent of apples was barely noticeable over the milieu of wildflowers and the cool water of the nearby river, but its company was not to be ignored.

Cocking her head away from the deafening blast of cannonfire once more, Filomena laughed. “Are we at all obligated to stop this?”

“Not at all, Liebling.” Ansel smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I have every faith they will remain in one piece.” Pausing, he pursed his lips, fighting off the grin pulling at his cheeks. “More or less.”

“Of course.”

Shaking her head with an incurable fondness, Filomena tapped her thumb against Ansel’s knuckles, rough and cracked from years of equal parts caustic chemicals and dirty fighting, before feeling for the twin bands that encircled his middle finger. They sparkled in the afternoon light, new gold as yet untarnished by neither time nor bitterness. While Filomena’s own ring was nothing to sneeze at, all delicate etching imbued with adoration, she admired the interlocking pieces of Ansel’s jewelry. Daniel had made them, so of course they were lovely as they were unconventional.

Her reverie was broken shortly after by the loudest blast yet, punctuated by the splintering of wood and a triumphant holler. When she looked up, Jeremiah was beaming, gesturing to a swath of leveled trees with flailing arms and calling out to her.

“Mina! Mina, didja see that?”

“Yes, darling, I did!” Filomena cried, waving from her spot seated atop Jeremiah’s husband. “It was spectacular!”

“Hallelujah!” Pumping his fist, Jeremiah ran to Mikhail, who was lumbering toward the makeshift camp under the tree. He leapt up into the gunner’s waiting embrace, whooping as he went.

“Hey, Micky, she saw! She saw!”

Mikhail rolled his eyes, but nevertheless swept Jeremiah into an expansive twirl so that his legs flung out in all directions and he looked as though he could take flight with glee. When he touched ground again, Jeremiah nudged Mikhail’s elbow. “D’ya think the Doc was watchin’?”

A rumbling guffaw tore itself from Mikhail’s throat, bounding around the clearing. He ruffled Jeremiah’s hair with a hand wrought from iron, and Jeremiah shouldered him in return.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“You are…” Mikhail seemed to consider his words as they drew closer. “Cute. I see why Doktor likes you.”

“Hey! I ain’t cute! Mina, tell ‘im I ain’t cute!”

“Well, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Filomena grinned, gently closing her book around her finger.

“Agh! Betrayed!” Drawing a hand to his forehead, Jeremiah sprawled across Filomena’s lap, face contorted in mock agony. “By my own wife, no less!”

“I’m sure you’ll live.” Bending down, Filomena pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Immediately, Jeremiah sprung back to life, sitting upright.

“It’s a miracle! I’m cured!”

“A veritable scientific anomaly,” Ansel agreed with a wink, reaching for Jeremiah’s hand and twining their fingers together. “One I will be sure to study at great length.”

“Aw, you flirt.” Succumbing to giggles moments later, Jeremiah tugged Ansel through a gap under Filomena’s arm for a clumsy, beaming kiss. She cast her eyes over to Mikhail, who was settling in beside the three of them, and found herself stifling ungainly chortles as he examined her plight, tangled between her husband and her husband’s husband. Reaching out, Filomena gripped Mikhail’s shoulder like a lifeline.

“Jeremiah, dear,” Filomena choked out through suppressed laughter, “while you know I love you very much, I am also— rather struggling to breathe.”

“Oh, shit.” Scrambling backward—very nearly clipping her nose with his head—Jeremiah disentangled himself from under Filomena’s arm until he was straddling her lap, hands laced behind her neck. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Smiling, Filomena twined her fingers through Jeremiah’s hair, admiring the smattering of freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes shimmered green with the foliage around them, and flaxen hair shone like spun gold.

“You are beautiful,” Filomena said before the rest of her mind caught up, but when it did, she found she still meant it. Ducking his head, Jeremiah’s cheeks flushed, and he reached for her glass of cider.

“Says you,” he mumbled.

“I do.”

Taking a long swig, Jeremiah eventually replaced the empty glass and laid his hands on Filomena’s cheeks.

“Love you, Mina.”

Jeremiah leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, breath fogging against her spectacles. She wanted to tell him she loved him too, but the gentle silence that enveloped them felt too precious to interrupt, and so she simply hoped he knew what she meant, what she would always mean.

Sighing, Filomena began to recline against Ansel’s chest again, before he raised a hand in protest.

“Ey! Save some for the rest of us!”

“Sorry,” Filomena chuckled, shimmying to the side until there was no interruption between Ansel and Jeremiah. Her book had long fallen by the wayside, and she scooped it up as she nestled herself between Ansel and Mikhail, dodging Jeremiah’s stray boot.

“Nice, isn’t it?” she whispered, more to the wind than anyone in particular, watching Jeremiah fiddle with Ansel’s tie, dot kisses along his jaw.

“Да,” came a soft whisper from behind her. When she turned, Mikhail was looking down at the scene before them, expression infectiously serene. “Is nice.”

“Misha, are you talking about us?” Ansel called, muffled under Jeremiah’s bear hug.

Mikhail’s amusement reverberated outward from deep in his stomach, rippling through Filomena and dragging her along with his levity. “Only good things, Doktor.”

“I should hope so, mein Schatz!” Although Ansel clearly meant to say more, Jeremiah pulled him into a crushing hug and abruptly cut him off, the both of them cradled in light and warmth. Filomena kicked her heel into Jeremiah’s thigh.

“Let the poor man recover, darling!” she exclaimed, guiding him back into her lap. “I do apologize for my husband’s despicable behavior, Mr. Ludwig.”

“And I, mine, Mrs. Thornton,” Ansel returned, kissing her cheek. “Really, Vogel, you ought to know better.”

“You two are insufferable.” Groaning, Jeremiah flipped over, positioning himself across the row of thighs that formed a convenient mattress. “Why did I ever marry you?”

“Hmmm, because you love us?” Filomena said, tapping his nose.

Ansel chimed in with a raised finger. “And because you are a man of miserable tastes!”

“Ah, yeah, that’s gotta be it.”

Soft grin spreading across his face, Jeremiah let his eyes flutter closed, resting his hands across his stomach, and a pleasant quiet began to settle around them, guided on the maple seeds fluttering to the ground. The hopefulness of springtime was practically infectious, with the four of them together like this.

Inhaling long and slow, Filomena tucked her head into Ansel’s ribs, and he draped his arm over her shoulders, slender fingers finding purchase in the brocade of Mikhail’s coat. If she was not mistaken, Jeremiah was already drifting off, heart slowing to a crawl against her legs. Mikhail’s steady breaths worked to lull them all into a timeless, dreamlike state, where the world seemed to turn at a snail’s pace around them.

“I adore you,” Filomena mumbled, uncertain as to whether or not her loves had heard her. Not that it mattered, of course, but then Ansel’s “Süße Träume,” and Mikhail’s, “Спокойной ночи,” and last of all, Jeremiah’s, “Love ya,” reached her ears, and her chest all but glowed with the vibrancy within.

The distant chirp of birds lulled her into a gentle sleep.

#dialogue heavy fic? in My writing? it's. honestly about as likely as you think this is a rarity #also!! here's to basically Straight Fluff again #idk what to do with myself they're not even In A Situation #they're just being lovely and kind and wonderful to one another <3 #and they're in love!! sort of!!!#to clarify in case what's happening in em's and my brains isn't clear to the outside world:#the dynamic is mikhail/ansel -> ansel/jeremiah -> jeremiah/filomena #filomena and ansel are not Together they are just extraordinarily physically affectionate #but yeah.... they're having a nice day......#once again i have put Seasons into my writing but y'know. fucka you #anyway. i am going to combust and explode upon the floor now #radio free junebug #my writing #flintlock fortress #team fortress 2 #the scout: jeremiah thornton #the heavy: mikhail andronikov #the medic: ansel ludwig #the enforcer: filomena pauling #yeah..... Yeah......#oh and title is froooooom. someone else's song by wilco

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alphadaddyderek · 3 years

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Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

--------------

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

--------------

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

#sterek #sterek smut #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fic #sterek au #smut #My fic

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sneezefiction · 3 years

Text

attention

Miya Osamu x Reader

desc: you’re spending too much time fawning over a very fictional captain Levi and not enough time doting on your real boyfriend, Osamu.

a/n: @starrysamu dearest remy, this is for you. i only just found out that it’s your birthday and i felt like i needed to show my appreciation for you in a tangible way. this isn’t the best, but i laughed a lot while writing it, so i hope it’ll make you smile. so much love to you and happiest of birthdays!! you’re such a joy to speak with <33

warnings: mentions attack on titan (fictional deaths), language, suggestive towards the end

wc: 1.5k

---

“I bet you haven’t moved in hours.”

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly.

Osamu stays silent for a moment, squinting judgmentally at you from the corner of the living room. He’s been standing there for ten minutes and you’ve not so much as acknowledged his existence. Granted, you already spent the entire morning with him, but you could at least greet him with your usual, “hey, babe.”

He’d even settle for a “what’s up, ugly” at this point.

However, your eyes are glued to the TV screen. Blue light and flashing colors reflect off of your skin while the blood-curdling screams of various animated characters fill the room. You gasp and a hand flies to your mouth. That’s the fourth time you’ve done that since he’d walked in the room.

Whatever it is you’re watching, your reaction seems reasonable. The show looks and sounds disgusting. Or at least to Osamu it does.

“You really should move around a little.” He coaxes, “You’re gonna cut off all your circulation.”

Osamu approaches the couch, but you continue to ignore him.

“Yeah, and?” you respond, eyes still fixed on the screen, “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

You reach for the remote and turn up the volume a couple of notches. His brows furrow in contempt. Now, this is just plain rude.

“Well, if you lose a limb, don’t come cryin’ to me.” He says flatly.

“I won’t…” you start, “but-“

You point to the screen, singling out a few characters being hunted by hideous and… very naked titans. Gross, Osamu thinks.

“-they might.”

If you were known to watch shows for the plot, he wouldn’t mind your series marathons all that much. But he knows you too well.

Osamu flickers his gaze to the TV and steps in front of the screen, intentionally blocking your view. It’s an attempt to steal your attention away from all of these fictional characters you claim to keep “falling in love with.”

You whine and tell him to “get his ass out of the way,” while craning around his broad shoulders to see. It’d be a shame to miss out on Levi Ackerman’s hella sculpted jawline, even just for a second.

But your efforts are to no avail. ‘Samu (his ass included) refuses to move away from the screen.

You breathe out a white flag of a sigh, slumping back into the couch in defeat. Though you’d planned on this being a solo watch party, you know that the only way to get what you want out of this situation (Levi screen time) is by appeasing your actual boyfriend.

“Whatever ‘Samu. Just join me already.” You huff out.

Tossing open your blanket for him, you pat the empty space expectantly. If you’re going to give him any attention at all, he’s obligated to at least keep you warm.

And he won’t lie, you look very comfortable.

Seeing you cozied up in his apartment and lazily splayed out on his couch has always made him melt a little. Osamu is just a bit domestic like that.

But if you’re just going to use his Netflix account to fawn over fake (albeit incredibly sexy) men, then he’s less than thrilled to have you sitting there alone. Any good boyfriend would be at least a little agitated… right?

So for the sake of reining you and your wandering mind in, he decides to plop down next to you. The whole couch sinks when he sits and you tilt into him like a planet gravitating toward the sun. A really obnoxious, show-interrupting sun.

Osamu snakes an arm around your back, pulling you into his chest, and turns his head toward the TV. All is calm as you get comfortable and adjust yourself against him... until suddenly the screen splatters red. His arm tenses against your waist and a frown forms on his face. Apparently, something or someone just bit the dust.

“What exactly are ya watchin’?” He asks, tone drenched in disgust.

You whip your head toward him, an eyebrow cocked and lips parted. You’re looking at him as though he’d just gone and grown a third eye or called your mom a hoe. In terms of drama, Osamu is beginning to think you might actually rival Atsumu.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Do I look like someone who keeps up with anime?”

“Well… no,” you admit slowly, “but that’s got nothing to do with you not knowing about Attack on Titan. I bet even Kita has heard of it.”

You wait for recognition to flicker in his grey eyes at the mention of the anime’s name. Instead, he gives you his signature blank stare. Should you be shocked or disappointed? Which emotion would bother him more?

“Yeah, it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Have you been living under a rock?” You scoff, mouth still agape.

“No, but I basically live with you and that’s difficult enough.” He jests, poking you in the side.

His warm hands gives you a quick squeeze and you almost jump out of his hold. For someone who runs a restaurant, he’s got some well-toned arms. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to escape his grasp anytime soon.

“No! None of that shit!” You hiss as he tries to tickle you. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

Your back curls like a cat and you bat at his hands to abate any further pokes or prods. He only chuckles, smirking at your feeble attempts to stop him. You were the one provoking him in the first place, but he’ll let it slide just this once.

When Osamu no longer seems like a threat to your ticklish sides, you nestle back into him. Your hand rests lightly on his chest and your head finds a soft-ish spot on his shoulder.

Feigning a pout, you mutter, “Captain Levi wouldn’t treat me like this.”

He’s quick to respond.

“Well, Levi-” the name sounds uncharacteristically bitter as it leaves his lips, “-wouldn’t treat you like anything, sweetheart. Sorry, but he ain’t real.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Osamu beats you to it.

“And judging by the rate these people are dyin’, he probably won’t last long enough for you to even mentally date him.”

“Don’t underestimate me and my mental dating abilities, ‘Samu.” You warn, “Or Levi. He could totally beat your ass.”

With perfect timing, Levi makes an appearance, striking a lethal blow to another one of the babbling giants. Two giants. Now four of them. Okay, he might’ve spoken too soon.

“Mm… maybe. But he probably couldn’t put up with all of your bullshit. This Levi kid seems like a bit of a hardass,” Osamu responds after a few minutes of transfixed silence.

You jut your lip out, sinking further into the couch, “Crush my dreams, why don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes in response.

“But,” you continue, “you’ve gotta admit, he is attractive. I mean, just look at those eyes. That body, too…” you breathe.

You swoon and tease and clutch at your heart, but it’s all an act to get under ‘Samu’s skin. He is your number one, after all. Teasing is just a part of your relationship and you would try to milk it whenever you could.

However, you don’t get a verbal response from him this time. He just tightens his hold around you and buries his nose in your hair. Warm breath tickles your scalp and trails across your skin.

Is he pouting? Or is he finally watching the show without adding commentary to it? You can’t tell the difference.

Osamu stays like that for a moment and you revert your attention back to the screen, intent on catching the last couple minutes of this episode.

Though you hardly have a chance to re-invest yourself before Osamu is speaking again.

“Well, I’m just glad he’s behind a TV screen,” he sighs against your head, “and-”

A smirk works its way onto his lips and Osamu begins circling a thumb on your exposed thigh. Your breath hitches and you turn to face him. His fingers press against your skin and play at the hem of your shorts.

The warmth of his hand sinks deeply into you like poison. In a matter of seconds, you’re at a loss for words, rendered unfit for battle… even if that battle is just teasing the ever-living shit out of him.

Thoughts of the show, of Levi, of other fictional men, are long gone from your mind.

Damn him for still having this effect on you after all this time.

“-judging by the way you can’t keep your hands off of me-“

He glances at your hand, which is resting delicately on his abdomen. You’re pressed up tightly against him, tucked into his side and looking up at his face which seems dangerously close to your own. Then his eyes, heavy-lidded and a shade of grey far prettier than Levi’s, flicker down to your lips.

Your skin flushes hot and you grip the fabric of his shirt.

“-I’d say you’ve gotta be at least half as into me as you’re into general Levi or whatever the hell his name is,” Osamu murmurs, his breath fanning gently on your lips.

He leans in, planting a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth, effectively teasing the delicate skin.

With one calloused hand on your face and the other still stroking your thigh, you feel your mind going fuzzy. This was escalating much faster than you’d expected it to and you haven’t even had the chance to pause your show.

You glance over to the TV... and heaven seems to be shining down upon you. It’s the blessed Netflix “are you still watching” screen; your show is perfectly paused. Now you can focus on what’s right in front of you.

Osamu finally has your full, undivided attention. Just as he should.

“Just for the record, it’s captain Levi.” You whisper to him.

“Oh, shut up.” He says before crashing his lips into yours.

You do, in fact, shut up.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya #osamu #hq #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #inarizaki #miya twins #remy <3

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becausethathappens · 3 years

Text

Spare Change

4k - college - Link is furious, so Rhett tries to calm him down.

For @peachworthy and anyone else who thinks swearing is hot.

Link is mad.

Link is pacing.

Rhett tries to help.

“Why don’t you just scream into a pillow, like you always do?” Rhett offers.

“I did that!” Link cries. He makes a show of going over and doing it again. Rhett can’t help his instinct to recoil at seeing his friend yell like that.

Link’s car has been towed. Link can’t go on a date with the girl he’s been trying to court all week.

On top of that: Link doesn’t have a credit card (all he’s got is cash) and it says right on the tow sign they don’t deal in it. Somehow Link missed the whole thing, the first time around, when he parked wrong or whatever. But now going to have to borrow his Mama’s card just to get the truck out of impound.

All this and he still has to cancel on his date tonight.

“I didn’t even see a line!” he yells again, recounting the events that have unfolded. “How am I supposed to take their word for it without a picture, either! And like I said, if you can’t see the line, how are you gonna know when you’ve crossed it?!” he decries.

They’ve towed his car because he parked outside the student residential boundary lines on the main street. Everyone knows this is how the city of Raleigh makes most it’s coin. Shoving parking tickets on unsuspecting co-eds.

Link never thought they’d tow his freaking car, though.

Well, his truck. To be specific.

He feels stifled, cornered, and hot. Very hot. His skin is boiling, red and he wants to punch the pillow he’s just released after screaming into it.

His only permanent means of escape.

At least, unless he borrows Rhett's car.

“I can’t believe they wouldn’t even give me a warning! Or wait five minutes! I was only in rec center for ten minutes picking up freakin’ — these freakin’ things,” Link spits the words as he picks up and tosses the flowers back down on his desk.

They’re rumpled, now, with his tense hold and actions. Rhett gets up and fidgets with them, trying to smooth the foliage back into the nice shape it started in.

“Link, it’s okay, Lindsey is gonna understand,” Rhett explains.

“It’s not — it’s — there’s — why’s it always — I’M SO MAD!” Link ends with, apoplectic and beyond any other way to articulate it.

“That’s okay!” Rhett tells him, since he has every right to be upset.

“I...! Ughhhh!” He walks over and bangs his right Reebok heel against the closet door once for good measure.

It makes a noisy sound as it bends at the overhead slide hinge that keeps it on track. Link kicks it again, seeming pleased with the audible response from the wood bending and cracking loudly in the room, like a smack to the face.

“Link!” Rhett reprimands, sure that they’ll be in trouble with their resident advisor for damaging property if Link keeps it up.

“I’m sorry, I just! I just wanna — ‘s just been one thing after another, this year!” Link growls, continuing his pacing and returning to the wooden door again. “I’m just so — so — ARRGH!” Link fumes and before Rhett can jump up to intervene, he watches his friend punch the door.

“FFF—reak! Dang it!” Link screams.

Rhett watches, eyes wide.

“Shit!” Link yells as it hits. It gives with a loud, snap-crack and Rhett’s mouth makes a perfect “o” in reaction.

Link’s hand goes to his mouth catching his own language. “Shit!” he cries again like he can’t stop, muffled by his hand.

Afterwards, he’s panting and Rhett is left standing to the side staring in a bit of awe. He didn’t know Link had that in him, to be honest. “Shit, there’s a hole!” Link exclaims.

Their eyes both guiltily dart to the half-filled swear jar on Link’s desk. Usually he’s the one keeping after Rhett for saying “Hell!” or “Damn!”

Although Rhett’s said all the bad words, at some point or another, it is unlike either of them to spew out a ton of foul language in a string as Link has.

“Swear jar?” Rhett says, mostly in question. He can tell Link’s much madder than the other times they’ve punished each other for cursing. His willingness to let it go is rife in his tone, but Link shakes his head, madder at himself for having swore and willing to pay the price.

He saunters over to his backpack and finds his wallet. “No, no, I earned it.” He tsks himself as he pulls out a few singles and strides over to the jar, tipping them in.

“You overpaid, there, bo,” Rhett advises, watching the bills settle. It was a quarter a word and Link put in three dollars.

“‘S for the door,” Links says, shrugging. “I don’t know what the Hell I ‘s thinkin’!”

He closes his eyes. “And for that Hell, too,” he adds. “And that one!” He throws his hands up. “ARRgh!”

“Link!” Rhett yells as he slots another single dollar bill, adding to the overpayment, but cushioning the extra curses all the same. “Link, it’s — you — it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” Link yells. “I’m screwed. And now I’m cursing like a sailor watchin’ my favorite football team lose the playoffs!”

Rhett makes a face. “What, we talkin’ the Army-Navy game, or what?”

“Damn it, Rhett!” Link snarls. Then he closes his eyes and makes a face at his own words. “Damn it, Rhett!” He paces around, throwing his hands back around, gesticulating. “I feel like I’m trapped in some sick dirty mouth loop!”

“That sounds… why does that sound worse than the cursing?” Rhett says, joking. “Maybe you should add another dollar?”

Link sighs, dramatically, and does so.

“Link, I was — you don’t have to actually — Link, it’s okay!” Rhett stammers out, eyes bright. He comes at Link with his hand out, like he’s asking to be heard out. “You had a horrible day, you should be allowed to vent a little!”

“Vent a little?!” Link shoots back. “I put a hole in the door!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe that wasn’t your finest moment, but you’re pissed!” Rhett explains. “I get it!”

Link throws his hands up as if to say, at least there’s that and not much else.

“You should get a pass.”

“A pass?” Link questions.

“Yeah, just for tonight.” Rhett puts his hands on his hips. “You already paid for a week’s worth of curses with my exchange rate,” Rhett jokes.

Rhett didn’t curse much, but all the other money in the jar was his. Link’s never so much as taken the Lord’s name in vain before.

Link spares a sidelong glance and hustles back over to his backpack to return his wallet.

“Go ahead, man, you’ve earned it. Blow off some steam!” Rhett advises.

“So, you just want me to start cursing?” Link asks, joking with a touch of condescension. “Like some — some degenerate?”

“Degenerate?” Rhett asks, laughing. “Who said anything about being a degenerate?”

“That’s who curses, Rhett!”

Rhett looks Link over and decides to try and get his mind off what’s eating him by messing with him. His favorite pastime.

“You should say the ‘F’ word, Link,” Rhett urges, suddenly, overcome with the desire to corrupt Link. He’s a bit ashamed of it, but another side of him insists that it would be hilarious to see Link snap and start saying filthy things, even for just one night.

Hearing him say Shit! is enough to get Rhett interested in hearing more.

Link frowns. “Fornicate?”

Rhett smirks. “Yeah, but the bad version.”

Link’s eyes go wide. “Rhett!” he puts a hand to his chest, finally settling on a posture that indicates he’s nearly at his wit’s end. Rhett beams at him.

This is as much about teasing Link to take a night off being Mr. Perfect as it is about Rhett noticing that Link screaming Shit! also did a lot to calm him down. If he curses more, maybe he’ll feel better altogether. Plus, as established, Rhett found it hilarious to watch unfold.

In his opinion, it’s certainly worth a shot.

“C’mon, Link — let one rip!” Rhett teases and Link’s brows furrow.

Unfortunately, Rhett’s efforts to cheer him up are doing the opposite for his mood in the meantime. Link looks actively annoyed at the supposition.

“Will you please — ? We’ve established I’m having a terrible enough night as it is and I don’t need your added bull —” Link stops, then goes silent off at Rhett’s delighted expression.

“My what?” Rhett teases more. “My bullshit?”

Link’s eyes flick to the jar. Rhett makes a show of grabbing a quarter from his laundry money holder on his own desk and walking over to put it in the jar.

“Yeah, that,” Link bullies.

“Well, too dang bad, Link,” Rhett says, splaying his arms wide and taking in that Link is at least partly distracted from his terrible night, even while he spoke of it. “Rules are that so long as I pay up, I’m fine.”

Link huffs.

“This is —” Link starts, voice rising again in agitation.

“Uh, huh,” Rhett encourages.

“You’re such a —” Link begins and ends. Rhett’s eyebrows and eyes both dart up then turn crooked, waiting for any addition to that comment, but it never arrives.

Link starts pacing again, faster, back and forth between the dorm beds and their door.

Rhett merely nods, waiting for more.

Finally, something in Link stops him in his tracks. Whether it’s the constant grinning nods from Rhett to egg him on, the long itinerary of Bad Things that keep on Happening, or just that Link is filled with an urge to punch the closet door again and he knows he can’t do that.

So, he snaps, “IT IS BULLSHIT!” full volume at Rhett.

Rhett’s head nods even more swiftly, taking a deeper path up and down, like he’s bobbing over steady waves to stay afloat.

“IT’S ALL BULLSHIT!” Link repeats at the same charged decibel.

Rhett still nods more, as if to tell him to elaborate further, but Link’s anger stagnates his thinking. He just wants to keep screaming that, so he does. “IT’S ALL SUCH BULLSHIT!”

“Yeah, it is!” Rhett calls back at him, like he’s cheering him on in the stands.

“And you?!” Rhett puts a hand on his own chest as if to answer silently who me? Link’s, fired up again and pointing in Rhett’s direction. “You don’t get to have fun with this, you’re — you’re just as bad!”

“YEAH! I AM!” Rhett calls out, uncaring about being thrown into the mix as well.

“When you drove us to the rec center last weekend, we double-parked with our hazards on and took twice as long!”

Rhett exclaims, “We did!” in agreement.

“ASSHOLE!” Link yells at him.

Rhett nods.

Link tears his fingers through his hair, overwhelmed at how out of hand his words have gotten, so quickly. His eyes stray back to the swear jar where he knows he has at least a few words to go. Disturbing though the thought, he considers also that he has more money in his wallet.

He knows how far he’s strayed, already, from that change in priorities alone. When he looks back at Rhett, who is still giddy, waiting for him to say more, he gives up.

“Fuck,” he mutters, in absolution.

Rhett gasps.

He’s been waiting for Link to say that, most of all, and is shocked by how quickly they’ve arrived there. Hearing it spoken so casually, on top of it all.

“Fuck,” Link repeats again, in surprise that the word actually tumbled out of his mouth so smoothly.

“I don’t even think I’ve ever hardly thought that word before, let alone said it, now I can’t f — fuck, now I can’t stop!” Link growls at Rhett, furious at his role in what feels like a downfall.

Rhett is still aghast. His mind racing.

He’s been waiting for the delivery and is amazed to hear Link actually do it. His mind has been picturing this as a funny joke, but Link is just standing there, mad, yelling fuck, again and again, accusatory. Rightly so.

Rhett knows he drove Link to this, in part for his own amusement, but it doesn’t feel funny at all anymore. His cheeks feel warm.

Link’s face reddens further at Rhett’s lack of response.

He gets up in Rhett’s face and Rhett feels himself start to back up so quickly he nearly stumbles to sit on the bed. He needs to concede this fight because it’s clear there’s a lot more pent up anger than he’s realized inside Link.

He thinks back to the door and looks around. That did calm him briefly, but surely he can’t just punch the door again. “You should yell,” Rhett ekes out the next best thing. What Link shouted after the punch. “Yell it.”

He means the f-word, still. The way Link is saying it, it feels immoral to be saying it, too.

“FUCK!” Link yells, at his continued badgering, whether it’s in fulfillment of his request or not, Rhett couldn’t say. His body shudders in fear at how loud and direct an outburst that was.

Now, he’s worried their dorm mates are going to think they’re in an all-out fight. Rhett’s eyes scan the bed and he grabs a pillow. “Yell into this,” he offers, handing the pillow over.

Link, still looking annoyed, takes the pillow. He shoves his face against it and screams, “FUCK!” at what must be the very top of his lungs.

Rhett has to brace himself against the top bunk. He’s waiting for the punchline.

It still hasn’t come.

Link, meanwhile, has pulled his bright red face from the pillow and takes in air in pants, looking over at Rhett. Rhett is sure he’s never looked so tough, so masculine, so — Rhett’s stomach lurches.

He knows that can’t be healthy. To consider any of those traits as a burly or cool, but he’s too concerned with why they’re making his insides tingle to interrogate it much for himself.

He offers to take the pillow back and Link hands it to him. Instead of putting it on the bed, Rhett holds it in his hands. He’s speechless, he thinks, but his head is pounding too hard to know why his mind directs him to his next request. Muscle memory, perhaps.

Normally, Rhett would wrestle with Link until he got the anger out, but that feels absolutely impossible to initiate right now. With Link this mad, somehow Rhett worries that even being bigger and heavier, Link would find a way to win that match, looking as livid as he does.

“Um,” Rhett starts, unable to figure out what more to say, now that Link’s gone through all that. He holds up the pillow. “Punch this,” Rhett says, not thinking about the fact that said pillow is still in his grip. He’s more focused on the mental image of sweaty, angry Link punching things again.

It’s what helped him relieve tension before, after all.

So, he pushes the pillow forward again, centering it where Link can take an easy swing in the middle and miss Rhett’s hands entirely, and waits for Link to make a move.

Soon, Link does swing, deftly, landing a soft punch on the object with a huff. Rhett can see some of the tension lock up and release from his shoulders. It’s not gone, but it must be helping. Rhett knows shooting hoops when he’s pissed always did the trick.

Link then punches again, firmer, this time, shouting, “Fuck!” along with his movements.

Then again, then a third and fourth time, until the pillow gives way and flies back towards the chair behind where Rhett stands. “Shit!” Link calls, watching it settle on the desk chair to their right.

Rhett considers that is likely to keep happening, once Link builds back to that momentum, so he turns back and squares up. He holds a palm out behind another palm. He doesn’t ask, but Link can tell he’s being told to punch into Rhett’s open hand like it’s a boxing or pitching warm-up.

Link pulls back and slams his fist into Rhett’s palm. The taller of the two staggers back, but doesn't flinch. He puts his hand back in the same spot waiting for another. Link gives just as hard again.

On the third hit, Rhett finally falters. The sting of the punch is too much for him to let on as harmless, when he waves his hands around the air to ease the throb. He grabs a throw blanket and drapes it two or three times around his upper chest, then motions for Link to aim there instead.

Link gets a good hit in and Rhett is sure this way is going to last even less than his naked hand did, but he has to try to keep at it. Link is so angry, but he looks so good hitting like this, like he could star in a cologne ad or work at Abercrombie & Fitch at the mall. Rhett has to let him get the tension out.

That’s Rhett’s job as his best friend.

Eventually, the pain is too much and he needs a break. Rhett puts a hand up in pause and sits himself on the bottom bunk and waits for Link to say something. They’re both panting with the same amount of exertion they use when they wrestle, but they still have all their clothes on.

For some reason, Rhett’s mind takes note of that.

He realizes he’s been staring at Link when Link starts to return the gaze. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” Link asks.

Rhett blushes. “Like what?” He can’t see his face to know.

“Like I’m a sideshow exhibit,” Link tells him, throwing his hands back up in derision. “Or — or, I don’t know a piece of undercooked meat, almost.”

“What?” Rhett asks, blanching.

“Like you’re sizing me up to fight,” Link clarifies.

Fight — Rhett considers. Quite the opposite. His mind thought Link meant piece of meat — to bite. Which sent a chill up his spine. “I-I wasn’t…”

“You were!” Link says, still crackling with tension. Rhett doesn’t have any part of his body to absorb it, any longer, he feels useless to help.

“Link…” Rhett starts to say, looking up at Link. Link still has an arm on the top bunk but now he’s leaning down a little, friendly but threatening, and Rhett’s insides start to turn over in knots.

“You want to pound me, admit it!” Link says, impatiently.

“What?!” Rhett replies, stunned.

“You,” Link says, pointing at Rhett. “Want to pound me,” he starts only to stop and point at himself. “It’s clear as day on your face.”

“What?!” Rhett yells at him.

“You want to pound me, Rhett. You’re so predictable,” Link elaborates, plainly. “Go ahead!”

Rhett’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Link, I-I…” Rhett trails off, his face blotchy and drawn.

“C’mon,” Link begs, leaning forward down at Rhett, taunting him. “Hit me!”

Rhett registers his words, understanding finally that he means to physically fight him, not to pound him as in fuck him. In Rhett’s defense, that word has been thrown around pretty casually for the first time ever and he’s racing to keep up with everything Link is doing.

Unfortunately, Rhett comes to this conclusion after he’s already leaned upwards and started kissing Link on the mouth.

Once he’s there, realizing the grave error he’s made, he breaths a huff of air in humility as he feels Link’s mouth open in turn. Then Link’s tongue darts out to push into his.

As the wet tip bursts in and out, rapidly, and Rhett contemplates that it’s like Link is still hitting him, in this tiny only-in-his-mouth kind of way. So, maybe Link was right and he did want to pound him but only via the mouth. Since it also felt so good, Rhett starts returning the kiss, rapid pace, and pulling Link closer.

Link groans under his guidance, but it’s a good groan. Link rests a thigh over each of Rhett’s and sinks back on his knees, sitting over Rhett, as they continue to twist tongues. Rhett doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he moves them around to Link’s back and they naturally drift towards gripping his ass while he holds him.

Link moans into his mouth at the feeling.

Eventually, Link pulls back, leaning so there’s enough space to speak his shock.

“Fuck, Rhett,” Link mutters. Rhett feels his dick throb and thrust up towards Link’s lap as he shifts. Rhett’s not sure when he got this hard, but it suddenly feels like he has a steel rod stuffed down his sweats. “What are we doing?” Link breathes out. “Was that — were we just kissin’? What the Hell is going on?” Link questions, desperate and aroused.

Rhett humps up another time and Link keens at the sensation.

“I think my body just wanted to help relieve the tension of, uh, you know, all that anger and — " Rhett starts to explain, but he’s helpless to the feeling of Link rolling around in his lap and generating even more friction between their overlapping arousal. “Guess it preferred the idea of this over punching you.”

Link rocks his hips and giggles through his own enjoyment as he watches Rhett squirm. “I’m a little biased, but yeah,” Link says, grinding down more. “This does beat a punch in the face, I’ll give you that.”

They’re both panting and rubbing on each other more before Rhett reaches down to touch Link. “Honestly, I think I could —” Link says, grinding with extra effort in a way that makes Rhett feel Link’s erection evidently as it presses against his midsection. He grinds back into that area specifically.

“Yeah, same,” Rhett agrees, circling his hips in time with Link’s.

Nothin’ like some good old dry humping, for what ails ‘ya, he figures.

Link leans down and either forgetting his initial shock or abandoning it, he captures Rhett’s mouth in another kiss.

Before long, they start gasping for air from one another’s open mouths while their faces stay pressed together but not kissing, as they grind harder and harder where they sit.

Rhett reaches a hand down and fondles them both at once, rubbing his sweats against Link’s khakis. Link throws his head back in pleasure. “Feel better?” he asks, hoping this has been as erotic and pleasurable for Link as it has been for him.

“Oh, shit, Rhett, yeah,” Link moans, waist canting in time with Rhett’s motions. While gripping Link’s ass, Rhett’s moved his right hand up his back to steady him with how harsh the kisses are, each time. The hand that moved to Link’s back has stayed under his tank and drifts to his front. Rhett feels around for a nipple and squeezes once when it finds purchase.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, just like that, oh my God, fuck, FUCK!” Link bellows out, suddenly aware that Rhett is sucking kisses into his jaw and throat as his other hand, the one not on the nipple, still squeezes his ass.

“I’m gonna — I can’t stop — I’m about to,” Link begins several attempts to warn Rhett, but comes before he can finish or Rhett can respond.

Rhett’s eyes go fully wide again, in amazement, feeling Link’s dick throb and spurt laid against his own. It’s enough added heat and friction that he feels his own orgasm begin to crest unexpectedly. He hasn’t come that quick in years. Maybe ever.

Link pants through his come down, but doesn’t move to get off Rhett right away. They both remain still, clutching each other as they sit tangled limb over limb.

“D-Did we just have sex?” Link asks, mortified, but still draped over Rhett.

“Technically,” Rhett confirms. “But it was non-penetrative, so we’re still good, I think.”

“Oh, okay, yeah,” Link says back, his eyes far off.

“You sure that’s okay?” Rhett asks, looking for Link to meet his gaze and assure him that is.

He does, but he speaks his mind, to clarify anything not given away by his crooked grin. “No, I was askin’ ‘cause I wanna do it again.”

Rhett’s eyes light up.

“A lot,” Link explains.

“Fuck,” Rhett moans, softly, brushing a thumb to Link’s lower lip.

He joins their mouths again.

Link cuts the kiss short, with a hand between them, however, and gives Rhett a stern look. Rhett knows in that moment and any proceeding it, he’ll do anything Link asks of him.

Rhett’s glazed eyes spin focus to Link’s face again to figure out what that will be this time. Link nods his head towards the half-empty jar on his desk.

“Pay up.”

#why is mean link always so hot #things i wrote #🍋#@peachworthy

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notquitetwilight · 3 years

Text

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART TWO

The Cullanos continue taking care of business in Boston. Warning: this story contains graphic violence and sexual references (no smut, just truly cursed references). Previous instalment

Esme breathed shakily as she walked hand-in-hand with her husband past brownstone after brownstone. The street was deserted; it was just the two of them and the parked cars that lined their path. Her thoughts seemed to scream louder in the silence as she mentally willed that the daughter they left behind would be safe.

“S’like Brooklyn down here,” Carlisle said absentmindedly, keeping his voice low. When she didn’t answer, he looked at her, suddenly noticing her unease. “What’s the matta, baby?”

“I think…” she trailed off, unsure. She wasn’t used to being nervous. But she couldn’t shake the image of Rosalie’s wide eyes right before she had left her in the car. They were the same shade of blue as Carlisle’s, the type that seemed cold and piercing when narrowed, but inviting enough to swim in when widened. Though she’d never have admitted it, Esme knew she was afraid. And that made her afraid.

“I’m not sure we should’ve brought her.”

He frowned. “Rosie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, our other child we were recently reunited with. Who else?”

“She wanted to come,” he said, raising a shoulder.

“So? If she said she wanted to do crack, would you let her?”

“Depends on whether or not she’d share,” he grinned.

“Carl, I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking a little, which surprised both of them.

He squeezed her hand. “She’s a smart girl, Ezzie. She knows the drill.”

“Still, if somethin’ goes wrong—“

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I don’t…” she stopped in her tracks, feeling like she couldn’t take in air as quickly as her body needed her to. She closed her eyes as she tried to level her breathing. “If somethin’ were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d never forgive myself. Or you.”

She opened her eyes to find him looking a little wounded. “I thought this was what you wanted. Her here, with us.”

“It is,” she said, starting to walk again. “But all this is also why we gave her up in the first place, right?”

He groaned quietly. “Not this again.”

That infuriated her. She let go of his hand and made a great effort to keep the volume of her voice low in her response. “I’m sorry, is my fear for our daughter’s safety inconveniencin’ you?”

“I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said with a sigh. “Over and over, I keep tryin’ to make you happy, and over and over, I feel like I’m failin’. Because I don’t know what you want. Because you don’t know what you want.” He spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice. She balked at him.

“What?” was all she managed.

“You want me, but you don’t want me. So I try move on. Twice. When ya do want me, I’m there in a heartbeat. You want our daughter, but you don’t want our daughter, so I give up my chance to be a dad to her. But then you do want her, but only from a distance, so we torture ourselves watchin’ other people raise her. Then you want her, fully want her, so I bring her back to us, and ever since I did you’ve been sayin’ maybe we shoulda left her as she was. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I can’t make you happy no matta what. Maybe you were right, all those times ya said family life wasn’t for you. Ya seem a lot less happy since we became one.”

She gritted her teeth and glared up at him, ready to risk their cover in screaming at him. Yet her anger dissolved immediately upon seeing his face. He looked…sad. Truly, hopelessly sad, the type that usually only came with grief. Only she was allowed to see him this vulnerable, and only she had seen him wear this same expression just twice before: the day of his mother’s funeral, and the day they gave Rose up.

She had never considered how all of it might have looked to him, how what she said or did could be misinterpreted. She just assumed he knew where her head was at, because she always knew where his was at. But it suddenly occurred to her that she knew everything he thought because he spoke everything he thought to her. He knew her well, better than anyone else did, but he wasn’t a mind-reader. And while she believed herself to be a relatively good communicator, she knew she was nowhere near as good as him.

“There it is,” he muttered, interrupting her thoughts. He came to a halt and nodded to the dark grey brownstone a little ahead of them, the last on the street.

She frowned. “That’s...their house?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s attached to other buildin’s,” she said flatly.

“Guess that’s what silencers are for.”

He started for the Ivanov residence while rooting in one of his pockets, but she pulled at his arm. “Carl.”

He let her grip lead him to face her, but he looked at his feet, kicking the ground.

“Look at me,” she said softly. His head stayed down and his forehead remained creased.

“Baby?” she tried. He raised his head to meet her eyes then, and she couldn’t help but smile with relief. He was usually the one for terms of endearment, so the rare times she used them, she got his full attention.

“I’m not...less happy,” she started, unsure of how to explain herself.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I am sure! Give me a chance. I’m much more happy, one hundred per cent. But I’m also much more worried. And maybe that’s what looks bad. Maybe I’m not handlin’ it right, I dunno. But I’m not used to bein’ worried. I’m not used to bein’...scared. And I am, Carl. For the first time in my life, I’m fuckin’ terrified. Almost 24/7.”

The line between his eyebrows deepened. “I don’t get it,” he shook his head the slightest bit. “Why? You’ve never been the anxious type.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to say,” she gripped onto his forearms and gently shook them. “I’ve never been scared because I only had myself to worry about. And I didn’t care what happened to me, or what kinda shit I got myself into. The money and the good time was worth it. Everything was carefree and I didn’t wanna be tied down. But it got to the point where I wasn’t...happy anymore. I think that’s where the Charles thing came from. You got married for the first time and I hated it. And it was my own fault, because I said no to you, but it was only when I saw what you had without me that I realised I wanted that, too. So I married that asshole and then that went to shit. Had me kinda believin’ I wasn’t meant to have that family life. And then it was back to square one; you askin’ me to marry you, me sayin’ no, you gettin’ married to someone else and me hatin’ it again.

“But I just continued doin’ what I wanted, not carin’, until that day she walked in on us in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hated her that day. It was like, all of a sudden I realised that even though you were mine, you were officially hers on paper. She was the wife, I was the goomar. And I fuckin’ hated it and I fuckin’ hated her and I wanted it to just be fuckin’ done with already. And then she was dead and you were askin’ me to marry you again and it felt so right to finally fuckin’ say yes. And I think I started to feel a little bit like the stakes were higher after we made it official, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. Not as bad as it’s been since Rosie came. We worked so hard for her to trust us, for her to want to stay with us. And now the three of us are finally together as a proper family. It might not be a ‘Brady Bunch’ scenario, but it’s us. It’s like, the last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place, and now I’m waitin’ for it to fall apart. So you’re right, I’ve never been the anxious type. But I never had anything to lose. Now I do — I have everything to lose. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

He wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed rolling down her cheek and pulled her into him. She gasped for breath after rambling for so long. “Why didn’t you say?” he mumbled against her hairline, then kissed the top of her forehead.

“I dunno. Maybe I thought you knew already. Or maybe I didn’t wanna sound stupid.” She sighed and fully leaned into him, her cheek against his chest. This way, she was facing the Ivanov house, and it registered with her that there was the tiniest sliver of light visible through a gap in one window’s heavy curtains.

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he stroked the back of her head. “It’s a relief, actually. I thought maybe you were gettin’ bored of it all. Of us.”

“Never,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the house so she could lift her head to look at him. “You’re my person, forever.”

“And she’s our person, that we made,” he smiled. “Isn’t that fuckin’ crazy, when ya think about it?”

“But isn’t that— doesn’t that make you scared? I’ve seen how much you adore her. Why aren’t you worried, like me?”

“I just...trust in my gut. And my gut says none of us are dyin’ for a long, long time.”

“That’s it?” she asked without snark. She was genuinely fascinated by his complete lack of concern for their safety.

“Yeah. I have faith in us. We’re not dumb, we’re not new to this, we’re good both as individuals and as a team. And like you said, there’s more to lose now, so there’s more to fight for. Think of how unstoppable you were when you didn’t give a shit. Can you imagine anyone bein’ able to stop you now that you do?”

“Guess not,” she said, feeling a smile growing across her face. She was still worried, but she felt much better. There was a lot of sense in what he said. His words did their job in comforting her, as they often did.

“I love you,” she said, pulling at his neck to bring his face down to hers. “You always know the right thing to say.”

She kissed him then, slowly and expressively at first. But she quickly began to lose herself in it, and her fingers found themselves running through his hair. He let out a soft groan before pulling away and grinning at her.

“Later, baby. We have a job to do.” He glanced at his Rolex and his face dropped. “Shit. We’re a lil’ behind schedule. Alice’ll be waitin’.”

She nodded and pointed at the house as the two of them began walking again. “Someone’s up, too.”

He squinted at the window as they both rooted around in their pockets for their earpieces. They stopped a little short of the brownstone as they put them in.

“You ready?” he whispered, taking her hand again and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.

She nodded once more, and the two of them turned on their earpieces.

“About tiiiiiiiiiiiime,” Alice sang the second they were connected. “You’re late. By five minutes!”

“A queen is never late,” Esme said, her speaking volume lower than Carlisle’s whisper had been. “Everyone else is simply early.”

“Did Madame Mafia just quote ‘the Princess Diaries’ to me?” Alice asked with mock shock.

Carlisle tilted his head and raised his brows.

“Rose showed it to me last weekend,” Esme answered defensively. “We were...bondin’.”

He smirked and turned away from her, eyeing up the house in front of them. “Okay Alice, how’re we doin’?”

“Strangely, no guards — not on the property, anyway. That’s not like them at all. I partly wondered if they were hanging around the area and you ran into a few, because you were late, but I guess not since you’re alive and calm. As for the Ivanovs themselves, two are home: Katarina and Garrett. I have eyes everywhere except the bathrooms, so unless the rest of the family and an army of cronies are hiding in showers, this should be pretty easy.”

The words were like music to Esme’s ears. Her shoulders immediately relaxed, and she finally began to feel excited. She beamed at Carlisle, who gave her a knowing smile and mouthed “see?” in return.

“That’s what I like to hear, Al,” he said. “And you’ll be able to shut their camera system down once we’re out?”

“Of course. Once you’re out and alive, it’s gone.”

“Great. So, they’re still up?”

“Unfortunately,” Alice groaned.

“Don’t worry about us Al, that makes it more fun.”

“I wasn’t saying ‘unfortunately’ because I don’t think you can handle them. I was saying ‘unfortunately’ because over the past half hour, I’ve seen some shit. And that’s saying a lot, considering I work for you two.”

Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look, the pair of them frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked her.

“I mean I want a raise,” Alice grumbled, causing Carlisle to break into another smile.

“Ahh...they’re in a bedroom?”

“That idea, yes. But wrong room. The living room’s where you’re heading for. Second floor. The ground floor is more like an empty hall, kinda like those malls that don’t really start ‘til you go up the escalator. There’s an elevator, but obviously that’ll make noise, so you should take the stairs.”

“That’a girl. Did you see if they’re armed?”

“As far as I can tell, no. There’s a shit tonne of guns and what appear to be Molotov cocktails in the bedrooms, so don’t give them a chance to go running. I can’t see any weapons in the living room. But I mean you guys know, the likelihood that they’ve got something concealed somewhere — either in the room or on them — is 50/50.”

“Yeah, true. Thanks. I guess that’s our cue.”

“Alrighty. Good luck! I’ll be right here in your ears the whole time.”

The pair of them readied their weapons and clinked the tip of their guns together in salute as they always did.

“Ladies first,” he smiled at her, and he let her lead the way.

Back in the car, Rosalie leaned into her headrest after checking her timer for the umpteenth time. She had set it the second the couple disappeared from view and found herself checking it every minute or so since. There was nothing else to do. She didn’t want to get distracted by her phone in case trouble was around. She couldn’t play music, because she neither wanted to attract attention nor miss anything she’d need to hear. All she could do was wait in the silence, and every second that ticked by felt like an hour.

She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone noisily vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed it in a panic as though it was loud enough to wake the whole street, but once it was in her hand, she simply stared at it. Royce. Of course. She should’ve known her on-again off-again boyfriend would be the only person to ring her at this hour. She let it ring out, then shifted in her seat to make herself comfortable. The second she did, her phone began to vibrate again. With an eye roll, she brought it up to her ear.

She was immediately met with loud sounds that caused her to wince and pull the phone back slightly. A baseline thudded, so she knew he was out, but the sound was too distorted for her to tell if he was at a club or a party.

“Hello?” she asked, beginning to wonder whether the calls had been accidental. A muffled voice finally spoke, though it said nothing comprehensible.

“Royce, is that you? I can’t hear you,” she tried, keeping her voice low. She wasn’t going to up the volume she had maintained just because he called her from a loud place.

“ROSE!” Royce boomed from the other end of the phone, causing her to wince again. “Come...c’mere. M’over...s’funnn.”

The combination of the loud atmosphere, poor connection and slurred words made it difficult to understand.

“Royce, I don’t know what you’re saying. You know I’m not even in New York or Jersey right now, right? Remember I told you?”

“M’over...” he said again before saying something intelligible.

She was losing patience. “You’re drunk again, and I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

He started shouting incoherently. The only thing she made out before hanging up on him was the word ‘bitch’.

She inhaled deeply and checked the timer again. They’d been gone seventeen minutes and 48 seconds. Esme had said to leave after the forty minute mark. She shuddered at the idea of having to drive off without them, wondering whether or not she’d be able to do so if that’s what it came to. It was hard to imagine life beyond them now, though they’d only been connected for a little over a year. She stared out the windshield, biting the inside of her cheek, and felt her phone vibrate again.

Huffing, she thrust it up against her ear. “I said I can’t talk!” she hissed.

It was dead silent. There was none of the noise of the previous call. For a split second, she wondered if she had accidentally hung up.

“Rosalie?” asked a clear, deep voice after a beat.

She paused. “Yes?” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, it is you, thank god!” Relief flooded her as she recognised the voice as Emmett’s. “I was a lil’ confused for a second there. Thought maybe I dialled the wrong number.”

“Sorry Emmett. I— I thought you were somebody else.”

“No prahblem, no prahblem.”

“Is everything okay? If you’re calling me because you couldn’t reach the lovebirds, they’re not back yet.”

“No, no,” he said. “I just wanted to check in and say hi while the two ‘a them are gone. Y’know, just makin’ sure you’re holdin’ up okay on your first big job.”

“Thanks,” she said, a little bitterly.

He must’ve picked up on her tone, because there was another pause. “Uh, sorry to bother you.”

“I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed at them for thinking I need to be checked up on. I told them I’d be fine.”

“Huh? Nobody asked me to. I just wanted to.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly, but the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“Yeah. It’s just, I remember how scared I was on my first big job.”

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, back to frowning.

“No? Then you’re a braver soul than I am. I was scared shitless.”

“Really? Carlisle never said.”

“Because he doesn’t know,” Emmett laughed. She didn’t know a sound could be so warm. “I held it together pretty well. But when all was done, he dropped me off at the corner of my block, and I waited for his car to disappear before pukin’ my damn guts up all over the sidewalk.”

She was the one laughing then. She leaned her head against the window as a silence fell over them.

“Okay, maybe I am a little worried,” she said quietly. “Time seems to be dragging by. Esme told me to leave if they’re not back within forty minutes. I obviously don’t want to have to even think about doing that.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Honestly though, I’m sure she said it as a precaution, and they’ll be back to ya in no time. You haven’t seen your parents in action. Let’s just say I’m glad I work for them, because I’d hate to be against them.”

“Thanks,” she said again, more sincerely this time.

“And it’s okay to be scared. It’s completely normal. The people who are never scared— those are the mad bastahds you gotta watch out for. Because you gotta be batshit crazy to never know fear.”

“Carlisle’s never scared,” she smiled.

“Well, there ya go, see!” Rosalie could hear the smile in his voice, too. “Case in fuckin’ point!”

She found herself laughing again. It came so easily to her when she spoke to him.

“I better get goin’, letcha get back to it.”

“Okay,” she said. “And thanks, Emmett. I think that helped.”

“No prahblem,” he said again.

“Unless Esme and Carlisle did put you up to this, in which case, no it didn’t.”

“I swear’ta gahd, Rosie, neither of them even know. I had to get your number from Alice.”

Rosie. He had picked that up from Carlisle. It was strange how much she’d come to like a nickname she initially detested.

“‘Kay. Well, thanks again.”

“You have my number now, too,” he said, sounding suddenly serious. “I’ll be right here at the other end of the phone, anytime you need me, ahrite?”

“Does that include if in twenty-or-so minutes’ time I have to decide whether or not to leave my long-lost parents for dead?”

“You betcha.”

“Great!”

He laughed. “Take care, Rosie.”

“Bye, Emmett.”

She hung up the call and resisted the urge to check the timer just yet. A new-found calmness had come over her, and she wanted to bask in it a little while longer.

“Is she beating him to death?” Carlisle whispered up at his wife as she reached the top of the stairs to the Ivanov’s second floor. Alice had been right, they ran into no extra bodies on their way in. And though she was several states away, she had disarmed the entrance’s security with ease.

“No,” Alice answered with a sigh before Esme could. “I think that might actually have made for easier viewing.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Carlisle quietly teased.

“I’ll have you know, this isn’t your average spank session,” Alice scolded.

“Well now I’m curious,” Esme said, straining to listen. “Is this somethin’ I’m gonna wanna take note of?”

“Ugh, knowing you, probably,” came the answer in her ear.

Esme looked back to smirk at Carlisle.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Shoulda brought a pen.”

“I’ll take mental notes,” she promised.

“And if that fails, you can use the notes my therapist will have taken after I’ve word-vomited all this to her while rocking back and forth,” Alice announced.

Carlisle took his place beside Esme at the top of the stairs and slipped an arm around her waist. The long hallway ahead of them was windowless, its red and gold-patterned wallpaper interrupted by the occasional closed door. Still, it was brightly lit by the two massive chandeliers that hung from its high ceiling. To their left was the unit for the elevator. Carlisle waved at the little CCTV camera above it, prompting a laugh from Alice. Behind them was another set of stairs that led to higher floors they wouldn’t see. The Persian carpet that stretched the length of the hall floor would come in handy to muffle their footsteps.

“Up ahead, the second door on the left is the kitchen,” Alice told them. “It’s got a pass-through and an open plan door to the living room, so be careful.”

“‘Kay,” was all Esme dared to respond as Carlisle let her go. She crept forward.

The pair of them silently edged along the wall, the voices from the living room growing louder as they got closer. Esme stopped at the kitchen door and brought her pistol up to her chest. The pair of them concentrated on the voices inside.

“Alright, swap,” Katarina said. “It’s my turn to rest.”

There were two thuds, and then her voice mingled with a man’s as both began chant-like muttering. Esme couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Carlisle tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he mouthed, “praying?” with a confused frown.

She paused to listen and confirm, then nodded. He was right, though it left her no less confused. The muttering stopped, and there was some shuffling of feet. The sounds of slapping and groaning resumed, but this time they could tell Katarina was the receiver.

She nudged him and put her gun-free hand on the door handle. With his nod of approval, she slowly pushed it down and opened the door at an acute angle.

“You’re all clear here,” Alice told her, but she gave a quick glance around it anyway to get her bearings. The kitchen was reasonably small for such a big house, and it looked as though it had been home to a frat party. Mess, clutter and countless empty bottles of Absolut Vodka littered every surface. The pass-through was a few feet ahead on her left.

Tip-toeing inside, she immediately grabbed her other gun so she had one in each hand. Both of them made their way to the side of the pass-through as Garrett was saying something about Christ. They hunkered down, then crawled under it, and shimmied out of their heavyweight coats as quietly as possible.

Esme was about to rise slightly up when Carlisle touched her arm. “Only shoot if you have to,” he mouthed slowly so she’d get every word.

The two of them rose and peeped through together. Esme had been right; Garrett was sat on a chair with Katarina bent over his legs as he repeatedly slapped her backside. Still, he mumbled about “the Lord” this and “Jesus” that. Esme looked at Carlisle quizzically.

“Feel the hand of God,” Garrett suddenly half-shouted in comparison to his previous volume. “Who has the most lovin’ hand of all, Kate?”

“God, through you,” Katarina answered him.

“What the fuck is this?” Carlisle breathed, just about audible. “It’s like watchin’ Barbie get an exorcism.”

Esme pressed her lips together to contain a laugh, mentally cursing him. With Katarina’s long blonde hair and baby pink Adidas tracksuit, he wasn’t far off the mark.

“It’s called CDD,” Alice informed. “Short for ‘Christian Domestic Discipline’. The whole religion thing stumped me too when I saw them praying, because like, they’re not even the same religion, right? She’s presumably Orthodox and he’s gotta be Catholic. Anyway, I googled ‘pray spanking’ and found that. Apparently it’s a movement that started as like, a ‘women are inferior in Christian marriages and should treat their husbands like God himself’ thing, but naturally, it got turned into a kink.”

The two of them exchanged a look again and sank back down to their hunkers. Carlisle gestured out their route around the corner of the wall they were now up against and through the open plan door. He pointed to her and made a finger gun, then pointed to himself and pulled out a rope from one of his coat pockets. She nodded once and rounded the corner with her guns raised right as Garrett’s head looked in that direction.

“Don’t move,” she warned, one pistol aimed at his head and the other aimed at Katarina’s.

They both froze, his hand mid-air. Esme stalked closer as Carlisle moved behind them.

“Off the chair,” he commanded. “And putcha hands behind your head.”

They did as they were told and knelt on the ground. Carlisle patted Garrett down and began tying him while Esme came to Katarina’s side. The blonde swallowed tightly. When Carlisle was finished with Garrett, he moved onto her.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her,” Garrett said as he patted, making Esme smile. As if he’d be able to stop them with his hands and feet tied.

“Whadiya take me for?” Carlisle asked. “I don’t hurt women.”

“Mhmm,” Esme agreed, tracing the side of Katarina’s face with the tip of her pistol. “This one’s all mine.”

Garrett helplessly flopped in Esme’s direction from his place on the floor.

“Easy now,” Carlisle said, finishing up with Katarina and moving to crouch down beside him. “I said I wouldn’t hurt your girl, and you repay me by goin’ for mine?”

Garrett stared blankly ahead. Carlisle tilted his chin up with his gun to meet his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you double-crossed though, would it? There was our Kiev deal, then the small matter of you murderin’ your own pal. Lettin’ his kid grow up without a father. What kinda person does that, huh? Ya know, I might be a lotta things. But I know where my loyalties lie. And I’d never betray a friend. Even people like us have rules, and that’s one of ‘em.”

“You wanna talk about the loyalty of friends?” Katarina piped up, prompting Esme to hold her pistol against her head. “You might want to look closer to your own circle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Esme asked, her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t wondered where the others are?” Garrett smiled. “They’re actually in your neck of the woods. Meeting with some of your buddies. Ironic really, isn’t it? You come all the way here hoping to kill Tati, only for her to be in your area.”

Alice gave a “hmm” as Carlisle’s eyes flickered to meet Esme’s, then settled back on Garrett’s face. Neither of them could tell whether or not he was trying to throw them, but both understood not to let him.

“We didn’t come here to kill Tatiana,” Esme said cooly. “Any single one ‘a yous woulda done. Instead we got two. I call that a success.”

“Do you?” Katarina cooed. “I wouldn’t be that confident ‘til all of us are dead. Especially if I had a daughter who didn’t know how to shoot.”

Carlisle felt the colour drain from his face. Esme immediately yanked Katarina down by the hair until her cheek hit the floor, then placed a knee on her back.

“What the fuck does your family know about my daughter?” She growled into her ear. “Tell me everything you know and how you know it.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Katarina said, the words muffled against yet another Persian rug. “You’ve been paradin’ her — what’s her name, Rose or something? — paradin’ her all around New York and Jersey. Don’t tell me you didn’t think people would notice?”

“I hear she’s real pretty,” Garrett added. “And you know us bunch, we like our blondes.”

With that, Carlisle began relentlessly punching him. Garrett’s groans sounded different to how they had sounded in the hallway. Here, he was getting to know much less loving hands.

Esme pulled at Katarina’s hair again. “Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“No.”

She shifted so she could better aim for Katarina’s kneecap, then shot it. The blonde let out an agonising scream, which woke Carlisle from his blind rage just long enough to look up and spot a marble urn on the fireplace.

“Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“Fuck you,” Katarina moaned, writhing in pain.

Carlisle got up and grabbed the urn, dumped whatever ashes were inside into the fire pit, and made his way back to Garrett.

Esme flipped Katarina over and shot her other kneecap. Another ear-piercing scream blocked out the sound of Carlisle beating Garrett with the urn.

“Tell me something. Anything about what or how you know.”

Katarina simply whimpered. Esme pressed her foot against her knee, but the scream that followed was feeble. She would soon pass out from either blood loss or pain.

“You’re not gonna tell me anything?”

Katarina barely shook her head. Esme sighed and shot her between the eyebrows.

Carlisle was sitting still and staring at Garrett when she made her way over to him. “Is he dead?”

He shrugged.

She picked up the urn from the floor and gave Garrett’s body several extra beats to be sure.

“Is now,” Alice said quietly. Neither of them laughed.

Carlisle rubbed at his temple while Esme sat back beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“They know about Rosie,” was all he said.

She nodded.

“Guess there’s no goin’ back now. Even if she wanted to, there’s no way she can go back to the life she had.”

“No,” Esme agreed.

“I get it now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Get what?”

“I think...I’m finally worried.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Alice, what they said about our friends—” Carlisle started.

“I won’t say anything,” she said before he could finish. They both trusted that. If Alice was a betrayer, they’d already be dead.

“Thanks.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before standing up. Esme didn’t like seeing him so uneasy. He was her comforter, so if he needed comforting, things weren’t good. But he did need comforting, and as his person, it was her job to do so.

“Alice, could you mute us for a while?” Esme asked as she got to her feet. “And turn off the living room camera? We need a minute.”

Alice hesitated. “Alright. But watch the time, for Rose’s sake. And I’ll mute you, but don’t mute me in case I need to warn you about unexpected visitors elsewhere in the property.”

“Thanks,” Esme said.

“Okay, I can’t see or hear you now. So if you need my attention, go to another room.”

Esme tugged Carlisle’s arm. “Help me move the bodies out of this room. I want it to be just us.”

He looked at her with confusion, but did as she asked.

Rosalie stared at the numbers on her timer. Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds, and still no sign of her parents. Her free hand drummed at the steering wheel the way her fingers had before they left.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered at the windshield. She felt her eyes start to well up and blinked furiously.

“Fine. An hour,” she promised aloud to no one, in attempt to settle herself. “We’ll hang on ‘til it’s been an hour.”

She glanced back at the timer, but a noise made her look up again. There the pair of them were, running towards her, open coats flapping in the wind. She exhaled with relief and started the engine. The headlights lit them up as she drove forward, giving her a full view of them. Both were covered in blood splatters.

“Thank god,” she cried as each of them swung open a door and hopped in the back.

“Hey, Princess,” Carlisle greeted her as she sped off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Esme chirped. “Thanks for waitin’. Sorry we’re late.”

Rosalie frowned. Her tone was...strange. In the rearview mirror, she found the two of them staring at each other dreamily. Then, she registered Carlisle’s messed hair, and realised it wasn’t a tough fight that had delayed them.

“You assholes!” she seethed. “Do you have any fucking idea what ran through my mind?! I thought you were dead! I thought I was gonna get myself killed waiting around for two people who’d never come, because they were dead!”

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“That’s it? You scare me into believing you’re dead and all I get is a simple sorry?”

“You were scared for us?” Esme sounded pleased. Rosalie rolled her eyes.

“You’re right,” Carlisle added. “That was selfish. Worry isn’t a nice feelin’. And a simple sorry isn’t all you get for it. We’ll head down Fifth Ave once we’re home if you like.”

She did like the sound of that, but she didn’t want him to think she could be easily won round. “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh and Rose?” Esme asked.

“Yeah?”

“We’re teaching you to shoot.”

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tiredcowpoke · 3 years

Text

TITLE: The Ease of a Storm PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Reader. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: A thunderstorm rolls in while you and Arthur are in the wilderness. WARNINGS: Thunderstorms, I guess? It’s mostly fluff. NOTE: I’ve seen a couple works where Arthur comforts the reader about a fear of thunder, but usually I sit there like “can’t relate” because I love thunder. To an extent at least. lol So, I figured I’d write something for people who like thunder and standing around in the rain as much as I do. I miss it in the winter where I live. Anyway, gender neutral reader! Kind of short but to the point and fun to write, so hey. There’s also a bit of a personal headcanon in there too.

Despite the pine tree, you could feel some wetness soaking into the fabric of the jacket you wore.

Thankfully, you had the foresight to take a heavier one that you usually wore, so the chill that settled didn’t effect you much. You could see your breath somewhat as the rain poured down on the ground around you, the branches of the tree at least making it only somewhat of a light spray. However, you had long since smelled the wet earth before the first drops fell where you were.

You had been sitting in the tent, reading, as Arthur had managed to doze off beside you in the late afternoon. Given the ride out to where you were near Strawberry, you weren’t sure if he was really out for the night or just napping. Still, the man deserved it. You had been acutely aware of just how much he worked for the gang, much to your own frustration at points when you just wanted to see him, have moments like earlier where you both could relax. That or when you wanted to help, but he brushed it off.

Still, it was nice to see. However, you weren’t all that inclined to join him and you had been getting a little restless when the first winds of a storm swept through the area. Luckily, the wind wasn’t too strong, just enough to add some chill and bring the rain your way. Normally, you knew you should have woken Arthur up and said something about the storm--it was still early out, maybe you could ride into Strawberry later if it gets worse.

Really, the idea of rain had gotten you a little excited. It had been enough for you to wait it out a bit before getting up and exiting the tent, wandering over toward the tree that you currently were standing under.

For once, your mind felt blank. At ease.

You could hear the rain falling against the ground and leaves of the trees, looking out over the small ravine as you watched the rain fall. You watched the dirt paths below, the odd rider racing through, hands keeping their hats securely on their heads as they rode through the downpour. There was the odd animal that would scurry across the paths down below, and you could hear them moving around near where you were. However, it didn’t seem like it was any cause for concern for you, your arms crossed in order to keep some heat in your jacket. You just listened, letting time pass.

There was no gang, no Arthur, no task at hand. Just you.

Though, your gaze flicked upward, catching a quick flutter of light in one of the clouds that loomed in the distance. Sure enough, there was a low rumble a few moments later, making a smile spread across your face.

However, you couldn’t hold onto the moment. Not forever, anyway. As the thunder settled, you heard a familiar voice call your name. There was a notable sound of alarm to it, making you turn to glance back toward where the camp was. You could see your horse standing under the tree you hitched her to, tossing her head somewhat but otherwise seemed unphased. Still, you shifted to push off the tree somewhat, hand coming down to rest against your holster.

“Arthur!” you called out, almost cursing yourself at possibly leading trouble your way instead of just heading back. Still...well, he had called out first.

Sure enough, you heard a rustle and hurried footfalls coming your way, as much as the rain threatened to drown the sound out as another rumble of thunder filled the air. Arthur walked toward you, hand resting on his hat as you relaxed somewhat.

“The hell’re you doin’?” he asked, accusatory but otherwise fine.

“Watching the storm,” you replied, turning to lean back to where you were against the tree trunk, beckoning him over with a small wave.

Arthur walked up beside you, pressing shoulder to shoulder as he tried to shelter himself under the same tree. As much as you weren’t freezing, the little warmth that offered was appreciated. You were fine with lapsing back into silence so you could listen to the downpour, but with Arthur there with you, you knew it would only be a while until he filled the silence.

However, you weren’t expecting the touch of sheepishness.

“Used to be...scared of storms. When I was little.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied around a sigh, “They used to get me bad, but after my mother passed...well, my ol’ man weren’t all that nice ‘bout it. Learned to stop cryin’ about them, but they used to make me anxious and thunder made me flinch well into me bein’ a teenager.”

“They don’t now,” you observed as a somewhat louder clap of thunder almost drowned out the last of his words--he hadn’t even blinked.

“Yeah, I stopped ‘round the time I got used to gunshots,” he replied, pausing a moment, “...and Hosea helped.”

“Hosea?”

“Yeah, think...think he noticed, when I was young,” he replied, a somewhat far away look in his eye as he continued, “About a year after I joined him and Dutch, he used to see a storm roll in and would linger about ‘round me. Tried to do some readin’ and writin’ too, if the storm weren’t too destructive. Eventually, he’d pull me away from camp and we’d watch it roll in if it weren’t too miserable. We were out west then, too...would feel the heat drop off and you just knew.”

“...I’ve always liked thunderstorms,” you admitted, “and rain. Ever since I was young. I’d get scolded a lot, running out into the rain and the mud whenever one would roll around.”

“You and I was two different kids, then,” Arthur commented, “Couldn’t catch me inside anywhere unless there was a storm.”

You let out a small hum in agreement, leaning against his side as you rested your head against his shoulder. The leather of his jacket had gone somewhat cold in the weather, some wetness on your cheek but you were getting rained on already. Though, Arthur shifted to wrap his arm around you and hold you closer to his side. You ran over what he told you in your head, seeing that scared little kid in your mind's eye (and tried not to think too deeply on his family life back then. He had mentioned a few things about his father, you were aware of what he was like.) Though, the Hosea story warmed your heart a bit.

Admittedly, you had noticed the photo of him, Dutch, and Arthur on the side of the wagon back at camp. When you first saw it, it was strange to see the younger versions of themselves. Though, you could imagine Hosea from that photo sitting on a bedroll under a tarp, trying to read to Arthur and them sitting together at the edge of camp.

There was some envy there, admittedly. You never really had much of a father-figure in your life. Then again, Arthur may not have either, if he hadn’t have joined up with the gang.

There was a history you felt relieved to be let in on, among other things that had developed as you and Arthur got close.

“I never took you for the storm watchin’ type,” he commented after the lingering silence, your head shifting somewhat from his shoulder.

“I never took you for someone who fears them,” you returned, letting out a small chuckle at the look he shot you.

“When I was a kid,” he stressed, “I ain’t no more. Don’t make me regret tellin’ you that.”

“I won’t,” you replied with another small chuckle, “I’m glad I heard it from you, I’m sure Hosea would have brought it up eventually. He does like to rib you.”

“He sure does…”

You smiled, reaching up to turn his head so you could kiss him. You held the gesture for a few moments, Arthur letting out a sound from the back of his throat before he pulled away somewhat.

“You’re soakin’ wet,” he commented, causing you to scoff lightly.

“You’re being dramatic. I’m a little damp.”

“No, seriously, I don’t even know how you’re not shiverin’,” he returned, though he didn’t shove you away from him as he glanced out toward the ravine again, “Though, hate to cut your fun time out here short, but that gets any closer and we might have to think about headin’ into town. I may not be scared of thunder no more, but I’ve seen what lightnin’ does.”

“...Yeah,” you admitted--you had been noticing the distance of the flashes and the volume of the thunder had been getting closer and louder.

“I’m sure it’ll be just as nice to listen to from inside that hotel in Strawberry,” he commented, stepping away from you.

As he did so, you could feel the coldness of the air seep in pretty quickly--maybe you were getting a little soaked. You cast one last glance out toward the gathering storm before turning and following him back toward the makeshift camp. As much as you loved storms, a warm bath seemed nice too.

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader

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professionalsimpfor2dboys · 4 years

Note

If your requests aren't open you can ignore me, but imagine mc playing around and just doing the classic 90s anime vilian stance while yelling "SILENCE BOTTOM!"

hahaha, oh the boys’ reactions would be very diverse. I hope ya don’t mind me doing some short headcannons for the oldest four brothers because I don’t wanna be too repetitive + I feel like I’m taking too long to answer your ask haha sorry about that 😅

Some are implied nsfw ;) haha

“SILENCE BOTTOM!” Brothers’ Reactions

Lucifer

The brothers and MC were having their usual biweekly game night in MC’s room when said human thought it would be a good idea to bring out their stash of alcohol smuggled in from the human world (much to Lucifer’s disappointment) but failed to realize demons aren’t affected by human alcohol...which left only MC drunk out of their mind.

Of course, to be fair, Asmo brought in a bottle of demonus for the seven of them to pass around but it was too small of an amount to leave anyone more than a little tipsy.

With every shot MC took, their face reddened more and their volume increased as everything sent them into a fit of giggles, which the boys found cute. They wrapped their arms around Mammon’s neck and blew into his ear teasingly as said demon’s face became ruddy.

“O-Oi, what are ya doin’?” He protested, but didn’t push them away.

“What? Can’t I hug my ‘first’ demon?~” MC laughed before falling over, basically body-checking Mammon to the floor along with them as he yelped out of surprise.

“Alright, that’s enough. They’re obviously inebriated,” Lucifer said, standing up. “Time for bed,” he continued, ushering the others to hurry up and leave. The others began cleaning up, getting ready to leave but MC was quick to get off Mammon and stand up with wobbly legs.

“You jealous, Luci?” They giggled as the brothers looked at them with small smiles.

Lucifer ignored them as he continued commanding his brothers to clean up faster. Beginning to berate them for letting his human become so drunk. “You know humans are frail beings! The fact that you didn’t listen to me when I told all of you to stop giving them more shots is completely-“ his scoldings were giving MC a headache so they were quick to shut him up.

Posing so quickly and suddenly that they saw stars in their eyes for a bit, MC opened their mouth with a glint in their eye before shouting: “SILENCE BOTTOM! MUAHAHAHA” successfully shutting up the eldest brother.

Everyone was silent. MC stood still in their pose before doubling over from laughter as Lucifer watched with widened eyes.

“Everyone out, now,” Lucifer ordered, waving towards the door which they were quick to oblige but right as the door closed he heard quickened footsteps down the hall before an uproar of laughter resounded from his brothers. He’d deal with them later.

Sighing as he picked the human up from the floor, who’s laughter had eventually died down as sleepiness fit them full on, he laid them on their bed before brushing aside their askew hair accompanied with a chuckle. “That was a surprise, love, but I’m sure you know I’m far from what you call a bottom,” he chuckled, tucking them in. MC had long since passed out, mouth slack and cheeks still red. “You’re definitely a strange one, but mine nonetheless. I hope you know you’ll be facing the consequences of your words in the morning,~” he whispered in their ear, making them shift, before he kissed their forehead and shuffled beside them for cuddles.

Slight revenge sex in the morning once they’re sober for embarrassing him in front of his little brothers since he is the avatar of pride after all.

Mammon + Levi

these boyos scream switch to me soo you might know where I’m going with this

after a day at R.A.D, MC had walked with Levi and Mammon back to the House of Lamentation and they started another one of their arguments yet again.

“Mammon, you literally stole money from me last night after putting a bookcase on top of the door to my tank and watching me panic! What kind of older brother watches their younger brother almost drown???” Levi screeched, clasping at his neck dramatically.

“Wait, you can drown? I thought you were some weird sea monster thing,” Mammon retorted with a laugh as they entered into the living room. MC just face-palmed.

“Does it look like I have gills to you?? Ughh, you can just be so infuriating sometimes!” Levi groaned, running his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner.

MC shuffled to his side, whilst rubbing circles on his back as they cooed:” aw, it’s alright Levi-Chan~how about we go have a marathon of Ruri-Chan’s limited edition dvds you got in the mail the other day?”

Levi’s face lit up with both excitement and embarrassment. “You’re right! I almost forgot about that! Let’s go!” He exclaimed, grabbing ahold of their hand before pulling them towards his room but Mammon was quick to grab MC’s other hand and pull them the opposite way.

“Nuh-uh, where do ya think you’re goin’ with my human, huh? They’ll be staying with me because I ain’t watchin’ no Riri-Chan DVD’s,” Mammon shook his head, pulling MC closer but Levi countered it with a tug of his own.

“It’s Ruri-Chan, thank you very much and MC offered so it’s not your call whether they go or not, numbskull,” he retorted as MC was losing their patience being pulled around.

“Ha! If you think I’m gonna let ya get your hands on my human then you got another thing comin-“ it was in that moment a cheeky grin appeared on MC’s face before they ripped themselves from both of the demons’ grasps and posed dramatically.

“SILENCE BOTTOMS!” They bellowed, leaving the two speechless before faces turned red quickly. MC got a good laugh at their reactions before Levi spoke up.

“Th-that was kind of t-tantalizing! P-please do more! I’ve only heard it in animes and thought it was funny before this...” He begged, pushing both his pointer fingers together sheepishly.

“H-huh? What do ya mean tantalizing?” Mammon stuttered out, equally as embarrassed. He enjoyed it too, but wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

Well, looks like they found out something new about themselves.

Satan

Oh boy, calling this man a bottom? hmm possibly

MC was helping him study human culture for a test that was coming up and decided to take a short break.

“So, how about we talk about some things that won’t be on the test?” Satan suggested, looking up at MC from his book.

“Like?” MC questioned.

“Hm, I would like to learn some human slang in order to use it for confusing my brothers,” he replied, a hand on his chin as he thought. “All I know of is the dance phenomenon called the dab? Levi was quite interested in doing it at every given second for a fleeting period of time,” he continued, deep in thought which made MC laugh.

“Well, lemme think,” they began before one popped up in their mind. “Ooh! Do ya know what a DILF is?”

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Of course demons know what DILFs and MILFs as well,” he replied, chuckling which made MC pout.

“Well, do ya know Lucifer is a total DILF to me?” MC retaliated, knowing that would rile up Satan. He visibly gagged at her words before slamming his book shut.

“Please never say those words again,” he hissed, closing his eyes.

MC chuckled at his reaction before another idea popped up in their mind. “Ooh, how about...” they began before bolting up and waiting.

After anticipating for a bit, he cocked his head at their silence. “How about what-“ he was quickly cut off with a loud “SILENCE BOTTOM!” From MC which he jumped at.

MC watched his reaction before bursting in a fit of laughter. “Pretty funny, right? It’s a thing humans do as a joke-“ Satan wasn’t listening as he closed the space between them with rosy cheeks.

“I would be lying if I said I’ve never thought about it before~” he whispered closely, hot breath tickling MC’s face as they looked at his lidded eyes.

“HUHH??” MC blurted out making Satan looked at them in a confused manner.

“You were implying you wanted me to try being submissive during sex, were you not?” He questioned, assuming he was correct.

“W-what? No! It’s a joke in the human world!” They were quick to reply, still a bit frazzled. It was Satan’s turn to be embarrassed.

He backed away quickly, cheeks blushed red for a different reason now as he rubbed the back of his neck. “O-oh!” Was all he said before quieting down. An awkward silence settling over them before MC spoke up quietly.

“W-what did you have in mind?” they asked, hesitant.

“Huh?” Satan turned to look at her.

“I-I would be lying too if I said I never thought about having you under me...so what did you have in mind exactly,” they replied shyly, not meeting his eyes.

A smile spread across Satan’s face as only four words left his mouth: “Me wearing cat ears,”

😏 ;)

Did ya notice I’m trying a new format?

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0spacecase0 · 4 years

Text

Grumpy SOB

Bo side-eyed you as he grumbled underneath his breath. Out of your peripheral you saw him adjust on the couch and turn the volume up on his wrestling match. The booming voice of the sports announcer drowned out any further comments of his displeasure and you went back to making dinner for the boys.

You had told Vincent a few days ago that him and his brothers should spend more time together and designated Friday as family dinner night. You had yet to tell Bo that Lester was coming and you simply invited Lester over when you saw him yesterday. By the way Bo was acting this was not gearing up to be a pleasant night. He cast one more nasty look in your direction and you decided that enough was enough.

“What is it, Bo?” Maybe asking him head-on was stirring the pot a little but you were past the point of caring. You had spent the better part of the day preparing everything for a nice evening and you weren’t going to let his attitude ruin it. The family had already kidnapped you and prevented you from leaving. At least Lester and Vincent were nice about it, Bo took every opportunity to antagonize you and make your life harder.

Scowling like you had insulted him, Bo spat, “Excuse me, but it’s Friday night and seein’ as I’m the only one in this goddamn house that’s got a job I’d like to spend it watchin’ my shows and havin’ a beer! Which I can’t do with the goddamn ruckus yer causin’ in there!” His southern accent poking through the angrier he got, he ended his tirade and turned the volume up once more.

Deciding that you were going to salvage this night if it killed you, you furrowed your brow and braced yourself to yell back at him. “I’m sorry if my cooking is too loud for you! I could just let you fend for yourself y’know! I’m surprised you could hear me over how loud the TV is. What is it at, 60?”

Turning back to the steaks you were cooking you mumbled, “Goddamn grumpy son of a bitch…” As you turned to put the pie in the oven you bumped right into the towering form of Bo Sinclair. You weren’t given much time to wonder how he had gotten all the way over here before he shoved his face right up close to yours. His hat was off and he had errant curls framing his face.

Breathing heavy he simmered, “What did you just say to me?” His voice was at a regular level and that in and of itself was almost as terrifying as if he were screaming.

But apparently it was not enough to deter you.

Not knowing where the suddence confidence came from you pushed your face closer to his and said, “Which part? When I called you helpless or when I called you a son of a bitch?” His cheeks were flushed from rage — or maybe alcohol — and your eyes went wide as you realized that you had really put your foot in your mouth.

Just then Vincent came up from the basement and stopped in the kitchen causing the two of you to look over at him. He tilted his head as if to ask: “What’s going on?” And when you looked back at Bo he simply scoffed and rolled his eyes. Ripping open the door to the fridge he snatched a beer before stalking off to the living room once more.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding you looked over at Vincent who was now appraising the various dishes you made.

“Do they pass inspection?” His eye darted up to your face and you could see he was smiling as he nodded.

“Good, let’s just hope your brothers like it too.” Giving you a sympathetic look, as best he could with that mask of his, he grabbed the plates to start setting the table. The two of you worked in silence until you heard the familiar sound of Lesters truck pulling into the driveway. The two of you heard Bo shift in the living room and you gave Vincent a look that said: “Let the shit-show begin.”

“What in the fuck is he doin’ here at 7:00 in the goddamn evenin’?” You and Vincent snapped your heads to the doorway to see Bo glowering at the two of you.

Deciding to make it seem like you had invited Lester on a whim you replied, albeit shakily, “I saw him earlier and I thought he might like to have dinner with us.”

It seemed like fate was working against you because Lester chose that time to slam open the door and yell down the hallway, “Hey guys!”

Rounding the corner into the kitchen he started to say, “Hey Y/N, thanks fer inviting me yesterday, I sure do ‘preciate it. I been thinkin’ ‘bout whatcha said and I think you’re right. We should start to eat dinner as a family more-“ He looked up into the kitchen and was met with Bo glaring at him beneath the brim of his trucker hat.

Turning to you, Bo cocked an eyebrow and you could only wish that they had actually killed you when you first stumbled into Ambrose.

“Saw him earlier?” He drawled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Thought he might want some dinner?” Realizing you had been caught red handed you looked to Vincent and Lester for some help. Vincent only shrugged and Lester seemed to have finally clammed up.

Bo’s voice increasing in volume made you whip your head over to him again. With you looking like a deer in headlights he continued, “Well, it seems like we have a fuckin’ contradiction on our hands here.”

Stepping into your personal space Bo sneered, “It’s bad enough that Vincent and Lester want you alive but don’t go thinkin’ yer apart of the family.”

Cursing yourself for cowering under his imposing form you mutter, “I’m sorry Bo, but you don’t have to be so ornery all the time.” His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to respond before Vincent put his hand on his brother's chest and pushed him out of your face.

Lester tried concealing his laughter as he giggled, “ornery” under his breath. Bo’s eyes narrowed and his jaw grew tense as he looked between his brothers and you. Exhaling harshly he ripped Vincent’s arm off of him and dragged one of the chairs out from the table.

Plopping down onto it he snapped, “Well as long as we’re all here we might as well eat some of this shit.”

Vincent glared at him as he brought the bowl of mashed potatoes to the table and Lester pulled out his own chair looking meekly at his lap. It hurt you to see the brothers fighting all the time and you couldn’t help but feel like your attempt at remedying it had gone down the drain before the night even really started.

The table was tense as everyone served themselves. You felt like one wrong move would cause Bo to start hurling insults at everyone. Lester helped himself to the mashed potatoes, grabbing a large spoonful of it. The precarious pile started to tip and before you could warn him he had the mush all down his shirt and lap.

You and Vincent looked at each other as Lester froze in shock. You were all waiting for Bo’s anger to explode but instead of biting insults and yelling all that came out of his mouth was a short chuckle. Glancing wide-eyed at Lester you tried to brace yourself for the inevitable fight that was sure to break out. Pushing your chair back from the table you scrambled to get more napkins in order to clean up the mess. As you turned back to the table Bo burst out in boisterous laughter. He threw his head back and banged on the table. You hesitantly turned to the other brothers for reassurance but they looked just as lost as you.

“You- You should have seen your face! Lester-!” He cut himself off with another round of raucous laughter.

“Lester- He- He looked so fuckin’ surprised! Like a deer in fuckin’ headlights!” By this point Bo was on the verge of tears and as his hooting and hollering continued Lester started to relax and laugh along as well. You looked over to see Vincent’s shoulders shaking as he laughed in his own silent way. Watching the brothers cut loose like this, you started to laugh as well. It began as chuckling until slowly all of you descended into hysterics, until the sounds of your giggles filled the entire room.

As the laughter died down, all of you were left smiling at each other and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the boys. They were deprived of this closeness and happiness for their entire lives. The more you thought about it the more you realized you had never seen any of them laugh that hard before. Feeling as though the evening had been revived, you all started to dig in after Lester cleaned up his mess.

The night wore on and the plates were swapped out for beer — for Bo, coffee, and tea. You sat around and watched as the brothers told what few happy memories they had from their childhood and once again you were hit with an overwhelming feeling of loss. In some sort of twisted way, they had become a sort of family to you and you felt as though you should try and contribute in a way that helps them. You may not be able to change their childhood, but now you were determined to give them as many happy moments as you could moving forward in order to make up for it.

Slowly Vincent rose from the table, gesturing that he had work to do in the basement. Before he turned to leave he placed his hand on your shoulder and gently squeezed it. You were a bit taken aback, as Vincent was generally more reserved. You smiled back at him to show your appreciation. Your attention was drawn to Lester as he slid his chair back from the table, smiling from ear to ear.

“I best be gettin’ home ‘fore it gets too dark to drive. This sure was great, Y/N. Thanks fer havin’ me, I had a ball.” His smile faltered and he looked as if he wanted to say more.

“Sure thing, Lester. Is there anything I can get you before you leave?” You furrowed your brow, wanting to know what was bothering him but feeling like it wasn’t your place to ask.

Wringing his hat in his hands his eyes flit between the ground and yours as he spoke once more, “Yeah, I was wonderin’ — if it’s not too much trouble — if’n I could come back fer supper again next week? O- Only if yer havin’ it.” He clenched his jaw as he looked at you wide-eyed, nervously awaiting your response. Your heart damn near broke for this man, looking so unsure. You wanted to wrap him in your arms and never let him go.

Holding your arms out you gestured for Lester to come hug you. He hesitated at first but after you said, “C’mere” he almost knocked the breath out of your lungs from how hard he hugged you.

While he was hugging you, you murmured, “Of course, Lester. You’re always welcome here. Even if you just want to drop by to chat.” Your eyes flitted over to Bo, expecting him to be upset that you had given Lester permission to come up to the house anytime he wanted. Instead, you saw him tracing the label of his beer bottle with an odd sort of half-smile on his face. He almost looked… sad. Or nostalgic. Maybe a combination of the two. Either way, you squeezed Lester once more before drawing back and holding him at arm's length. Looking him in the eyes, you cocked your eyebrow and he nodded back at you, a large smile splitting his face.

Stealing a cookie on the way out, he waved goodbye to you and Bo before yelling a goodnight down the stairs to Vincent. You were standing at the sink with your back to the rest of the kitchen when you heard Bo push his chair back. Looking over your shoulder you saw Bo leaning against the wall behind you with his arms crossed. Wondering why he was just standing there looking at you, you decided to ask him.

“What’s up, Bo? You gonna head to bed?” Turning back to the sink you waited for his response. You thought maybe he’d yell at you for inviting Lester without his say in it, or if he was in a good mood maybe even help with the dishes.

What you didn’t expect was to hear him say, “Nah, I’m gonna thank you.” Your head snapped around so fast your neck almost hurt. You couldn’t believe his words.

Chuckling at your slack-jawed stare he continued, “I know me ‘n Lester ain’t very close. I just don’t know how to handle ‘im sometimes. I sorta feel bad ‘bout it, seein’ as Vincent ‘n me are ‘bout as close as I can get.” Looking down at the floor he scuffed the toe of his work boot across the linoleum. He looked almost sheepish and if you were shocked before you were downright flabbergasted now. You had seen Bo show a lot of emotions — mainly anger and sometimes, when he was drunk enough, sadness. You had seen him flirt like hell and be sarcastic. But you had never seen him be as vulnerable as he was right now. You opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off before you could get a word in.

“But tonight… Tonight was real nice, even though you went behind my back to do it, sweetheart.” You knew that it must have meant a lot to him for Bo to even consider thanking you. Even if he was poking fun at you, you knew that this was about as open as he could get.

“Bo…” You hushed out, “You don’t need to thank me, I’m happy to do this for all of you. Even if I am being held here against my will, I guess I should pitch in somehow. Besides, I only feel bad that you guys aren’t as close as you could be.” Looking back at the dishes you expected the conversation to be over. For Bo to make some sort of snarky response or grunt in your direction before going on his way.

But it seemed like he just wanted to surprise you today because his hand fell on your shoulder and as he turned you around he said, “So Lester got a hug and I don’t get nothin’? That don’t seem mighty fair to me, seein’ as I’m the one who paid fer the groceries.” Your jaw fell open as you tried to comprehend what he just said. You were half tempted to ask what he had done with the real Bo because this was an obvious imposter.

Managing to stutter out a, “What” you slowly got your wits together.

“Am I not as good as Lester? Is that it? You like ‘im better than me?” Bo started to look more defensive and you gaped up at him.

“Bo, are you… Are you jealous?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Bo Sinclair, macho-man extraordinaire was jealous because you had given his brother a hug and not him. You couldn’t help but smile as Bo furrowed his brow and turned his head.

Scoffing, he stepped back from you and hissed, “No. Me? Jealous of that sorry son-uva-bitch that smells like rotting shit? No fucking way, forget I said anything.” He turned and started making his way out of the kitchen.

Chasing after him you laughed and yelled, “Bo! I’ll give you a hug if you want. All you had to do was ask!” You caught him by his sleeve in order to stop him. He turned back to you, still frowning and you moved forward and wrapped your arms around his torso. You felt him tense and his arms hovered awkwardly away from your body before he peeled you off of him. Grumbling to himself he stomped up the stairs and you were left shocked in the hallway listening to the echo of his door slamming.

Trudging back into the kitchen feeling slightly put out, you finished up the dishes before returning to your own room. As much as you wouldn’t like to admit it, it had taken you a while to fall asleep. You couldn’t help but remember how vulnerable Bo had looked earlier and how upset he was when you had finally hugged him.

Unless Vincent was still awake from working all night, you generally woke up before Bo. He liked to sleep in and often went down to the garage at 10 am. While getting out of bed you decided that a cup of coffee would be a good way to start the day. Walking into the kitchen you were surprised to see Bo already sitting at the table staring into a cup of black coffee. You flushed when you realized you were still in your pajamas and probably looked like a mess. Turning to the coffee-maker you cursed yourself for thinking that because you really had no business liking Bo like that. He was your captor for pete's-sake! But then again, Bo had no business looking that handsome.

Once you had your mug in hand you steeled yourself to meet his gaze and leaned your back against the counter. Looking closer at the man at the table you realized that his hair was ruffled and he had dark bags under his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

“Good morning.” You figured if you asked what was wrong he wouldn’t say anything. He’d probably just yell at you, so you might as well act like there wasn’t anything weird going on.

He just grunted a reply and kept looking into his coffee mug. He didn’t look you in the eyes as he heaved a sigh and pulled himself out of his chair. Pouring his mug out then setting it down in the sink, he turned back to the table. Pulling his hat on he pushed in his chair before ambling down the hallway, his eyes trained on the ground the whole time. You stepped out after him and watched him make his way toward the door, your brow creased in concentration. Making up your mind you walked after him before stepping in front of him. He opened his mouth to say something, obviously confused, before stumbling back from the impact of your hug. His hands hovered just like they did last night before you squeezed him tighter and he finally rested them on your back.

Speaking into his chest you told him, “I know I said all you have to do is ask, but I figured you wouldn’t do that.” You heard his chuckle rumble through his chest.

“Am I gettin’ that easy fer you to read?” He seemed just tired enough to not put up a fight at your words and instead went along with them.

Smiling into his sternum you responded, “Maybe, or maybe I just thought you looked like you needed a hug.” He tightened his arms around you before drawing back.

Considering your face for a while before an actual smile graced his features he said, “Maybe I did, sweetheart.” He squeezed your arm before stepping around you and grabbing his keys. You watched him through the screen door as he walked down the drive and started up his truck. Pulling out onto the road he stuck his arm out and waved before he disappeared around the corner ready to start another day in town.

As you watched him go you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, proud that you had gotten him to open himself up just a little bit, and hoping that he would allow you to do that more often.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair house of wax #bo sinclair fanfic #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair

133 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 4 years

Text

voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson TEASER

title: voltaire to versace 03 TEASER

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: a lil over 10k

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office. Apparently, Dolley and James had spent their afternoon together, taking a walk through the city. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley’s sappy smile. “Thank you so much, dear. You’re too good to me.”

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, “But you know I’d do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I’m-about-to-cry voice, so I’m not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore.”

“Oh, of course; I’m truly a parasite,” Dolley sighed. “Taking you in as my roommate, paying for your ramen — how evil of me.”

“I pay half the rent, and ramen costs fifty cents!” Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. “Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven’t even seen James’s friends.” Dolley’s voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. “I may not be the only one having some fun.”

“Have you even seen James’s friends?” Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley’s silence told her all there was to know. “That’s what I thought. He’s an econ student, so it’s probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money.”

“Or they could all be just your type,” Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. “Tall, hot, and older.”

“First off, I don’t have a type, and second, just because you’re dating an ‘older man’,” — The final two words were said mockingly — “doesn’t mean that his older friends aren’t still douches.”

“I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type.”

“Based on what?”

“That professor of yours?”

“Dolley!” Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. “Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don’t make it a thing,” she murmured, jaw tense.

“Oh, we’re well past that, dear,” Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. “But if you’ve agreed to the party, I won’t push my luck.”

“Smart choice,” she muttered bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?”

“Of course.”

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk’s surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They’ve gotta connect ‘em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are.” She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"

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sourbat · 3 years

Note

Hammertooth 43!

pool

Why I can’t have these two act normal in a darn pool?

With permission from Abigail, Magnus was allotted a brief visit during the holiday, and granted permission to enter some of the more obscure rooms in Mordhaus, albeit with Toki and at least two other klokateers to accompany him. With winter quickly approaching, it was only natural Toki would want to show off the many privileges affronted to a member of Dethklok, and took him past the sauna, to the neighboring indoor pool with its heated flooring, tanning corner and blood-red jacuzzi.

Unfortunately, Abigail failed to bring this up with the rest of Dethklok, and once Nathan mentioned the desire to take a swim, the band quickly followed suit. It was supposed to be a day of fun filled pool shenanigans, but then Nathan swung open the doubled doors, and the band was welcomed to the less than pleasing sight of Magnus and Toki at the edge of the pool, locked in a suggestive embrace. Murderface coughed loudly as the band made their entrance, alerting the two of their presence. Skwisgaar averted staring at the two as they sank deeper into the temperature controlled water before effectively parting. From there, a silent agreement was arranged between the two groups, with each keeping to their respective sides for as long as possible, and engaging in as little intermingling as possible.

The terms of agreement proved far more difficult than imagined.

Nathan wanted to do laps, but Toki achieved the impossible and had Magnus floating besides him, dipping into the warm waters to swim after a playful splash or jettison of water spewed from his clenched palms. Their pattern, though limited to one side of the pool, was so random and distracting, and the acoustics made every laugh, squeal and giggle more grating on the mind. A few splashes from Magnus hitting Nathan’s cheek was all it took for him to recline further into the deeper side of the pool, sink and angrily mull over the entire situation.

Pickles drank. He had planned to drink anyways, but figured he’d at least get a few minutes of exercise in, maybe challenge Nate and the guys to some water freeze tag, but was sure he saw someone’s hands in the other guy’s swim trunks, and wasn’t willing to take the risk. He huddled under a UV lamp, letting Klokateers fan and turn him around every few minutes to slow the unavoidable burn, only glancing in the direction of the pool whenever he heard Toki cry. His empathy was rewarded with the unsightly image of Magnus snatching Toki in the shallow water, legs kicking up and creating a massive wet scene. A second yielded Toki being pulled into the water, only to come up again with Magnus in his arms. By the third, Pickles figured he could get by if Toki actually did drown because watching Toki part Magnus’ sopping hair from his face, only to have a short jet of water spat at him, was the goddamn dumbest shit ever.

Skwisgaar and Murderface took to the jacuzzi, which was farthest from the two, and made the occasional glance rare, though both did pick up on the occasional gross remark about who looked best “soaked.”

Then the two grew bored of swimming.

“Come on, Magnus!” Toki complained, yanking Magnus from the water.

“Finally, I shought they’d never leave,” Murderface muttered under a hushed voice.

“Goods, now we cans swims without seeinks them all overs each others.”

The two eyed the deep end, spotted Nathan at the very bottom of the lapping water, and left the jacuzzi to meet with him. After wiping the red dye off their legs, the two headed to their side of the pool and signaled for Nathan to resurface. As he did, Toki led Magnus closer to where Pickles was situated. The three eyed the ensuing scene, thankful that Pickles was either too drunk or asleep to give a damn about the two, but still curious to see what Toki had in store for the older man. Magnus had never been one to easily slip into a public pool, and now Toki had him under the world’s fanciest and largest tanning bed.

“Come on, gets a load of this,” Toki said, skipping ahead of Magnus to snatch up a klokateer with towels, another holding a tray of fancy looking bottles.

“Careful,” Magnus called after him. “I don’t want you slipping.”

“Will be fines!”

Magnus caught up and took him by the hand. “Toke, slow down.”

Skwisgaar’s jaw slacked. “Dids he just–”

Murderface slammed a calm against his head. “Toke?”

Nathan said nothing. It was less the unoriginal nickname that bothered him, and more the way Magnus had said it. The guy sounded so… concerned.

Their shared distress and the ensuing drop in volume meant the three couldn’t pick up on whatever was shared next, but eventually the two found a spot a few chairs away from a roasting Pickles. Murderface made sure to remind the others that Toki and Magnus’ hands remained locked the duration of the walk, to which both Nathan and Skwisgaar grunted a reply.

“Here, relax over heres!” Toki proclaimed, leading them to a few chairs situated under the fluorescent UV lighting. He gestured to some standing klokateers

Toki placed a towel on the seat and, with an exaggerated gesture, offered it to Magnus. “Fors you,” he said, face brightening with red that all three could detect from the edge of the pool.

“Why, thank you,” Magnus said, chuckling as he sat himself down.

“No problems.” Toki hovered over him, made a single glance at the klokateer who carried the tray of bottles, and called him over. Toki surveyed the containers of oils and lotions, picked the one that smelled the sweetest, then ordered that the lights underneath him and Magnus be brought down a “levels or twos.”

Toki knelt over Magnus. “Turns around,” he said, resting a hand on the man’s chest.

“Mhmm.”

Nathan’s eyes slowly went agape as Magnus rested on his stomach, back exposed to the hot glow above. And then to his, Skwisgaar and Murderface’s horror, Toki carefully situated himself down on that very same seat Magnus occupied.

“No fucking way,” Nathan muttered.

There was no way Toki was going to oil Magnus Hammersmith’s back.

But Toki continued to adjust himself on the lounge chair, hoisting one of his slender legs over Magnus and crawling up the man’s contours before settling on top of his upper thighs. Magnus emitted a soft groan, one only Toki could register, but the shudder of his legs was visible to their distant onlookers.

“Thinks they ams still watchins,” Toki muttered as he pressed his palms into the curve of Magnus’ lower back.

Another groan, this one detectable by the band. Even Pickles stirred in his seat.

“So?” Magnus grunted through an exhale. “They’re fucking adults.”

“No swearins.”

“Sorry.” Magnus sighed another complaint as Toki’s thumbs pressed into his spin. “Just ignore them… or, y’know, look ‘em straight in the eyes when they do.”

“Okays.” Satisfied, Toki picked up the bottle. “Lets me know if ams being roughs.”

Magnus opened his eyes, turned his head as far as he could, and just barely caught the three musicians ogling them. He snickered. “What was the safety word again? Cinnamon?”

That woke Pickles up from his sleep.

The words sent a haunting shiver down the backs of each member. Murderface made another cough, louder this time, but Toki had already uncorked the bottle and was pouring a healthy glob of scented essential oils into his cupped palm. Nathan brought a hand to cover his mouth when Toki leaned forward, back arching and rear coming to a rise as he applied a healthy coating all over Magnus’ back. Toki rolled his thumbs into Magnus’ back, warming the oil with his hands the constant heat supplied above, and it wasn’t long before all three heard what was undeniably the sound of Magnus moaning. Skwisgaar snapped a finger, calling forward a klokateer holding his guitar. He kept his eyes steady on the strings, refusing to rise and witness the affectionate scene unfolding before him.

“You ams very tight. Need to relax mores,” Toki said, bringing his hands up Magnus’ back.

“I can think of a few ideas.”

A finger pressed into a knot, and Magnus gasped a sharp sigh.

Pickles turned on his side, wincing through tight, burned skin, and caught Toki providing Magnus one of the most sensual massages an idiot like Toki could manage. He lowered his glasses, mouth parting wide at Magnus’ toes curling inwards right as Toki pushed his weight into a particularly stiff muscle. Then came the dreaded, needy whine, and Toki stopped to whisper something low that Pickles could not hear, but definitely witnessed with less than subtle body language that Toki just happened to accidentally show off as he reclined.

The three caught Pickles’ mortified expression and turned to one another.

Murderface glanced at the exit. “Maybe we should…”

“Leave?” Nathan stated, eyes glued to Toki working Magnus’ tight shoulder. Another audible hiss from Magnus sent a troubling sensation down his stomach. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Still strumming his guitar, Skwisgaar nervously looked over to the other side of the pool at Pickles. The poor guy glanced back at the three, pointed helplessly at the two who were in the processing of turning the massage into a whole new game, and stuck out his bottom lip in a defeated pout.

“Whats about Pickle?”

“What about Picklesh?” Murderface parroted, then snapped a finger for some servants to cover him in his robes. “I’m getting outghta here before they shtart fucking.”

“You donts think?”

“I mean, how many times have we done it in front of each other?” Nathan muttered, and the question was more than enough to determine that they had at best, a minute or two before Toki finally made…whatever moves Toki had in his arsenal. The three bolted, leaving their personals behind for some servant to pick up after them. First was Murderface, then Skwisgaar second, and finally Nathan, who, despite being so affected, made one final eye roll before vanishing into Mordhaus’ halls.

“Uhh,” Pickles uttered, voice on the incline as Magnus turned and pulled Toki into a slippery hold.

“Well, would you look at that,” Magnus declared, a smile stretching into an alert grin as Toki’s oily hands slid down his chest. “We’ve scared them off.”

“Oh, we cans go plays in the water likes we dids before.” Toki pointed to the now-empty pool.

“I mean, I got you where I want you right now,” Magnus said, wrapping his arms tighter around Toki. He kissed Toki’s jaw. “And it’s pretty warm here…”

“Ams very warm.”

There came a giggle, a hand reaching for the oil, and the sounds of Toki squirming and pleading to be set free, only for Magnus to pull him back into his long, clingy grip. Magnus turned over Toki, popped open the bottle, and as Toki yelped for help, Pickles stumbled off his chair, tripping over his steps as he winced and swore his way out of the pool area.

#thank you #hammertooth #magtok #toki wartooth #magnus hammersmith #ficlet ask thing #hints of citrus in the air

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 83 - SBT

Here it is!

"The tea's the same…"

Mundy's fingers were still shaking on the tea cup. Caroline gave a short chuckle.

"Of course it is. Your father likes it as much as he hates to change his habits, eh, Mike?"

"Guess so." Mike answered.

"So tell me…" Mundy frowned. "Were you just… here, all these years?"

"Yeah, we were." Mike answered.

"How did you survive?" Mundy put the tea cup back on the coffee table. "Why didn't you say anythin'? How did you find me?"

Mike sighed.

"Tell him, Mike." Caroline pushed him.

"Right…" Mike scratched his almost bald head. "All the answers to your questions are the same, it's thanks to Maurice. Remember Maurice, the beggar?"

"Yeah…?" Mundy raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Well, he got us out of trouble, your mum and I, before it was too late and just in time."

"How? And hold on, I've been working with him last year, he didn't say anything!" Mundy burst out.

"Calm down, Micky, listen to your dad."

Mundy calmed his voice but didn't manage to calm his racing heart and breath. So Maurice knew in all that time and he said nothing?!

"Well, here's what happened. That day, when those thugs set everything on fire, your mum and I quickly realised there wasn't much we could do or save. We tried to make it out and we did but not without a fight. I grabbed the rifle that we had and shot in the air, trying to scare whoever was burning everythin' up. It did the trick for a few seconds that were barely enough for us to run and hide reasonably out of sight, in the bush."

Mundy drank his father's words like gospel while his mother held his hand to calm his trembling fingers.

"We watched everything we had just burn and fall. Your mother here cried every tear in her body. We felt terrible for the chickens and geese, and we hoped they managed to run away even though we knew there wasn't much room for an escape for them." Mike paused to catch his breath. "Your mum and I stayed low in the bush, waiting for it to pass and to finally come out of hiding but before we did, a young man found us. God forgive me, I almost shot him. He was one of Maurice's."

"How did he end up there?" Mundy asked.

"Turns out Maurice was watchin' over us."

"Why?"

"Cause we were good people to him. He was just keepin' an eye on us and we never knew but God, did it save our lives. The young guy stayed with us and dragged us away to safety, in an old 4x4. He apparently had a shed in the bush. He drove us to town and hid us away for a while, in an old, abandoned house. Your mum and I stayed there for a while, bein’ fed with other poor souls. Your mum helped the kids, I repaired the odd broken thing. We only survived thanks to Maurice.”

“How did you end up in this house?” Mundy asked.

“The problem was the money. See, cause we were officially declared… dead, I stopped receivin’ my pension. Couldn’t get access to any money and whatever little amount of savings we had. But again, somehow Maurice sorted it out and put us again to safety in this house. We changed names and hid here.”

"Hold on," Mundy frowned. "You knew I was alive, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, you were off for a contract and not with us. Unless the thugs had somethin' against us personally, they wouldn't go after you." Mike answered.

"And we asked Maurice, he said you were fine." Caroline added.

"Why didn't you or him tell me?!" Mundy exclaimed. "D'you know what it's been like after you died? D'you have any idea what I've gone through without you?!" He roared.

"Micky, sweetie…" Caroline put his cup of tea away and lowered her head.

"After a few days with Maurice, he discovered that the reason why the house and farm were burnt was because the blokes sending us letters relentlessly to get us out and drill for oil had gone impatient. I wanted to report everything but Maurice said that if that bloke was able to burn property and decent folks for it without fear, chances are regular police couldn't do anything against him. Apparently, he'd heard of the guy, he'd robbed a chain of banks in France a few months before and no one managed to catch him!"

Mundy remembered Lucien telling him that Marie and Jeremy got killed because some robbers were being chased by the police. Yeah, Duchemin was in France, robbed a few banks and flew to Oz where he started digging for oil.

"But why not tell me?!"

"Because that would give us away!" Mike answered. "If we're alive, chances are, we'd try and claim our property back and they'd never stop chasing us!"

"But… But… I'd have hidden with you! I'd have helped you out! I'd have…!"

"Micky, we feared too much for our lives." Caroline added. "We dressed and lived like beggars to be able to survive, and it worked, while Maurice tried to sort out our money. God only knows how he did it but bless his soul."

"Enough about Maurice! I could have done that if you had just told me!" Mundy stood off of the sofa and started pacing the room to calm the rage boiling in him. "I could have helped! I'm your bloody son, a grown up and able man, aren't I?!"

Caroline shook her head while still lowered.

"Son," Mike stood up. "Your mum and I wanted to protect ourselves and protect you! We didn't want any shady criminal to run after us or after you! Cause he could, eh! He could just track us down, your mum, you and I until he puts us in the ground himself! Is that what you'd have preferred?!"

"No!" Mundy shouted back. "But just tell me! What would it have cost to send me a word, a letter, anything?!"

"Mundy, your mother couldn't eat and sleep for days! We were close to getting her to a hospital, her nerves were so thin! But we couldn't afford it! Not as long as our names hadn't been changed! We went through hell and back, son! Don't you dare think that we did what we did because it was easy!"

"Yeah well in the end, it bloody was, wasn't it?! Hiding here for more than ten years!"

"And how hard would it have been for you to leave your bloody rifles home and do honest work, hm? Earn decent money and watch after your old folks?! But no! Mister Mundy wanted to save the animals more than he wanted to actually live a normal life!"

Caroline put a hand in front of her mouth and another one on her cheek. Not even an hour spent together and Mike and Mundy were already arguing…

"That was my job, Dad, a job that no one else could do or did do!"

"Well, wasn't there a reason for that?! You were sticking your neck out and asking to be shot down like those beasts you were protectin' better than your own parents!"

"No! I was doin' the only thing I could do! Back then, I didn't know anythin' else but shoot a rifle!"

"O'course you did! What about the saxophone? What about the farm? You knew how to deal with them and you were good at it! Besides, you sayin' that in the past? You don't hunt anymore? Finally came around to learnin' some proper job and droppin' the guns?"

Mundy's jaw clenched harder.

"Course I ditched the bloody things! What did you think? That I'd go on huntin'? Ya said it yourself, I was miles away when you needed me, felt awful!"

"Shame it didn't feel awful sooner." Mike concluded coldly, his voice down to its normal volume.

Mundy stared at him for a while, overwhelmed by what just happened and starting to process it against his own will. Gosh, his father still couldn't understand, could he?

The Aussie's eyes went to his mother and it broke him. She was giving him the same eyes that she always had, the same eyes that pleaded for them both to stop arguing for the billionth time. Mundy sighed and exited the house. He walked in the street, fuming.

He didn't want to go back home and face Lucien and his million questions. He didn't want to have to tell the story and feel all of it again. No. So Mundy put his hands in his pockets and walked back in the direction of the city.

Gosh… What a day…

If someone had told him his parents were alive and he would see them again, Mundy would certainly expect tears and hugs, not an argument. Well, both happened in the end. He should have left before asking any questions, he shouldn't have gone that way. Yeah, alright, that's plain stupid! Of course he had to ask! People don't go and die only to come back to life!

Oh.

Yes, yes, they did.

Lucien first, and now his parents. Yes, they did. What the hell…?

Mundy's feet soon led him into the city. He walked with his head low, not seeing the passer-bys, the shops, the cars and traffic. For him, there were only his brown boots and the grey pavement.

Hold on. His father had said that his mother was nearly taken to the hospital after the events…? Gosh. Mundy screwed his eyes shut as he imagined the pain and distress his mother had to endure. Fuck! It was always the same, wasn't it? Mundy and his father argue while Caroline sits on the side with enough sadness in her eyes to fill the ocean twice!

Mundy felt it in him. If he could, he would at least pretend to get along well with his father, just for his mother's sake. But Mike always found the words, he always found the way to rub salt into the wound. It was ridiculous… More than ten years apart and they still couldn't have a decent conversation. And what ten years, eh? Mundy didn't even have the chance to tell them that he too had died for ten years, that it had taken him that amount of time to heal and manage to turn the page. That, and Lucien.

Mundy stopped walking sharp and blinked a few times to finally look around him and make his brain accept external stimuli, wake up his ears and all his senses.

Lucien.

When Mundy's parents died, the Aussie's heart was left empty until he saw that stunning Frenchman sing at the Queen Victoria. And Mundy had gone there because of a blue and golden cufflink, where Johnson's alligators had been stolen. Gosh it seemed all so far now, almost as if it was a dream, and it hadn't really happened.

Mundy sighed. Lucien had taken all the space in his heart and his mind now. Mundy was far from unhappy with it, he loved him with all his heart, so to speak. Hm. He wondered what he was up to, without dwelling on it too much. The Aussie didn't want to go back home yet, so he went on walking in the streets.

Unbeknownst to him, Lucien had driven back to Mundy's parents. He waited there but Mundy wasn't exiting the place. Hm. He decided to have a look inside. Carefully, the ex-spy approached the house and made sure that no one would see even just his shadow passing by, through the windows. He got closer to one of the living-room ones and discreetly took a peek.

"Oh…"

Caroline was on the sofa and Mike was facing the fireplace. Both held their heads lowered. Lucien could see they were talking but it was low enough for the window to muffle the content of their conversation almost completely. The Frenchman squinted to read on their lips.

"I know, Caroline. But it's the truth."

"Mike… Come on."

Lucien had seen enough. The disappointment on Mundy's parents’ faces was clear enough, the reunion hadn't been a success. He needed to find Mundy.

He hopped on his motorcycle and headed back home and unlocked the door.

"Mundy?"

"Meow…" Perle and Soot came trotting to Lucien and brushed themselves on his legs.

"Mundy?" Lucien looked in the living-room, the kitchen, the bedroom and even the bathroom.

"Mundy n'est pas rentré?"

[Hasn't Mundy come back home yet?]

"Meow." Perle answered and he sighed.

"Où est-il alors?"

[Where is he then?]

Lucien looked through a window and saw the orange sky of the setting sun, turning the street in warm colours, while in his heart he wondered about his lover.

Much further away from their home, Mundy was wandering in the streets. He let his feet decide where he needed to go while his head ground on his conversation with his parents and played it on loop, like a broken disc.

He didn't notice the streets turning orange under the setting sun and his shadow flowing longer on the pavement. His eyes were glued to the ground and he carefully avoided a beggar sitting there - oh!

He turned back and looked down at the man in rags.

"You with Maurice?"

The beggar ignored him.

"Look up, mate. I'm M, work with Maurice. I probably served you soup over the past few months."

The beggar looked up.

"Oh, sorry mate…" He stood up and pulled his trousers up, adjusting them. "Wanted to see Maurice?"

"Yeah."

"Last I knew he was home, go ahead."

"Thanks."

Mundy headed for the dirty neighbourhood and walked straight to a house. A beggar let him through underground and by the time he arrived at the door behind which Maurice was, his mind was set.

"Maurice's is busy, mate."

The well-built man at the door said.

"Listen, you either let me in now or I swear you won't wake up to see the light of the day tomorrow."

"I'm sorry but-"

"Did I bloody stutter?" Mundy asked with his jaw clenched and every vein in his body pumping blood fast.

The muscular bodyguard remembered that the last time someone had insisted on entering the room like that, the man was even smaller than the one he was facing, and maybe even slimmer. But he somehow ended up unable to use his voice for days and a bad throat for equally longer.

"Right…" He took a step aside and Mundy stormed in the room.

"Maurice!"

"Mundy, I am already meeting someone, pray take a seat and - argh?!"

Mundy had walked straight to the tall beggar who was indeed meeting someone else. He shoved whoever that was aside and took Maurice by his collar, he pushed him on the wall and went to the tip of his toes, his canines shining fiercely under the low light of the room with the oval table.

"What…? What's wrong with you…?" Maurice tried to speak while his throat was crushed by Mundy's knuckles.

"Me?! What's wrong with me?! That's rich comin' the one bloke who's been lying to me for more than ten years!"

"Gnh-! Y-you saw them - argh?!"

"Yeah! Lu' took me to them! You knew for ten years and I saw my parents, yeah! Give me one good reason to not pop your teeth out right here and now, just one!"

"Have you… Ever asked L… when… he knew…?"

Mundy released his grip on Maurice and the tall beggar fell to the floor, a hand to his throat.

"No." Mundy answered. "But I don't need to!" He pulled Maurice back up to his feet from his collar and pushed him hard against the wall again. His back hit the wall with a muffled thud. "Why didn't you tell me? Why?!"

"Because you would have blown their cover! I was trying to keep them safe, Mundy!"

"You could have told me! What harm would it have done to them! None!" Mundy roared back.

"You are wrong, mon loup."

[My wolf.]

Hearing the voice with the French accent made Mundy spin on his heels. Lucien was at the door. He crossed the room and undid the button of his jacket with one hand, fluidly.

"What would have happened if Maurice had told you that your parents were still alive?"

"I…" Mundy's whole attention was on Lucien, and his hands let go of Maurice again, who flopped to the floor. "I'd have tried to get who did this…"

"And what if you had found him, how would you have dealt with him? By reporting him to the authorities?" Lucien went on as he now stood only a metre away from Mundy.

"Guess so, yeah."

"I would have told you to not do it." Maurice's voice was thin and he could barely speak. He gathered what little strength Mundy had spared in him and pushed himself to stand on his two feet. "I'd have told you… No police could deal with him… And if you had found him, we would have before you. From there, we can assume that L would have dealt with him before you could."

"But both of us were mourning." Lucien looked up at his lover and put a hand on his cheek, brushing it gently with his thumb. "Mourning and healing. So what would have happened to the young and wild Mundy, hm? At best, he would have gone on a wild duck chase and ended up empty-handed because someone else would have dealt with Duchemin. At worst, you would have ended up killed before you could even catch a glimpse of him. After that, your parents' days would have been numbered. Duchemin would have enquired about you and found that you are the son of those poor farmers he thought he had killed." Lucien paused to catch his breath. "By lying to you, Maurice saved you and your parents."

"But… Hold on…" Mundy turned to Maurice who had sat on his wooden throne. "Why did you help me get Duchemin if that could have killed me and my family?"

"Because he knew that I would get him before you do." Lucien answered and Mundy's head swooshed back to his lover. "I would get him before you do, and the difference is that this was my mission, I signed for it and was paid for it. If I died because of it, so be it, that was a risk that I gladly took. But you? You were asking for nothing but justice for your parents."

The Frenchman adjusted the collar of Mundy's polo shirt and splayed his hand on his chest. He raised his doe eyes to him and Mundy's mind imploded. He didn't know what to think anymore.

"Follow me."

The next thing he knew, Mundy was back home, lying on the sofa with his head on Lucien's lap. The Frenchman played with his lover's soft, brown locks of hair between his slim fingers.

"Tell me, mon amour."

[My love]

"I… I don't know what to think… I just wanna sleep and forget it all."

"Why?"

Mundy frowned.

"Because… It was horrible…" Mundy turned and laced his arms around Lucien's waist, burying his head in Lucien's lower abdomen. He held him dearly and curled his long legs on himself as he closed his eyes.

"What happened?"

"Don't wanna talk about it…"

"As you wish." Lucien kept brushing his lover's hair and put his other hand on his back. Perle and Soot jumped on Mundy and laid on him, to warm him up. They brushed themselves against him and purred. "Je suis là pour toi, mon amour. Tu peux tout me dire…"

[I am here for you, my love. You can tell me anything…]

"I know…" Mundy mumbled. "Thanks, luv'..."

And Lucien heard the sound of a kiss that he felt on his shirt, on his abdomen. He smiled.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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curls-and-crosses · 4 years

Text

Curiosity.

(Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black!fem reader)

Just over 2,000 words!

Prompt: The main idea is that you are trying to understand the real reason why ya boi Erik won't have sex with your fine ass. Intended for my thicc/chubby/plus sized black lady readers 😚💕.

A/N: In all honesty, I don't know why this scenario popped up in my head. It's questionable how you guys will receive it. If you guys don't like it, oh well! My mind works in weird ways🤷🏽‍♀️

Warning: slight angst, self-body shaming, cussing, teasing, and KINDA SMUT (it'll be my first time y'all, bare with me) 😬

____________________________________________________________________

You were fed up.

You had been dating Erik for a while and thought everything was great. He was rough around the edges, but overall he was a good boyfriend. Loyal, mostly sweet and playful. Maybe not husband material, but he was who you wanted in your life right now. Every aspect of your relationship was positive...except for one part.

You hadn't went all the way with him– sexually speaking.

You had amazing chemistry as a couple and you knew that sex with him would be mind-blowing.

You were supportive of people waiting until the right person or until marriage, but that wasn't you. You desired sex and with Erik. You were patient up until this point, but needed real answers. So you decided to ask him.

"Baby, I've been wondering..." You trailed off, chopping up some peppers for the meal you were preparing.

"Huh?" He answered, walking into the kitchen and going straight to your fridge for a drink.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that he only wore black sweatpants that hung at his hips to subtly show his v-line and the gold chain with his late father's ring hanging around his neck. His built torso and scars exposed to the cool air. They were something to get used to, although, they were interesting and felt strangely soothing when you two cuddled.

You'd never seen any type of keloid show up on someone's body simply due to killing someone. You had only heard of such thing labeled as tribal scarification in African History as a means to distinguish African warriors.

It alarmed you when Erik had told you on one of your first dates since you kept glancing at them. You should have ended the date there, but you went against your gut and carried on dating Erik.

It seemed to make an impression on him that you stuck around.

You opened your mouth to finish your question, but he stopped you before you could start.

"Hol' up." He said as he opened a Gatorade, taking a long sip.

Clearly, he had made himself at home at your place, leaving clothes and miscellaneous items around the apartment. It warmed your heart to know he was so comfortable with you, but that didn't explain why he wasn't comfortable having sex with you.

He finished his sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Okay, wassup?" He asked, placing his bottle back in the fridge.

"Why can't you–" You cut yourself off and sighed, suddenly getting discouraged.

"Nevermind...it's stupid. "

"Nah, what's wrong?" He pried, immediately coming up to hug you from behind.

"I just want to understand. Why won't you make love to me?" You questioned, cutting the vegetables slower. He took a deep breath and sighed, seeming hesitant to answer.

"Why you askin'? " He nuzzled your neck for reassurance, but it wasn't working.

You stopped prepping the food and put down the knife. You turned your soft body to completely face him. You could feel the back of your eyes starting to burn as tears welling up. Maybe he didn't want to be completely intimate because a part of you disgusted him. You weren't as slim like the Instagram models he probably follows.

"I'm not skinny. I don't wear 00 pants. I don't have a thigh gap. I don't have a 26 inch waist. I have fucking stretch marks and a belly. Is that why you won't have sex with me?" He responded by his right hand going down to your hip, softly gripping it in minor irritation.

He searched your face for sincerity and to his surprise, you were serious.

"Baby, listen. You're fuckin' gorgeous. Beyond beautiful, inside and out. Your beauty is one reason it's hard for me to stay away and keep my hands off you. Off this especially..." He trailed off, kissing the corner of your mouth as his left hand rubbed your backside before giving it a light smack.

"I always wanna feel you in some way. I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't want to see you bouncin' on my dick though."

You chuckled and felt at ease slightly, but you needed more of an answer.

"But WHY can't you act on those feelings? Answer that question for me." You asked, more firmly.

A scoff left his mouth just as fast as his touch. The air conditioning immediately made you miss his warm body as air breezed through your lavender silk robe.

"Why the fuck does it matter?" He mumbled before walking into your living room.

You heard him flop on the couch and turn up the volume on your television. He was done.

But the conversation wasn't over as far as you were concerned. How dare he dismiss you like what you had to say was unimportant. Fuck that. You needed to make sure he understood you.

You marched into the room and stood in front of him to snatch the remote from his grasp.

"Hey! I was watchin' that!" You turned the TV off and threw your remote in the opposite chair, across from the sofa.

Before anything else was said, Erik stood up. Glowering down at you. Challenging you while trying to silently understand what the hell was your problem.

"Y/N, what the hell wrong with you?!" He yelled, frustrated.

"You are what's wrong with me! You're not listening." You bit back, pointing at his chest and pushing his chest to make him flop back on the couch.

You didn't give a damn if he was mad. He would be alright.

"Just tell me why and I'll leave you alone." You pleaded angrily, crossing your arms under your silk covered chest.

That simple action caused Erik to glance at your breasts. The silk made them look more pronounced, fuller. Not to mention, your nipples were hard under the fabric.

You didn't really care, but you cared that Erik noticed it.

He only responded how any young man would...licking his lips like a hungry predator watching his unsuspecting prey.

He grinned slyly at you. Knowing the game you were playing.

"It's complicated. I wanna do so many things to you..." He admitted, sitting up straight on the couch.

"Nigga, isn't that a part of sex? I'm not seeing the problem." You sassed, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"It is, but the one thing I want to do to you is kinda wild."

"That's what I want. The sensible you. The wild you. I just want all of you." Your hands met the small ridged marks on his chest as you pushed him to sit back. You lifted your legs slowly, one by one, to straddle him.

"Please, Erik." You begged, adjusting your hips to settle on his fabric-covered dick. Your fingers went down to the hem of his sweats, playing with the white drawstring.

His chest rose and fell as his breathing quickened. His hands brushed your plush thighs before cupping each ass cheek of yours. You rocked your hips slowly as you leaned in to kiss him passionately. He returned the kiss and was eager to use tongue. You quickly allowed, earning a few groans from him as your kisses became heated.

After a few moments, he pulled away. You whimpered, wanting his tongue back in your mouth.

"I'm crazy as shit, Y/N. That's the reason." He breathily said as his dilated eyes met yours.

"So am I–"

"Not my type of crazy..." He ominously grinned before leaning in to leave soft-lipped pecks at your jaw. You smiled, entertained by the idea of what could be his crazy, unorthodox way of thinking. You were curious.

"Well, what is your crazy then?" You sensually questioned, going back to play with the drawstring of his sweats.

"So many damn questions..." He chuckled darkly and gripped you tighter. His hands slowly dug into your supple ass, pushing you into him more. More onto his hard-on.

He wanted to keep you right there.

You moaned in response to the increasing pain and without much thought, wound your hips for friction. Your arms went around his neck for support and he shifted his hips to satisfy your growing need.

"Do you get strange urges like I do?" His deeper, lust-coated voice took you by surprise. You felt yourself becoming wet at his tone and opened your mouth to answer, but bit your lip instead to keep quiet as he spoke.

"Like right now, I want you tremblin' under me, my hand 'round your throat, squeezing just enough as I fuck you senseless." He proclaimed, your bottom lip coming between his teeth as he lightly tugged before letting go.

"Maybe I'll get another scar this time." A mischievous gaze met your curious eyes. Scars?

"Erik...I thought you only got those scars if- if-"

"You think all these scars are from just killin' people? Oh babygirl, some of these are from killin' pussy too."

A rush of heat surged through you, making you feel weak and strong all at once. Those words. His words did something and ignited a fiery passion within you.

"Well, do it then..." You provoked as you bucked your hips once more. He took that as a command and hooked his hands under your legs, lifting you off of him to playfully throw you onto your couch.

You sunk into the soft cushions and adjusted so your head was on the armrest, your body now across the sofa. A devious smile crept onto your face as you tried to wrap your head around what was happening. After all this time, your man was going to beat your pussy up.

Finally.

"You got me losing my got-damn mind over you."

He turned to climb over top of you to open your legs up and come in-between them. He undid the ribbon of your robe and pulled back the fabric, revealing your unclad chest. Your nipples hard from the palpable sexual tension and exposed air. The only undergarment you had on was your matching silk panties.

Those would soon be gone.

Erik scanned over your body, taking in every bump, curve and stretch mark. He loved every inch of you.

"So beautiful..damn.." he whispered, more so to himself.

It was like he didn't know where to start. His mind most likely running frantic, almost like a child figuring out a new, complex toy.

You looked at him the same. Your smooth hands massaged his forearms, feeling the peaked scars. It was a perfect contrast, much like you and him.

"I don't think ya ass prepared for what I'm 'bout to give you." He cockily spoke before kissing your lower abdomen. His thumb fell to your clothed clit to check how wet you were for him, making you groan in anticipation.

He leaned down to your belly button, tracing the ring of your belly button with his tongue before dipping into it once. You closed your eyes in bliss at the fascinating feeling. He thumbed your clit again, causing you to tense up in pleasure. Instinctively, your legs began to close around him, but he grasped your thick thighs.

"Keep ya fuckin' legs open." His voice rang through your ears in a growled demand.

"Yes, d–" Your breath hitched as his cool lips trailed up your waist to the valley of your breasts. You closed your eyes and melted under his touch, his fingers hooking the waistband of your underwear. You lifted your hips for him to yank down your panties, throwing them somewhere on the floor.

Fondling your breasts, you pinched your bottom lip in the middle of your teeth as you gazed up at him through hooded eyes. You needed him.

He mentally absorbed the sight of you. It only inflated his ever-growing ego as his deviant grin showing two gold canines gleamed back at you.

"Allat behavior. Ain't nobody teach you no decency?" He teased as he scooted down, getting better access to your now aching core. You shook your head 'no' at his question.

"Well that's too bad. I'mma have to teach you how to behave..." He tsked. You couldn't react as he wasted no time taking you in his mouth, not giving a fuck if you were ready or not.

-------------------------

And I oop 👀...

(Send me requests too via my asks!) -> if you want

#erik can get it idgaf #erik killmonger x black reader #erik killmonger smut #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger x plus size reader #erik killmonger x plussize!reader

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psychosistr · 3 years

Text

Green-Eyed Monsters- Chapter 7

Summary: Dominic and Steelbeak need to talk through their issues after their rather tense mission. Fortunately, Steelbeak knows just the right way to start the conversation and has a trick or two up his sleeve to help smooth things over with his partner.

Notes: Alright, final chapter- time for that emotional reconciliation! xD This has been a fun piece to write and I hope you’ve all enjoyed it as much as I have :3

-First Chapter-

*knock* *knock* *knock* *knock*

Red eyes glanced up from the printed pages of the book they’d been focused on for a good hour or so. If it weren’t for the fact that the knock he heard was so familiar to him now, Dominic may have simply chosen to ignore it until he’d finished his page (though, honestly, he was tempted to do so anyway). With a reluctant sigh, the loon placed a bookmark safely within the confines of his latest novel and got up from the chair in his personal study to go answer his front door.

After getting a barely-coherent Steelbeak settled in his own apartment the previous evening, the two hadn’t seen or spoken to each other regarding their mission. Or, more specifically, Dominic had holed himself up in his apartment in an attempt to sort out his own feelings and insecurities before facing his partner again. Now, however, it seemed the other man was ready to talk, so the least the loon could do was have the courtesy to open the door and let him in.

…At least, that was Dominic’s plan until he opened the door to an empty hallway. Looking around in confusion, red eyes spotted something that could match them in color on the floor outside of his door- a pathway made of vibrant red rose petals connecting his doorway to the opened one next door.

Despite himself, a small smile found its way onto the fowl’s dark beak. He followed the path that had been so meticulously laid out for him and soon found himself in the other man’s home. The dimmable lights had been turned down as low as possible without impeding the loon’s vision, creating a rather ambient setting as the trail led him to the dining room he’d become quite familiar with after many meals shared in it with his partner. At the moment, however, it was a bit less familiar with the table and chairs missing and the only notable feature in the room being the rose petals that lined the edges of the floor.

Just as he was about to call out the other man’s name to see what he had planned, music started playing from the stereo in the living room with the volume turned up just loud enough to be properly audible from the dining room. Right on cue with the upbeat and sultry tango music that filled the air, the apartment’s prime occupant made his presence known.

Stepping in time to the beat of the music, Steelbeak entered from the dining room and winked at the other fowl. “Fancy runnin’ int’ YOU here~” The taller man was dressed in one of his usual button-up red shirts, bowtie, and black slacks, but was missing his white jacket and, instead, had donned a pair of white silk gloves- one of which held a red rose that he presented to the loon with a flourish. “Whattaya say t’ makin’ some sweet music with me, gorgeous?”

The small smile on the loon’s dark beak grew as he took the offered flower with a quiet chuckle. “What exactly are you up to, Steelbeak?”

With his hand now empty, the metal-mouthed fowl held the appendage out in a clear invitation. “Askin’ the prettiest bird here t’ dance with me, that’s what.” The invitation was accompanied by that ridiculous little eyebrow-wiggle the taller man did when he was being jokingly flirtatious.

Darn it, he knew it was hard for Dominic to stay mad when he did that. “I suppose one dance couldn’t hurt.” Carefully tucking the (thankfully dethorned) rose into his hair, one black feathered hand found its way into the white gloved one presented to him while the other rested on a broad shoulder. The thin silken barrier of the gloves was an interesting feeling in his hand and his side when the other found its mark, but he appreciated the other man’s apparent consideration for his comfort.

One dance soon turned into two. Then three. Then into so many more that it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. It all became one dizzying but pleasant rush of movement as the duo danced their way from a tango into a waltz and a litany of other dances to accompany the ever changing music.

Dancing with Steelbeak, Dominic found, was a different experience than he expected- though not an unpleasant one, by any means: Given his likely all-female list of previous dance partners, the smaller bird would have expected Steelbeak to instinctively take the lead and have his partner follow along. Instead, there was a sense of give-and-take to his movements- if Dominic let him lead, then he would lead, but if the loon moved to take charge, then the rooster would instantly follow without question. The position of their hands rarely changed- aside from when necessary for a spin or dip, of course- but it still felt obvious when they changed who was leading and who was following. It was a dance in which both parties felt equally in control and respected as the leader- a balance that wouldn’t work for all dance-partners, but was absolutely perfect for the two of them.

Several dances later, the pair found themselves swaying together calmly to the soothing melody of a piano piece. Dominic had relaxed considerably since the start of their dancing and was now far more comfortable with his partner’s hand on his waist while the thumb of the other caressed the back of his own hand in a subtle display of affection. “I wish you’d asked me to dance ages ago,” The loon admitted with a soft smile. “You’re quite good.”

The corner of the metal-mouthed fowl’s namesake quirked up in a half-smile at the compliment. “You ain’t half bad yourself, stripes.” As they swayed and slow-stepped together, Steelbeak’s smile fell slightly, turning into something a bit more serious. “Y’know, I’m pretty much a master at every dance out there.” Though he tried to make his words come off as a boast, the undertone of melancholy in his voice made it abundantly clear that was not his intention. “But, there’s still a few I don’t know…couple I’m still learnin’ the steps for..and…it’s weird for me- not knowin’ what I’m supposed t’ do..”

The metaphor was not lost on the darker bird, the other’s words causing him to give an understanding smile while squeezing the gloved hand he was holding. “Well then, you’re lucky that I’m a fairly skilled dancer as well. I’m sure I could help you learn the more complicated steps and take the lead when necessary.”

Dark grey eyes gazed down into the red ones gratefully as the soft squeeze was reciprocated. “That’d be great.” With a quiet sigh and a shake of his head, Steelbeak decided to drop the metaphors and just speak frankly with his partner. “Truth is, I’m just not used t’ this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing..”

“I know.” That made sense, Dominic figured. After all, it’s not like Steelbeak had ever dated another m-

“I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before, y’know?” Huh…well…that wasn’t what the loon was expecting to hear, but he didn’t interrupt the rooster’s explanation. “I mean, sure, I bet there’s loads of chicks out there- and I mean LOADS of ‘em- that thought I was, but I never saw myself like that. It was dinner, drinks, a dance or two, back t’ my place, then a callback a few months later if I bothered t’ get their number t’ do it all again…not really what you’d consider a ‘boyfriend’ sorta situation..” A white-gloved thumb gently brushed over the black feathers of the hand within his grasp as he avoided eye contact with the shorter man. “This is probably the first time I’ve ever been serious ‘bout someone I dated…first time I’ve stuck around..so…I don’t know how all this ‘boyfriend’ stuff works- honestly, I just figure half of it out watchin’ you an’ followin’ your lead. If I make a mistake or do somethin’ wrong, I’m probably not gonna realize it ‘til ya TELL ME, and I know you’re embarrassed bein’ seen with me, but-”

“Stop.” Though his tone was firm, it was mostly so Dominic could make sure he had a moment to recover from the proverbial record-scratch he heard in his head accompanying his partner’s last words. Once that moment had passed, the dark hand that had previously rested on the taller man’s shoulder reached up to his face and tilted that deadly beak downward to make sure he had the rooster’s full attention. “You think I’m embarrassed to be seen with you? Why on earth would you think that?”

That thought was absolutely ludicrous. Sure, Steelbeak wasn’t perfect (who was?)- he had a destructive temper that could rival Dominic’s when things went wrong and he was pushed too far, his manipulative ways with women were aggravating (though, admittedly, he’d been getting marginally better since the loon’s discussion with him about how he treated Ammonia Pine), he was rude and bossy (with others, mostly- he now knew better than to try that with his partner), and had a sense of vanity and pride that could rival Narcissus himself- but not ONCE since the two had started dating did the thought of being embarrassed to be seen with his partner ever cross his mind. If, somehow, he’d given off that impression, then he needed to know exactly how he’d managed to do so and make sure he never repeated that behavior again.

Steelbeak seemed genuinely surprised by the sharp shooter’s questions and genuinely concerned tone, blinking down at him before recovering and explaining himself further. “Well..it’s just…ya never act like we’re dating in public, y’know?” When all he received was a questioning look prompting him for more, dark grey eyes looked around as if searching for the right words or examples to use. “How t’ put this……when it’s just the two of us, you’re okay with flirtin’, or holdin’ hands, or leanin’ on me, or-or even just sayin’ that we’re together.” The corner of his mouth tipped downwards ever so slightly. “But, if there’s anyone else around, then you avoid that sorta thing like it’s gonna get ya shot. Every dame I’ve been with was practically chompin’ at the bit t’ tell everyone I was her boyfriend after just one date, but you always make it sound like I’m your work-partner and that’s it. I’ve seen ya flirt with guys left an’ right and not have any trouble showin’ you were into ‘em; meanwhile, I’m stuck here wonderin’ if you’re not supposed t’ do that when you’re actually datin’ a guy? Is it somethin’ you’re just supposed t’ keep secret?” He shook his head before meeting the other’s gaze once more. “I’m not askin’ you t’ go throwin’ yourself at me when we’re out- think I’d be more freaked out by that than excited- but I don’t know what I’m supposed t’ do an’ it’s drivin’ me crazy.”

“That’s not…you didn’t- I never..” For a moment, Dominic was lost for words.

From the time he’d gotten his first boyfriend in high school, the loon had never been in a relationship that was anything even remotely close to public. Most of the guys the loon dated had been adamant about keeping the whole thing secret to avoid damaging either of their reputations; after many years of the same secretive charade, he’d simply gotten used to it being the status quo. Even with his fiancé, who was so very clearly proud of his relationship with his partner, Dominic had asked that they not tell anyone so that they could keep each other safe if anything happened- a request that the other man didn’t fully understand, but accepted anyway and made sure to make up for the lack of public affection the first chance he got as soon as they were alone. The idea of having a partner- of having a boyfriend- who actually wanted to be public about his relationship with the aquatic avian was new territory that was as exhilarating to explore as it was bone-chillingly terrifying.

Taking the darker fowl’s silence as hesitance, Steelbeak took a breath and sighed. “Look, if you don’t wanna tell no one, then that’s fine by me. I’ll follow your lead on this one. But- ” The hand that had been holding the loon’s so carefully until now finally let go, causing a pang of panic to jolt through the shorter man’s chest as he worried he’d upset his partner with his lack of a proper response. Before he could apologize, however, Steelbeak brought the gloved appendage to his beak and used the tip to carefully bite down on one of the fingers so he could easily pull the fabric away and free his hand. “-whatever ya want me t’ be in public, whether it’s your boyfriend or just your partner-” The glove fell carelessly to the floor as he spoke, giving him a chance to now use his beak to tug down the cuff of his sleeve just enough to fully expose his wrist. “-I’m yours. Whatever ya want that t’ mean, I’ll be fine with it, long as you still want me t’ be yours.”

Until that moment, Dominic had assumed the gloves were for his own benefit- a way to help him feel more comfortable with his partner’s hands on him while they danced. In reality, however, it seemed their purpose was to hide the still glistening dye on the lighter bird’s feathers.

On the inner side of Steelbeak’s left wrist, once blank off-white feathers had been skillfully painted and dyed with black and white ink to form a tilted image of a domino with two dots on one side and six on the other. Then, as if the iconic symbol from his hat wasn’t enough of a clue as to whom the painted feathers were referencing, the image was coupled with beautiful calligraphy on both the top and bottom in a mirrored style with the side closest to Steelbeak’s hand saying “Dominic” and the other saying “Domino”, both words accompanied by an elegantly curved underline to help them stand out as well as form a border around the domino.

To say Dominic was shocked would be an understatement, but to simply say he was touched by the gesture would be an even BIGGER one. The image was in a much harder to hide place than the rooster’s back- anyone could catch a glimpse of the loon’s name if Steelbeak’s usual long-sleeves happened to slip high enough and would be on full display anytime he wore anything even a fraction shorter. He was making it clear that he was not ashamed of his relationship with his partner- with his boyfriend- and didn’t care who happened to see the ink or question its meaning. As if that wasn’t proof enough, there was also the length of time the markings would last: Once a bird’s feathers were painted, the ink would last for at least a year barring any significant damage to the area that resulted in losing all of the feathers at once (something Steelbeak would likely go to great lengths to avoid due to his own vanity). This was a clear sign of commitment from the nearly gamophobic man; proof that he was committed to making this relationship work and planned to stick with Dominic for at least a year.

With wide eyes and slightly trembling fingers, the loon reached out and gently traced the lines of the image. It felt dry, but the sheen to it suggested that it had only just recently reached that point. Steelbeak must have gotten it done that afternoon in order for it to set properly and give him time to get everything ready. The thought brought a soft smile to the darker bird’s face- this man really, truly cared about him more than any of his previous “dates” (calling them girlfriends would be far too generous) and wanted to make sure Dominic knew it.

Looking up into the other’s dark grey eyes, Dominic’s smile grew a little more. “While this is a lovely gesture, I’m not getting your beak painted on me. Sorry.” The statement earned a laugh from the taller man, as the sharpshooter predicted, and he seized the opportunity to hook a finger under the rooster’s tie, giving him the leverage he needed to bring the metal-mouthed fowl’s namesake close enough for a kiss.

“!!!” Steelbeak made a startled sound in the back of his throat clearly not expecting the sudden contact. Still, despite the clear surprise visible in his wide-eyed stare, he made no move to pull away or put an end to the intimate connection. By the time his tie was released and the shorter bird had pulled away just enough to give him a smirk that left him red in the face, his short-circuited brain had recovered enough to form a response. “So, uh….that’s on the table now..?”

“As long as it’s not while I’m angry at you or I’ve made it clear that I need some space, then yes, that is very much ‘on the table’.” Dominic couldn’t help but laugh at the flustered expression on his boyfriend’s face. That look was a precious sight and it was for his eyes only. “What? Did you really go into this expecting that we’d never kiss?”

A softer version of the lighter fowl’s usually grating laughter was accompanied by a shake of his head, the corners of his mouth lifting into that more genuine smile that the loon adored. “T’ be honest with ya, Deedee, I had NO friggin’ idea what t’ expect goin’ int’ this….but-” An ungloved hand reached towards the darker one nearby, waiting for an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement before carefully entwining their contrasting-colored digits together. “-I knew I wanted it, whatever that meant.”

Dominic’s own smile softened a bit at the warm feeling of his boyfriend’s fingers entwined with his and the subtle thump of a pulse that wasn’t his own felt through their touching palms. Whatever this would turn into one day, he knew one thing for sure-

“I want it, too. Whatever it means.”

<--Previous Chapter

End Notes: And so we come to the end and my favorite part of any emotionally turbulent story- the communication and resolution. I always enjoy seeing characters in a loving and committed relationship, but (to me, at least) part of what makes a relationship strong is being able to fight about something and work through it so that all parties involved feel heard and understood, so I try working that into my stories whenever possible. I hope you guys enjoyed this installment of the series and I can’t wait until I have the time/energy to add to it again x3

#darkwing duck #dwd #steelbeak #Dominic Domino #steeldomino #darkwing duck oc #dwd oc #not my oc #green-eyed monsters

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sunflowersandotherthings · 4 years

Text

pride (and other destructive feelings) (harry styles)

a/n: okay, so i’m just starting with my writing, i put out my first two pieces today. it shocked me how many people noticed it, but it honestly made a good day even better. i’ve never felt the kind of happy one feel’s when their hard work (no matter how good or bad) is appreciated and noticed by others until now. it feels pretty dang good. this is about 1.2k words, and it’s not edited so there’s probably a couple mistakes. thank you for reading :)

warnings: a handful of no no words, a kind of suggestive sentence at the very end but it’s really not bad at all.

masterlist

If it wasn’t for Harry’s pride, he would’ve given in by now. He really did miss you, but he couldn’t let himself accept that. It had only been a couple of hours, for God’s sake. But, when two people are mad at each other, hours can seem like days. He felt miserable, and he regretted everything he had said. Deep down, he knew you regretted it too. It had been such a stupid fight, starting over the fact that Harry put all of the dishes in the wrong place when he unloaded the dishwasher.

“Harry, why the fuck are there forks in the plate cabinet?” You asked as he walked past you, face buried in his phone. He simply shrugged and continued on his way to the living room, leaving you to sort out all the dishes yourself. You had told him to put them away, and he did. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal.

“Harry, I’m talking to you.” You said, voice raising slightly so he could hear you over the tele. You briskly walked out of the kitchen and into the cozy living room, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down.

Without even looking up from his phone, Harry said, “I was watchin’ that.”

“Obviously you weren’t, you were too busy being sucked into your phone,” You said, putting your hands on your hips. Turning your head to the side, you muttered, “Like always.”

“S’cuse me?” Harry said, finally turning the small device off and throwing it onto the couch beside him.

“Nothing Harry, it’s nothing.” You rubbed a hand over your face and began to turn around. You did not feel like starting a fight today. Quarantine had been tough for both of you, Harry was stressed because of having to reschedule his tour and you were stressed because of, well, Harry. Being stuck together and not being able to leave the house for weeks had been more difficult than you had first thought. Harry was irritable, and you guys had been picking fights over the silliest things.

Obviously, Harry was in the fight-picking mood.

“Know its not nothin’, it’s never nothin’.” He said shaking his head at you

“And what the hell’s that supposed to mean, H?”

“M’ jus’ sayin. These days it’s always somethin’.”

You were starting to get mad. It was always something because Harry always gave you something to be pissed about.

“You’re just always on your damn phone all the time and you never-”

“God, y/n, what are you? My mum?” He said, rolling his eyes at you.

“Not my fault you’re acting like a child, Harry.” You didn’t want to fight anymore. You turned around, just wanting to take a bath and relieve all of the stress this man had been causing lately.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up from the couch and following you into the bathroom.

“I’m trying to draw a bath, Harry. If you would leave me be. I’m sure your phone will keep you entertained enough.”

“Christ, what is it with the phones?” He asked, angrily waving his in the air in front of your face. His voice was gradually getting louder.

“It’s the fact that it’s all you’ve been doing, H. You’re on that thing while we’re watching movies, while we’re eating dinner, right before bed. It’s like you can’t spare a second away from the thing to help or talk to me besides starting fights.” You shouted, finally telling him what had been going through your mind. You knew you could trust him, he wasn’t doing anything bad. It was just the fact that he has chosen to spend more time with a screen than his living, breathing girlfriend.

“Maybe if you weren’t so fuckin boring, I wouldn’t have to use my phone to entertain me.” He yelled back.

You turned your back to him, not knowing how to respond. You were shaking with anger at this point.

“I really wish that I wasn’t stuck in this quarantine with ya, I’m losin my damn mind. Can’t stand bein around ya so much.” He muttered, shaking his head at you. He knew what he was saying was mean, but he was so angry he didn’t care.

“Then maybe you should find someone else to spend your time with, Harry. Or, better yet,” You walked out of the bathroom, slipping your sandals on and grabbing your purse that was hanging by the door, “I guess I just will.” And with that you walked out of the flat and onto the streets of LA.

By now, Harry had cooled off and realized he had made a mistake by saying what he said. He was a jerk, he knew that much. He sat on your shared bet, biting his nails and staring at his phone screen. His text messages with you were opened up, and he had typed something into the message tab.

I’m sorry, i was a jerk, i didn’t mean what i said. Forgive me, love. Please come home, i was wrong.

It was typed out plane as day. He admitted his wrongs, he begged for her forgiveness. All he had to do was send it. But, something was stopping him. It was the part about admitting he was wrong. He knew he was, but a small part of him was telling him not to admit it, not to give her the satisfaction.

Then, he thought of the virus. He knew she shouldn’t be going to see anyone else, he knew she wouldn’t risk it. They had both been playing it extremely safe and agreed not to make contact with any other people. He wondered where she had gone, if not to a friend or relatives house. She could be anywhere, it could be dangerous. Suddenly, that pride went completely out the window. He immediately deleted his text, deciding to call her instead.

The phone rang 5 times before she picked up.

“Whaddya want, Harry?” He could hear her sniffling on the other side of the phone, and his heart ached for the tears he had most likely caused.

“Please, come home y/n. I was wrong, love. I didn’t mean anya it. Jus’ want ya to come home.”

Immediately, he heard the front door open, and he ran out into the main entry, confused. When he saw her, he hung up his phone and set it down on the table next to the door. He looked to her for an explanation.

You shrugged your shoulders, looking at the ground in embarrassment.

“I didn’t wanna risk going to anyone else.” You said. After you had walked out, you made it across the street before realizing it wasn’t a good idea to be out walking with no protection or anything. You turned around and when you got back to the door, you had hesitated. You weren’t ready to give in and fall into his apologizing arms. It wasn’t your fault, you had done nothing wrong and therefore you should stand your ground. Instead of going back into the flat, you sat down on the ground next to the door for what seemed like maybe an hour or two but felt like way more.

“This is gonna be hard, us together 24/7 with no breaks. We’re gonna fight, lovey, but I need ya to know that when I’m mad, I don’t mean anythin I say. I’m so, so sorry m’love.” He held out his arms to give you a hug, but you ducked underneath them and ran down the hallway that led to your bedroom.

“Maybe you could find a better way to apologize, Haz.” You said, winking and running into the room.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #harry styles one shot #tpwk #harry styles #x reader

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syntaxeme · 4 years

Text

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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