#also i do NOT get enough keys for the locks and its pissing me off. stop giving me bread u bitch

[aliferous-ly]

I started playing Minecraft again . what the fuck is a trial chamber

[freakassfemme]

streamer!gf! abby head cannons ✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧

this came to me so violently. i couldn't get it out fast enough

✮⋆˙ initially she gets popular with a male audience through first person shooter games and her custom builds of old ass computers from like, random 90s scrap lots she finds on ebay

✮⋆˙ is playing black ops or something for a throwback Thursday and bumps into some random kid on voice chat who tells her to play Roblox (she's never heard of it)

✮⋆˙ lev explains it to her and she finds the concept really weird and kind of funny so she agrees and streams it one day, which SHOVES her through a portal to popularity

✮⋆˙ hot buff nerdy girl w glasses on my computer? yeah her demographics change REAL fast

✮⋆˙ surprisingly she has a lot of fun with it. she thinks the games people recommend her are really hilarious and her chat eats it up

✮⋆˙ never mentions being gay until someone makes a Chappell roan reference in chat one day and just casually she's like "omg my girlfriend loves her"

CROWD GOES WILDDDDDDDDD

✮⋆˙ very quickly they want to meet you. abby refuses at first, but slowly allows you to weasel your way in, whether it's through playing on your switch in the background, blurred out, or you running after bear and alice to try to rush them out of abby's office

✮⋆˙ soon enough you're sitting down live because abby can't place on dress to impress and she's pissed

✮⋆˙ it becomes a joke, but she loves it. she really enjoys making more light-hearted content and connecting with different types of people rather than vaguely-threatening tech bros

✮⋆˙ has a thing where if anything gay happens on screen she salutes the camera or gives the craziest side eye

✮⋆˙ still goes back to her roots and plays the most random old games she's had to pirate off some sketchy websites and download suspicious files to obtain, just laughs nervously when everyone's freaking out about it

"whaaaat? no, the internet is really nice to me. it would never do that -- oh FUCK" (mods are rushing to blurr out her IP address)

✮⋆˙ has the driest, most sarcastic humor that everyone adores.

"I want to rip your bicep off with my teeth... that's really normal of you."

"you think you could do it better? yeah? is that going to be before or after your homework?"

✮⋆˙ very minimalist, black setup with some black ambient lighting that's low-key like hot as fuck

but she's really clumsy and trips a lot, especially because it's dark. her monitor is falling like every other night and she's lucky it hasn't cracked

✮⋆˙ constantly bombarded with edits of her to muse that you'll be running in to show her midstream. she gets the biggest, most shit-eating grin

also didn't really understand what an edit was until you showed and explained it to her lol

✮⋆˙ eventually, as she opens up more and becomes more of a charming personality than a stoic bro-type, she starts making other friends.

yeah she becomes friends with streamer!ellie <3

as the time goes by, she and ellie get really close. there's definitely multiple streams of you, abby, dina and ellie playing mario kart or luigi's mansion on some first generation wii

✮⋆˙ abby teaches you how to jailbreak anything and everything from a 3DS to a switch, even when you're freaking out that she's going to lock it and you'll have to get a new one

✮⋆˙ eventually she sets you up a little corner in her office for when you join her on her streams. it goes from being one camera to you both having separate monitors, and yours is obviously much more colorful than hers

✮⋆˙ on very, VERRRRRY rare occasions she'll say something like "gotta lock in" or "ate", and its usually after like the most gruesome scene in a horror game and like 20 seconds delayed

like imagine her saying "gotta lock in" trying to be funny and finally getting into the bathroom in silent hill and then just sitting over the sink with her jaw on the floor for fifteen seconds

"Jesus Christ, am I going to get banned for showing that?"

✮⋆˙ really gets into analog horror and eventually starts drafting her own concepts, which pushes her into the rabbithole of ARGs

✮⋆˙ loves when people make virtual stickers of her, she thinks its really funny and though she never gets into "merch", she doesn't mind people turning stuff into actual stickers. she thinks its even funnier when she's never seen a screenshot until someone sends her it as a sticker

lets you keep them all and put them on the fridge or your water bottle

✮⋆˙ never does anything risky on stream but is no stranger to leaning back in her chair for a good time if you tiptoe in one night after she's logged off

[roachsideblog]

WIP GAME

Tagged by @youredyingthatsallthereis

Tysm for the tag aaaaa 🫶🫶🫶 I am siccing my followers on you to read the soaproach WIP you posted!! Tagging some of my lovelies:

@randomwordsandstormydays @grechka-zhest @boxofthings and any other fic writers that follow me who wanna join in!!

Here's a little soaproach thing of my own under the cut. Older and only slightly 🤏 edited so I'm sorry if its bad XD

~~

Sanderson hunched on the stoop under a yellow sconce light. Hearing Soap approach, he glanced up from his phone, quickly slamming it in his pocket and removing his hand from the other one in hopes that Soap wouldn’t notice. Futile, but Soap was too exhausted to call him on it and decided to pick his battles.

“Morning, Captain!” Roach said with a salute. His rifle in its sling peaked over his shoulder while his helmet sat on the step, night vision goggles already attached.

“Sergeant,” he nodded. “Hope ye weren’t waitin’ long.”

“Better waiting in the cold than late,” Sanderson muttered. He didn’t seem to want to be there either.

“Smart lad.”

Soap unclipped the carabiner on his belt with the keyring and fumbled them, trying to find the correct one with numb fingers. The frozen brass stuck to them as it finally turned, only after he’d tried every key and circled around to the first. Apparently, the warmth of his curse-laden breath melted what ice stuck the lock. Now that the knob turned the door should have moved, but of course its old wood had swollen and jammed. Soap bodied it with his shoulder once, twice as it squeaked in protest, then a third finally dislodged it from the frame.

He was rewarded with a tumble into stale air only moderately warmer than that outside. Sanderson flicked on the lights while they set up, since the Captain b-lined for a flock of space heaters bunched in the corner and searched for one with unbent prongs and unexposed wiring.

The bay ran along the front of the building, only deep enough for a small walkway behind where soldiers lay prone to test their weapons. Past this, the range itself stretched a few hundred feet to the far wall where targets were hung--where Sanderson busied himself.

Luck graced Soap with two non-hazardous heaters. He plugged them in at the closest outlets framing Sanderson’s lane. Looking out at the Sergeant, Soap noticed he put out a target for his captain as well. Soap also noticed how quickly he grew frustrated as his cold, uncoordinated fingers stuck to the tape when he tried to fix it in place, and how he stormed back to the bay under the assumption he went unwatched.

Sanderson returned with a huff and straightened his shoulders. He had on a hat and scarf to stave off the cold, covering his brown buzz cut that was a little longer on top. Just long enough it tried to curl. Without goggles, his green eyes looked everywhere but at Soap’s own. He wore his typical combat gaiter, covering a strong jawline; pointed chin; and thin, chapped lips. Not the most expressive, resting face usually neutral at worst, more commonly with eyebrows raised in polite attention and a slight smile Soap know to look for. Now, even through the fabric, the Sergeant frowned so harshly it furrowed his brow.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Soap half-joked. The last thing he needed was an underling with an attitude. He hated doing it to Sanderson, but he’d chew him up and spit him out for it if need be. He just wanted their shitty morning over with so he could eat.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Captain. Just… cold.”

“Mhm. You asked for this, Sanderson. What did ye think was gonna fookin’ happen? We get here n’ the birds ’re chirpin’ and we have a lovely time?”

Soap didn’t think he sounded that pissed. Unfortunately, Sanderson only responded with a quiet, “No, sorry. Guess I—I guess I should’ve expected this.” Then, he skirted around Soap to the loading table and pulled ammo boxes from his pockets, retrieving the rifle from across his back afterward. His helmet sat next to him, and as he checked that his rifle was in working order nearly knocked it off. Soap saw anger bubble up inside him before he cracked his knuckles to release the tension.

Rifle loaded, he squatted beside the sandbags in his lane and replaced his hat with his helmet. “Hit the lights for me, Cap?”

Noticing the man hadn’t donned earmuffs yet, Soap grabbed a pair for each of them and sauntered over. Honestly, such a basic mistake warranted an ass-chewing; however, Soap didn’t have the energy for it, and something told him neither did Sanderson.

Instead, he teased with a sly smile, “Come oan. Don’t tell me yer goin’ unprotected. Yer smarter than that, lad.”

Sanderson stared straight ahead and took the earmuffs his captain dangled on a finger.

Soap crouched there in his personal space and waited for the grateful response a man of his title was due from an inferior. From an inferior he was going easy on. As the moments passed, Sanderson’s knuckles only turned white squeezing the headband of the muffs. Soap squinted and leaned in closer, trying to pressure any sort of thanks out of Sanderson before being forced to reprimand his attitude.

Nothing.

“Sergeant.”

“Captain?”

“Let’s nip this in the bud.” Soap leaned impossibly close and hissed in his ear, “Listen to me. I know yer tired, ‘cause I’m tired, too. It’s too early fer this, n’ it’s waaaay too cold. But, through hell n’ high water, I wrestled the range master n’ RSOs to get approval for this. I had to resubmit the same damn form three damn times after they gave me the wrong one. Had to submit it a fourth after they fooked up in the admin section and couldn’t just white it out for some shite reason. I set this all up, walked all the way out here in the dead of winter in the middle of the night ‘cause you asked fer it, and now I’m tryin’ to make the most of it while yer makin' rookie mistakes and bein’ a right cunt!”

Roach remained stupidly quiet.

Soap's nostrils flared as he scowled. He couldn’t contain it any longer. He pulled away and exploded, “Well, this is the last fookin’ time I’ll ever do somethin’ nice fer ye! I don’t even know why I bother goin' outta my way fer an ungrateful sergeant brat. I've had recruits act better than this. Yer not worth it, Sanderson. Yer not fookin’ worth my time.”

With shaking fingers Sanderson checked that the safety of his rifle was engaged and set it aside. Then he blinked rapidly, brought his knuckles to his eyes, and his face contorted like a child’s, and Soap realized he wasn't shaking from the cold. There Roach was, ripping at the seams like he'd never been yelled at before—which was unbelievably false. He was a soldier, for heaven’s sake. He’d been yelled at daily since the day he signed enlistment papers.

It made Soap's stomach sick, half fed up with the sorry excuse in front of him, half worried. “Hold it to-fucking-gether! The hell's wrong with ye‽” He asked.

[winchesterhymns]

Guard Dog

Day 1: Ethel Cain, Cycles / Ouroboros

801 words of samdean fic for the mini event for @holyfreaks birthday!!

Take the Ethel Cain prompt with a grain of salt (an inbred grain of salt) I think if she wrote a song, it'd be like this fr. I tried to keep this short and sweet, and I succeeded (can I get some applause please)!!

Inspired by this post! As well as this post and reblog, except instead of Sam being a voyeur, it's Dean >:3

Please enjoy! (Also I am NOT late, it's 11pm where I am, so ha)

Explicit!!

The sound of dogs barking startles me awake. It's those damn pit bulls on the other side of the road, I hear their chains rattle. I wouldn't really care about them or give them a second thought if it weren't for Sammy. Every time we walk home from school he sees them, he worries about their necks and how the chains might snap or how they might choke. I find myself thinking something similar from time to time now.

The wind breaks into our room and settles on my skin, my blanket must've come off during the night. The days have been getting hotter and hotter as summer approaches, it always surprises just how hot it can get in Nebraska. Sammy begged dad to let us stay so he could at least finish grade 9 here. I say it's a pain in the ass. 

Speaking of the little brat, I don't see him in his bed. I get up and look around the dark room, the lock on the door is still on its side and the keys are on the dresser, he hasn’t gone out. That's when I hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and all of a sudden, I gotta piss.

I stumble my way over to the worn, wooden door. The room is as shitty as all the others we've been in, only difference is there's two beds. Usually there would only be one, since it was cheaper and it'd just be me and Sammy. Of course though, Sammy's a growing boy, and growing boys need their own space, so he says. Most we could manage was another bed, no way in hell dad would let us spend money on a whole other room when we're already struggling with what we have.

I stop before my fist pounds away at the door. It's creaked open. 

I look in and see Sammy’s reflection in the mirror. He’s just sitting on the toilet, his pants down.

But… His hand is busy, swiftly moving up and down. There's sweat dripping down his forehead and his mouth is parted open, he almost looks…

Beautiful.

His features have always been sharper than mine, and his hair longer, he liked it that way – and no matter how much I hassled him about it – I did too.

I watch a little longer before quietly going back to bed. 

I'm proud of him. 

Everything seems to be in working order, as his older brother I gotta watch out for these things. I roll to my side and ignore the pain between my legs.

~~~

I was out getting some chips and soda for Sammy and I. We'd be having a movie marathon tonight, dad let us rent some movies, so we did. And since it was Friday, Sammy agreed. 

I'd been gone for too long, and Sammy said he wasn't feeling well, so I hurry and pay before going back to our room.

Three weeks.

I've been watching him for three weeks. 

Every night. 

Or well, every night he does it, which is only a few times a week. 

Just to make sure everything works, dad told me to look out for him, so that's what I'm doing. Honestly it'd be better if he were doing it with a girl. He's old enough now, why he's sitting around in the bathroom and diddling himself alone is beyond me. 

A girl has been stopping by though. She blonde with green eyes, some light freckles here and there, looks almost like a doll. Sammy says she's just there to work on a project. But sometimes I catch her pushing Sammy's hair from his face. Or Sammy touching her leg. They're bold doing that while I'm there, I'll give ‘em that. 

I take my keys out as my eyes land on our door, lucky room 13. 

The dogs are yapping away like always. But beyond that, I hear a moan…coming from inside.

My throat goes dry, my stomach tightens, and I immediately know what’s happening. 

I feel proud.

I peak through a crack in the curtains. Sammy's sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, he's facing me, his eyes closed. I watch his hands and the way they sit on the girls naked hips, he's helping her move. 

She's on top, moving like this is a rodeo and she's just tamed her first wild horse. She's persistent with her moves, and I can feel the pride surge within me. 

I see Sammy scrunch up his little nose, and from weeks of observation, I know he's close.

My baby brother’s healthy, and his body’s working the way it's supposed to, he's getting it on with girls. 

I'm truly proud.

I hear the dogs barking.

The chain snaps. 

And then I'm inside, pushing her off of him.

[b1adie]

Oh my bad I should've elaborated! What I meant exactly was that it seems REALLY buggy/glitch-y and a lot of people online are complaining about it and that the EN voiceovers are bad is another popular complaint rn

Is that true? In your experience at least :0

OHHHH okay well here are my thoughts

well i don’t seem to be getting nearly as many crashes/disconnections as i’ve seen people complain about (it’s never crashed for me, but it occasionally will say “reconnecting” for a few seconds). kind of glitchy, but not in a way that really effects anything too badly. like 90% of the time you can just run straight up a wall, which honestly? hope they never patch that, i love it. also you don’t take fall damage which rocks. leave that.

the en voices though,, yeah, they’re not great. really flat and peculiar imo. like you can tell they’re reading off a script and it sounds like it’s the first time they’ve ever read it. not much of an issue for me since i rarely play games with sound on, but it is kind of disappointing (and sometimes irritating…)

they’re also just throwing a bunch of words at me all the time and its so much of a lore dump that i didnt even bother trying to keep up and just started skipping cutscenes LMAO like yeah i’d like to know more but i dont know half the shit they’re saying to me and they’re not making me interested enough to find out. i was only playing the main story for the xp and shit but i got to a point in it where it was like “you have to increase your level more before you can continue” so ive just been running around exploring and fighting shit. which! is mostly what i like doing, anyway. i like to pick flowers and kick the shit out of monsters

i’ve been having fun but i am disappointed with the story and the voiceovers. like, they really just start throwing so many words at you and dont give you a second to catch up… i LOVE video game lore, but they didnt even let me get a slight grip of the world before saying a bunch of new shit to me, so i lost interest in trying to figure out what anyone was talking about.

but! like i said, i just love running around. i’m a big fan of open world games and exploration. if you knew anything about the story/characters and were interested in those you probably won’t be too happy.

OH BUT YOU KNOW WHAT PISSES ME OFF?? they make you click the scroll wheel of the mouse to lock on to enemies, if you don’t click it you don’t auto target enemies and just kinda fire at whatever. I DONT HAVE A MOUSE I PLAY WITH A TRACKPAD!!! so i had a harder time starting off but now i’m really good at rotating my camera fast as fuck. still, super annoying that they won’t even let me change the key input for it in settings…

[the-whispers-of-death]

i feel like sylvester would never get a ranch on his own. too much work for that and its a hassle to drive so far out just to get to work every day

however, i feel like the constant encounters with Līva do end up pissing him off enough to where he leaves London. he's telling me he'd find some mid-sized city and move there with Mārīte. he gets private property that comes with a backyard so he can still mess around with growing his own flowers and tomatoes and whatnot. also his work is way closer now: probably just in an office building of sorts, working as the tech guy

i wonder how grim reaper!stone and sylvester even knew each other before him appearing on his doorstep there. eh for now imma say that they met at work and at some point and time, sylvester casually said "yah if you need anything done for you outside of work, come find me" .. maybe he only said that because mārīte still really liked him and he figured "eh the kid likes him, might as well offer to help"

and thats on him for not specifying he originally meant that only for tech that needs fixing. but yknow. too late now

when grim reaper!stone appears on his doorstep late in the evening, bloody and wet, he probably takes a double take at him, before cooing ".. awh, look at you.. cashing in the favor? alright... come on, lets getcha cleaned up... just dont be too loud, kid's asleep, yea?"

imagining that after coaxing grim reaper!stone to shower and putting his clothes in the wash+dryer, he either offers to patch up any injuries, or places the medkit in front of him so stone can do it by himself

stone can take the guest bedroom. theres a lock and key in the door if he so chooses to use it. but something's telling me that sylvester will wake up with grim reaper!stone in his bedroom. either in bed next to him, or on the floor... ((cue chiding that the floor's not good for his back and how he should just get in bed))

at some point, stone will need to explain whats going on, mostly because mārīte's getting antsy and wants to genuinely talk to her 2nd favorite person. but sylvester is also mildly curious about how he found them

sylvester's also telling me right now that they moved before he fucked up his back via falling down the stairs. rare sylvester W right there, so he can do more stuff now

~ rusty

I was leaning towards Grim Reaper!Stone just randomly finding Sylvester with no clue as to who he and Mārīte were, but this is better.

Even Grim Reaper!Stone doesn't know why he took Sylvester's offer for help. He should've been a good weapon and just let himself die on the battlefield, but he just... didn't?

It's not even like he panicked for the first time since he was a very young child and suddenly developed a fear of death. No, it was just him being oddly enough hopeful/naïve enough to think that the Marine Corps didn't mean to leave him behind to die. They just had no choice because the helo was full and they're clearly just waiting for him to come back to base on his own, it wouldn't be the first time he wandered onto base when there was no room for him on the transport back.

(All of those previous times were actually times the Marine Corps had tried and failed in leaving him behind to die, because Grim Reaper!Stone was starting to get old and not be as efficient ((in their eyes)). He just kept surviving and coming back to the base he was stationed at, much to numerous superior officers' dismay.)

I feel like Sylvester and Mārïte wake up in the middle of the night the first few weeks that Grim Reaper!Stone is healing to just see the man towering over them as they sleep. Because he's like "They may be threats, even the child."

Sylvester, I hope you can give this man a wake-up call because as soon as he's healed enough, Grim Reaper!Stone is going to try and go back to the base he was stationed at. Maybe be gentle when you tell him that the Marine Corps deemed him no longer a good weapon to use, though, because the news/realization will just break him.

[atangledfate]

Sonic crossed his arms and looked rather focused for a change. His mind was still on Surge and her determination to let herself be locked up. Maybe Blaze was right, maybe he was more like his father then the wanted to believe. But the thought of Surge giving up her freedom, letting herself be locked up still did not sit well with him. He really did struggle with that and in a way it hurt him. It hurt him to think he'd failed her, because to him that's how he felt. Like he let her down, like he failed to save someone again.

He rubbed his nose as he stared between the two copies. One of them was Tangle's Uncle and the other a psychopath. If Tails was here he'd know the perfect way to get the truth out of them. But he wasn't sur ehe bought Surge's argument either. Being concerned for one's family was normal, especially after what she just went through. He didn't think that alone was enough, but he also didn't think hostility alone was an indicator either. Mimic was to careful for that, to controlled and maybe that was the key--- real people made mistakes, got angry, and lashed out. Especially when you hurt there family!

" She's Cool, a little rough around the edges... like sand paper really but, honestly she's grown on me... like a wart... "

There was that humor, which he used to hide his emotions and make others feel more at ease.

" But i think i agree with her, If it was me and you hurt my brother--- I'd be pretty pissed to. I'd lash out and be angry, get emotional! But you can't do that can you Mimic! emotions i mean ... real emotions... real concern... can't express something you've never felt... right? "

This was the tip off for Sonic, Rowan was pissed, angry, ready to tear Mimic apart! Sure he was probably worried about Tangle but he knew she was with Whisper. She was safe, and so what emotion was left for him? Just Rage and a desire for revenge. He trusted Surge on this, and his own gut told him the same answer!

Mimic could see his own story falling apart, one second at a time. He didn't know Rowan really. Normally he spent days, hours, weeks even studying his victim so he could copy them. He barely knew a thing about Rowan and sure he could lie but and fib but these two saw through him almost instantly. But was it really so easy to discern he was the fake? How did they see it? he didn't have a flaw i his performance and they don't know rowan anymore then he did!

" So im worried about my niece! she wasn't even moving last i saw her! is it wrong for me to show concern? to be worried? how is that a false emotion! do either of you even have family? do you even know what that's like? I just wanted to make sure she was ok! "

There was Panic in his voice now and Sonic could hear him starting to show fear. He knew he was had but what really sold this for Sonic was how much he was overselling his worry. How much he wanted them to empathize with his plight. It was to much, a great flaw many actors had and one Mimic seemed to fall prey to far to easy.

" Yeaaaa its defiantly him... sorry Mimic you really are just overselling yourself here--- Ya know surge we do have a nice opportunity here... a chance to meet in the middle right? You said you wanted to get rid of him, and i said i don't like the idea of killing someone right? "

He turned to look at Surge clearly having something up his sleeve

" The Wisp here can lock him in Stasis... no chance to escape.. no chance to get free. He can't hurt anyone, and has a LOOONG time to think about what he did and the people he hurt. So i'll let you decide how long--- How long does he need to be locked up and as long as Mom is ok with being his Warden i say we leave him here... and let her be his keeper till his time is up... "

" We both Win... Mimic is locked up with zero chances to escape... and nobody has to die... call it a middle ground. I mean the guy deserves it... he killed people good people... and i'm sure he did something to tick off Mom here... So what do you say? "

Mimic started to struggle again more intently as the two discussed locking him in Stasis! which was in a way the worst fate he could think of. No way to get out, stuck for who knows how long! His entire world would disappear for who knows how long! worse Sonic was leaving the duration up to Surge! for all he knew she'd leave him stuck for a 1000 years or longer! that was messed up even for him! he'd rather be a corpse! You could just see the fear in his eyes as what ever control over his form was being lost! his eyes turning black as he started to lose his shape!

" FUCK YOU! FUCK THE BOTH OF YOU! RAAHH! LE ME GO! LET ME GO!!! I SWEAR WHEN I GET FREE! I'LL GUT YOU BOTH! LIKE FISH! RAAAAHHHHH!!! "

Mimic screamed at them struggling to be free! as he finally got his arm loose and in a last act of utter desperation! He drove his knife down into the Wisps Tentacle with all his might! It was all he had left and he couldn't reach a weapon, or had any wisps left! he needed to be free! needed to escape! he couldn't end up a frozen statue for all time!

He craved REVENGE! He wouldn't be denied! not by these two!

"Don't think this conversation is over because I'm not changing my mind." Surge wanted to deal with Mimic, though he's been wherever the fuck that other lemur dragged him into. Can't really end someone when you have no idea where they are and how to get to them. Now there was a giant fucking Wisp that she was sure would get in her way. Whisper is going to be pretty pissed, well, more pissed than she more than likely is about this situation.

"Oh, I know who you are Sonic. All the Wisp Mother's know of the one who saved our children from Eggman, and I speak for all of us when we say thank you. You are correct about the situation, and neither are giving straight answers. One is insisting I turn them in and the other is simply making threats." To say the Wisp was annoyed was an understatement. "Whoever is the fake I will put in a shadow statis so they can't move until I lift it." Being a Mother Wisp meant her Hyper-Go-On energy wouldn't run out for centuries so holding it would be easy.

"The one asking if Tangle is okay the fake. It'd be pointless to ask if she's fine if you already got Mimic away from her and know she's still breathing, right?" Surge guessed working along side Mimic for a bit gave her an advantage. "Besides, a guy willing to fight you one on one? I'm pretty sure he'd want to do more than make you talk." The tenrec was sure that whoever this guy was intended to end Mimic.

"That's, actually a lot of good points. Though I can't say I was going to kill him. Maybe give him a LOT of broken bones, though only because I'm sure Tangle would be pretty steamed at me for doing that." Rowan knew Tangle's stance on stuff like that, at least given all the story about how she stopped Whisper from ending Mimic already.

The Wisp could also agree, though she didn't know this Surge so would put her focus on Sonic. "She's with you, so, what do you think about her choice and reasoning?" Someone willing to save all the Wisp had more than earned her trust for life so whatever he decided she'd go with it.

[xsezzie]

Locked Out

It’s been a while since I have written something... been busy with IRL stuff and also writing non-tickle stuff and working on my D&D campaign owo

Also made it to 100 followers so perhaps this can be celebratory fic? LOL

Got some Lee!Kaveh and Ler!Alhaitham here today~ I hope they are in character, I wrote this on the train coming home from work LOL

Warnings: It’s a tickle fic???

____________________________________________

“You…”

Kaveh looked up in annoyance as he heard the familiar footsteps of his roommate. Having been “locked out” of the house for a second time, Kaveh found himself sitting outside against the door looking like a bum. 

“Ah, my apologies, I must have taken both keys again.” Alhaitham’s face didn’t even change its blank expression, which only pissed off Kaveh even more.

“That excuse again!? No, I will not believe it. You’re doing this on purpose!”

Alhaitham broke and scowled slightly, “Really? What makes you say that?”

“Because you hate me!”

“Hate you? That’s a bit extreme there…” 

“Well whatever! Since you’re being like this, neither of us are going inside!” The blond puffed his cheeks and put his hands on his hips with a ‘hmph!’ sound. 

“What are you? A child? It’s going to be cold out tonight and I don’t think either of us want to get sick.”

Kaveh huffed again, this time turning around and facing the door, Alhaitham could only scoff in annoyance but also a slight amusement. 

He began reaching around Kaveh, to unlock the door regardless, leaning closely towards the back of his body causing him to flinch slightly. 

“Wh-what are you- Nuh uh! Not happening!” He grabbed the scribe’s wrist, pushing it away from the keyhole he was aiming for. “We. Are not. Going inside.” 

“Stop being difficult, I know you want to go in, what kind of point are you trying to prove?”

“That if I can’t be allowed in then neither can you!”

The two men struggled for a moment, Kaveh continuously pushing Alhaitham’s arm away, while he was trying to push back. Anyone who was walking past would surely think they are up to something suspicious.

The younger man decided he had enough of his senior’s antics, swiftly pulling his hand away. “Finally giving up huh?” Kaveh smirked.

“Just trying a different tactic is all.”

Before Kaveh could turn around to face him, he was shoved against the door, feeling his right hand being grabbed and pulled up and across the back of his head. 

“What in Teyvat are you doing to me Alhaitham!?” He squawked out rather loudly. 

He suddenly felt a cold finger reach under his long hair onto the back of his neck, causing him to gasp and scrunch his shoulders up.

“I-I… wh-what is this… Alha-EEEK!!!”

The offending finger slowly drew downwards, along his spine that was exposed by the window in the back of his outfit.

“S-Stohop thahat! Get off m-me!” The blond tried to reach behind him with his left hand, but only met Alhaitham’s soft hair, he was using his own body and head to block any attempts at stopping him.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“You know whahahahaat!!!” Kaveh finally caved and let the giggles flow freely as his roomie picked up the pace and the spidering of his fingers right in the middle of his upper back. Helpless as he was being pressed against the door unable to move, he could feel his cheeks warming up too. Why was he blushing!? He didn’t enjoy this one bit… right!?

“Hmm, this seems to be a rather effective method. I will need to thank Paimon later.”

“S-Stop mahaking weird notes ahahahaha in your hehehead!!!” 

Alhaitham wouldn’t admit it, but a soft smile crept across his face as he listened to Kaveh’s laughter, something about it made him feel warm inside. 

Feeling a bit mischievous he pressed further against his fellow dendro user and moved his hand to poke around his exposed side. Kaveh flinched and squirmed as the ticklish sensations moved to somewhere a bit more sensitive.

“Ohohohoho nohoho you dohon’t!!!!” Using all his remaining strength he shoved himself backwards off the door, sending both men onto their behinds. Although Kaveh had ended up in Alhaitham’s lap slightly.

“What was that for!? What were you thinking!? Ugh I can’t believe you…” 

Realising the position he was in, his voice trailed off. His head in Alhaitham’s lap, Alhaitham looking down at him with a softer look than usual, nope nope nope.

Kaveh squeaked and quickly got to his feet, moving away from the door and pointing at it, “Just unlock it already, I’m hungry a- Oh…” He noticed the figure standing nearby with a flustered look on her face, Nilou.

“Um… Mr Kaveh! Alhaitham! I uh, came to give Alhaitham his book that he left back… umm…”

Nilou scurried over, quickly placing the book by Alhaitham before turning away and running, “I totally didn’t see anything!!” She shouted behind her, leaving Kaveh and Alhaitham both rather flustered.

Alhaitham will definitely need to have words with her later.

[headcannonsbutwrittenbyasnake]

Remember that Lucifer weapon that Dante used in dmc 4? Imagine Yuu using it and saying the same voice lines as Dante did while throwing the spikes to make a heart and a rose that crumbled the heart

The scene:

I forgot how the jokes made up for Dante's more lackluster sections of DMC4

Note: I kinda really fucking hate my writing here, may brain hasn't been working at 100% these past few months. So this is unedited and I haven't read it over.

Since arriving in Twisted wonderland, Yuu hasn't had a boring day. But that also meant she didn't have her usual routines to do when bored. She couldn't Frisbee pizza boxes at Dante or Vergil, or go out with Nico to demon hotspots to test her new weapons. She couldn't ask Nero if she could play with some of the kids from the orphanage... So Yuu found another way to cure her boredom, the devil arms! She let them roam Ramshackle and the forest behind is as long as they caused no trouble. Neaven often enjoyed staying inside and doing small domestic task she hasn't done before. She didn't have to dust her opera stage in Temen-ni-gru, nor did she have anywhere to plant pretty flowers! And in Dante's hands she spent all of her time as a weapon, so Yuu letting her wander was a welcome change of pace. Agni and Rudra guarded out side, falling back into their old routine. The only devil arm Yuu couldn't let roam was King Cuerburus. If she did he would probably destroy Nrc, maybe even all of Sage Isle! So he was kept under metaphorical lock and key.

The only issue is stupid nosy students who think they're invincible. No, not Ace and Deuce, they've been warned many times about the weapons. The only time the devil arms are off her person is when she has P.E class. Yuu has a bad habit of being on edge and always ready to protect her self, and since P.E can get physical she didn't want to kill anyone.

So leaving her weapons on the table. Yuu left for class, locking the door behind her. Agni and Rudra where in a deep sleep in the back yard, and Neaven on her way to Mr.S's mystery shop to pick up some plants she ordered. No one would be dumb enough to break into Ramshackle, steal arguable the most dangerous devil arm in her possession, and go deep into the forest to 'test' it.

...

...

Yuu felt a familiar shiver run down her spine.

"Oh shit..."

"Why are you 'Oh shit'-ing?" The trio of two humans and a monster cat looked at her with panicked and confused faces. Yuu quickly moved to the spot under the tree where she left her coat, and picked up the small knife that fell out of the pocket, and shrugged it on.

"Tell the teacher or dorm leaders to round up all the students and get them somewhere safe, I ...have to deal with something." Grim gripped the edge of Yuu's coat. "You have to go with them Grim, it's to dangerous to come with me."

" What'dya mean, henchman? What's going on? Tell us!" Grim refused to let go of her coat. She could see Ace and Deuce agree with him.

Yuu sighed "Something happened that caused a devil arm to go haywire and get out, no I have to clean up its mess." Yuu looked over at the forest to only to see smoke rising, "Well at least I can swing by the house on my way."

Yuu started off in the direction of Ramshackle "Now go tell an adult! Things could get more messy!" And with that, she ran off.

"Agni! Rudra!" Ariving at Ramshackle Yuu saw the Devil swords in the back, still asleep. It'd take to long to wake them. So she turned to go inside.

...

Someone broke the lock on the front door. Yuu walked in and looked at the table. King Cuerburus was missing. Most likely they stole it because it was the lightest looking weapon. Yuu sighed again and rubbed her face, thinking about what to do. Something long range would be best, but Yuu wouldn't be able to stop that mutt with only summon swords. Bullets would only piss the dog off more. Neaven isn't home and electric attacks wouldn't do much anyway. All that's left is Pandora's box and Lucifer. Since the box is tricky and kinda finicky to use, Yuu picked up Lucifer putting the... thing on her back, how it stayed on no one knows.

Finally making her way to the mutt, Yuu had to brace herself. She hasn't fought any Cuerburus, let alone the so-called 'king'. Yuu just hoped those three didn't get any ideas.

Yuu arrived at the spot in the woods. Two students passed out and tossed in the bushes. Alive, she thinks.

"Sparta!" Spittled flew every where.

"Well, hello puppy dog! Goin' alittle stir crazy, maybe I should walk you more." Yuu took a large, mocking step in front of him.

"You mock me, just like your father! Unfortunately you won't be able to see him again!" And with that the fight begun.

After some time and what was pretty much Yuu beatting down King Cuerburus with him getting a few lucky hits in.

"HEEY, PERFECT! WE'RE HERE AS BACK UUUP!" Ace... it was Ace, Deuce and Grim doing exactly what she told the NOT to do!

"Are you stupid or suicidal? I told you three to get somewhere safe!"

"Well, you didn't say that part,"

"WELL IT WAS IMPLIED!" Not having her full attention on the fight, Yuu missed the ice forming on her path. She slipped and got hit with an icicle.. "You stupid mutt! I'm getting tired of this!" Yuu yelled at the Cuerburus. "Fine you three wanna help? Shoot those icicles outta the air,"

"Alright!"

After wearing him down with the small explosive spikes, one finally stuck in his skin. Shooting more, Yuu decided to teach the dog a lesson.

She formed a heart with the spikes, and while holding one, she quoted her dad. "And in the end we're all satisfied!" She threw the final spike, "And you are set free..." The mocking heart exploded, " in spirit, you know I can't really let you go, now can I? I'm a sentimental person at heart." With how much damage the mutt did to the surrounding forest, he deserved to be bullied.

"Spaarta," he wheezed "just like him, unkillable, undefeated..." where his final words before he returned to his weapon form. Yuu scooped up the nunchucks and de-materialized them.

THWUNK! Ace walked Yuu over the head "Why the hell did you fight that weird dog monster on your own? What if something happened! You're lucky Grim is a sniffer hound when it counts."

"HEEEENCHMAAAAN~" Yuu crouched down letting Grim run at her, jump, and wrap his arms around her neck. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN! DON'T GIVE CRYPTIC INSTRUCTIONS AND THEN LEAVE ALL WORRIED! IF SOMETHING HAPPENED WHO WOULD OPEN MY TUNA CANS FOR ME~" Grim held on tight, still crying and rubbing his face into the neckline of her jacket. She just rubbed his back and let him continue. She was happy to comfort Grim and the duo, after all, they where the closest thing to family she had at the moment.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#259

“Seth? Right? C’mon in. Your brother told you who I am? Good. Want a beer?... Here you go. Let’s go out to the back deck. The sun went down, and the cool evening air is starting to kick in. Have a seat…. Ok. Seth, do you know why you are here? Let me be blunt. Your brother David owes me a lot of money. A lot. He’s been doing jobs for me that I need someone I can trust to do. But that’s barely covering the interest. I told him he needs to start working down the principal. So, he offered me… you….

“That’s right he sold you to me. You are going to whore off his debt…. Shut the fuck up. The deal is set. Have some more beer; it will help you to deal with what I need to go over with you….

“Your brother probably told you that I am a powerful man. Hopefully he didn’t tell you what I did. I will share with you one part of my business that you will be a part of. I have several whore agencies across several states. They ain’t like the whorehouses in the movies. The girls never see money; they show up at a set time and do whatever the man wants. They do not say no. They get to live in city, and they show their clients the best the city has to offer. They have everything paid for and get a nice credit card too.

“A few years ago—hell it’s more like ten or so, —I was convinced to do the same but on the fag side. Now, I knew nothing about fag sex, and it disgusted me. Once I got over the visuals, the business was just like the girls. The difference I found out was that I had to have two sets of whores—fag boys like yourself, and men old enough to be your father.

“It was Frankie, one of my goons, who told me that there is a lot money to be made by men taking the dominant role. I didn’t believe it. So, he arranged for me to watch him from a distance him work over this faggot. He didn’t tell me how much he was earning. When I saw this fag hand over three hundred bucks, I knew I needed to get into this. I mean my guy did barely anything other than smack the fag around, call him names, and sit on the faggot’s face at the end. That fag ate that fat ass while pounding its pud. Frankie even went over to the fag’s wallet and took an additional hundred out of it. And wouldn’t you know, that fag boy was loving life.

“Needless to say, that was how I got into the fag whoring business. I had Frankie lead it; he even got somewhat in shape, and now he’s my most popular whore men. Wait a minute, you know him. He fucked you behind a dumpster in the alley behind that fag bar a couple weeks ago. When I saw you at David’s birthday partner at my tavern and he told me that you were his sperm burping brother, I sent Frankie to find out more about you. I know that you can take a good pounding, face slaps, rough housing. Frankie also told me that you cleaned off his cock after we was done and that you drank his piss. You even begged him for more as he walked away from you, naked covered in piss behind the dumpster. That’s all I needed to hear.

“After meeting with your brother, all I had to do was press the massive debt. I knew how self-serving he was. He sold you out so fucking fast. And now I own you. Now strip faggot….

“You do realize who I am? No one ever disobeys one of my direct commands. Now think about your next move real carefully. STRIP YOU FUCKING FAGGOT. Take your time standing up. That drug I put in your beer will make you kinda dizzy if you stand too fast. Yeah, I didn’t want you to run back to your car. Kid, when you came in that door, you were mine. That’s it. Accept your fate. Good boy.

“Yeah, after Frankie roughed up that fag, I was curious. He arranged for me to use one of his regulars who was blindfolded. It was so much fun to kick and punch that faggot only to have him crawl to me, begging for more. With each time, I got more wicked, and they wanted more. I had a few fags over the years locked up and had the best of all worlds. My wife provides me with companionship. My girlfriend offers sensual making love and snuggling. And my faggot takes all my rage filled abuse.

“Underwear needs to go too. Let’s see what you have. Not bad. Looks like you are excited about being naked in front of me. That’s a lot of pre-cum. Decent sized balls. I’d say you are about six inches long. The shaft is a bit thin, but the head is good size. Your foreskin is not too long. That’s good. If there’s going to be one sweaty stinky dick around here, it will be mine. If yours becomes a problem, we’ll get you circumcised.

“What? Faggot, you are nothing more to me than my pickup. If I want to modify you out, I sure as hell am going to. I modify all my property. Tattoos, piercing, permanent hair removal, castration, branding, and so on. But actually, I am a bit cautious. I made the mistake of castrating a fag and regretted it afterwards. He just didn’t seem right to me. The cutter I went to tried to put in fake balls, but it still didn’t seem right. I ended up replacing that fag with another.

“I am looking for my perfect fag. I’m planning on letting my girlfriend go, but sometimes I need that close touch. Not going to do that with my wife. Every day now I realize that I want to be with faggots over women. Faggots are so much easier to mold into what I want. And every now and then I might snuggle with one.

“I like what I see. I want to see your cumload. Jerk off for me. I’ll give you a few minutes to do so. When you do, shoot in your spare hand. I want to see the quantity. I’m going to get your collar; it’s probably done charging. I’m also going to take your car keys. You ain’t going anywhere. Continue jacking….

“….Did you cum? You did! Good fag. When was the last time you came? Yesterday morning? Well that’s a good load. Here, lock this collar around your neck. Ok, so here’s the deal. You can jack off as often as you like, whenever you like as long as I am not using you. If I catch you jacking off, don’t stop. If you are watching porn, continue. But know this, no matter if you haven’t cum in days or you just had a massive orgasm, should I require your use, I fully expect 100% horniness and enthusiasm.

“This remote is hooked up to your collar. With this button… you fall to the floor just like that. Hurt’s like a mother fucker hunh? That’s on low. Remember that. It is also set up to shock you should you cross a 20-foot perimeter of the house. I am notified by an app on my phone when you do something that stupid. Also, the garage and my office on the third floor are completely off limits. You will not fare well should you cross that threshold without me.

“Bring your cock over here. Is your dick head sensitive. It is! Fuck yes! As you get soft, it’s driving you crazy. Good. Good. I see a problem here. Your pubic hair is all over the place. You shouldn’t have hair down here. Look how long this hair is. There’s enough so that I can twirl a bunch around my finger. With a firm yank,… it comes out in one clump. Aww shut the fuck up. Most of the time your screams of pain will turn me on, but now it’s just annoying. Another clump on the other side, and it doesn’t even look like you lost any.

“Look at me faggot. Say ‘Thank you.’ Good fag. Open your mouth. Here eat your pubic hair. Go on chew it. Nasty? I know, now swallow. And here’s… another bunch. Swallow these…. And these… And these… You’ll be permanently shaved in the near future so you won’t have to do much pubic hair eating.

“While you finish your snack, let me take you around the place and show you your duties. This is the kitchen. David told me that you went to culinary school but then dropped out. Well, you will be doing all the cooking here. Cleaning too.

“Let’s go downstairs…. This is your room, although you really don’t have privacy. Over there is your cot. Next to it is the plug you will put into your collar every night. I am notified on my app should the power level drop below 75%. That’s equivalent for not charging for a full week. Unless I just slam you with shocks, I should never get one of those notifications.

“You have a wash basin there, and your toilet is there. There’s your douche hose over there in the shower. No, I haven’t gotten around to buying it a toilet seat; the cold porcelain is fine. And I haven’t hooked up the hot water down here.

“Let’s go up to the Master bedroom…. You never climb into my bed unless I invite you in. In fact no non-sexual furniture for you either without permission. Through that door is the master bath. You will keep this place spotless. That includes licking clean my toilet. The rimseat next to it is when I want to make you toilet paper or a full toilet.

“And here’s the playroom. It’s totally soundproofed. You are going to suffer a lot in here. Screaming is encouraged. In fact, what time is it? Seven. Well we might as well start now. Get on all fours—knees and elbows. Spread those knees wide. Every night you will present yourself in this position, as you will every morning.

“Don’t get too excited. I am going to fuck you good, long, and deep. But that won’t until the end. We got a long way to go. You see, the only people who knows my affinity for preferring the boys to the girls are Frankie, me, and now you. Your brother thinks I’m adding you to my harem of fags. This is something that cannot get out. And if it does, I will know it came from you, and I want you to know the perpetual hell that will come your way.

“Tonight is a test of what you can expect, but keep in mind, tonight’s suffering will be only five hours long, much shorter than what will be if my preference is ever widely known.

“And after the paddling your ass to a welted mess, whipping your back until it turns to bloody hamburger, kicking your balls until they are swollen to twice their size, bruising up your face, and fucking you with very little lube, I may feel the need to snuggle up with you afterwards.

“But first, there’s a lot to do before we do that. Oh look your balls are just ripe for a good old fashioned full-force kick. Every night and every morning you will get one to always remind you what you are.

“Faggot right now with this kick your hell begins.”

[kindnessisweakness2]

Perfect Chaos - Part 2

Leaning against his bike, Angel lit a cigarette as he watched Riley frantically search for her keys. Her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment as she turned to face Angel. “Erm your not gonna believe this. I think Jake has my keys. Im so sorry Angel, Ill walk back to the clubhouse.” Riley quickly pleaded with him, tears welling in her eyes. Angel couldn’t believe the panic in her eyes over something so simple as a house key. “Riley, its ok.” Shaking her head frantically she became so flustered. “Im So So sorry. Im stupid. Im useless. Im good for nothing!” Tears spilled over her cheeks as she tried to start walking down the street back towards the Clubhouse. “Hey......Riley, look at me...Its ok!” Angel made a grab for her arm trying to reassure her but she flinched away. Anger spread through him in an instant. Locking eyes with Riley as she turned to face him, Angel felt tears in his own eyes. Laying his hands gently on her shoulders he looked straight in her Green eyes. “Its ok. Honestly. You can come to my place.” Worry settled on her face instantly, but before she could speak Angel smiled at her. “You can take my bed, Ill sleep on the couch. Just please come with me.” Riley took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. Making her way back towards Angels bike, Riley didnt know what to do. She wanted nothing more than to go with Angel, but Jake would be so furious with her. He would be angry enough when he finds out she asked Angel to take her home after specifically telling her not to. When he finds out she stayed the night at his? God, he’ll be livid. Quickly turning to face Angel, helmet still in her hands, Riley looked up at him fear clearly in her eyes. “Actually Angel i dont think this is a good idea. Jake will be so pissed if he finds out. I dont want to put you at risk.” Angel grinned as he took the helmet from her hands and plonked it on her head, clipping the straps safely together. “Oh Baby, dont worry about me. I can handle myself.” 

30 Minutes later Riley sat in Angels Living room as he quickly changed his bed sheets. Reappearing in his cluttered hallway, Angel nodded to Riley that it was ok for her to come through. “I’ve changed the sheets to try and make you more comfortable, but honestly its only been me sleeping in them.” Angel laughed at her shocked facial expression. “and theres a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt on the bed just incase you want to change. I cant imagine sleeping in Jeans will be very comfortable.” Riley nodded at him trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Jake has never been this nice to her. “If you want to get changed ill make us a drink.” Riley picked up the clothes on his bed and made her way to the bathroom as Angel went to the kitchen. God Angel was so nervous around her. He felt like a stupid teenager again. Shaking his head at himself, he filled the kettle and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “You got anything stronger than coffee?” Turning to look at her, Angel felt the air instantly leave his body. There she was stood on her tip toes looking in his drink cabinet. His red flannel buttoned Halfway, hair loose in waves and her legs bare. Fuck. Maybe asking her to stay was a bad idea after all. How the fuck is he supposed to keep his hands off her? “Sorry my mom always said i was too nosey.” Riley blushed bright red as she looked down at her bare legs. “Oh your boxers are too big for me! Dont panic still got my pants on!” Angel swallowed thickly as he reached to grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Following Riley to the Sofa, he poured them both a glass and sank down next to her. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither one of them willing to break it. Riley knew he was going to ask questions. How could he not? She had to admit it, part of her was glad she asked Angel for a lift tonight. Even if it did disobey Jake. The 6 ft Brooding man intrigued her. There was also no denying he was the epitome of sex on legs either. He was out of her league for sure. “So why Jake?” Angel couldn’t resist. He had to know how this beautiful woman ended up in the arms of an absolute asshole that didnt deserve her. Not that Angel thought he deserved her by any means. God he’s dirt compared to her. Fucking worthless. Shrugging her shoulders as she lifted her legs underneath her. Riley didnt know what to say. “He swept me off my feet. i think. Came from nowhere kinda thing.” Angel nodded, taking a sip of whiskey to try and hide his scowl. “Well, in all honesty no lad had ever really shown an interest in me before. Jake was my first everything. Date. Kiss. Everything. I guess this is me realizing that this is how relationships are. Maybe i had too many unrealistic expectations going into it. Like the whole fireworks when you kiss kinda thing ya’know?” Angel shook his head not even bothering to hide his shock. “I’m sorry but i never would’ve guessed Jake was your first. And from what I’ve seen tonight he clearly doesn’t deserve you Riley. He doesn’t treat you right. I mean the panic in your face over a fucking house key.” Angel looked down into his whiskey trying to control his emotions. There was nothing stopping him from making his move. He wanted to show her how she should be cared for. How good relationships could be. How good HE could be for her. Riley gently grabbed Angels Jaw and lifted him to face her. The words that Riley was going to say instantly left her. The Look in Angels eyes made her chest feel warm and butterfly’s flood her stomach. Angel’s eyes flickered to her lips and before anything could make him second guess his decision, he leaned forward capturing her lips in his own.

Riley couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped her lips as Angel kissed her. God the fireworks she was missing when she kissed Jake were all there with Angel. Grabbing his face, Riley pulled him closer and deeper into the kiss. Angel blindly shoved the Whiskey glasses to the floor not caring about spilling the auburn liquid. Riley moaned as Angel pushed her back into the couch and moved to hover over her. Wow. He wanted to stay in this moment forever with her. Right there in that moment neither of them cared about anything or anyone else.  

[gotnofucks]

Chemical Romance

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Chris won’t have you running away from him. You’re his. He owns your heart, and now he’ll own all of you.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: RPF, smut, slight dubcon(ish), jealous and possessive Chris, toxic relationship, recording without permission, forced marriage

A/N: I wrote this months ago and pulled it out to share it with my bestie @donutloverxo​ . Berry finally convinced me to post this and helped me beta this. Babe, I love you!

You were way past your teenage years, and yet you had the urge to giggle like one. If you licked your lips, you could still taste the trace of wine that had stained his lips. The memory of them pressing against you, brushing gently until they tangled in a mix of tongue and teeth had a delicious heat burning in your face. This was a good date, the third good date with a good man you met, and you were excited for more.

Looking over your shoulder you saw the lights of his car disappearing in the dark of night and you sighed contently, shutting your door behind you and dropping your keys in the bowl by the door. All of a sudden, your body broke into goosepimples, a chill settling over you and it took you a moment to understand why. Your body was recognizing the dark presence before your mind could.

“Good evening sweetheart. Had a good date?”                                                      

The door was right behind you, you could easily grab your car keys right now and run away. And yet all you could do was hold onto the wall as your knees trembled. You’d never been good at running away from him anyway.

Chris was lounging on your sofa, watching you with those arresting blue eyes that you knew changed shades with his mood. His beard was thicker than the last you’d seen him, and his lips were pulled into a sardonic smirk, eyes glinting furiously.

“How?” You sputtered, still rooted to your spot. You could run, you should run, but you knew you wouldn’t go far. He let you go only so far to give you a false sense of achievement, a mere taste of relief and freedom until he snatched you back to himself.

“I always think that every time you leave, it would be the last. You’ll realize that its futile, you’ll realize that we’re meant to be together.” Chris said, “But never did I imagine you to be stupid enough to be with another man.”

His voice had been described as dreamy by many, even by yourself, but right now it only rang of danger and anger. Softness was Chris’s weapon, to deliver the meanest words with a smile that was poison sweet. One time, you had loved to taste that poison yourself. Did it still run in your veins and taint you?

Looking at you from under his lashes, he spread his legs and beckoned you to him. You gulped before following, not daring to look away from him until you were before him.

“Kneel” He ordered softly. You knees hit the ground, the rug digging into your skin. He watched you watch him, eyes locked in a dialog of their own until his rough hand caressed the skin of your cheek. You leaned into his touch, hating yourself for being a slave to him and your desire. Even on your knees, the familiar feeling of peace flooded your senses. Nothing made you feel as alive as worshiping him. And nothing killed you as much as loving him.

“Please” You begged, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Don’t do this to me.”

Chris regarded you with a look that was almost tender, his blue eyes staring into your own as if unearthing every secret you had ever kept from him. He pulled you closer, close enough to have you raise up and hold his shoulders while his lips brushed gently against yours.

“For as long as I live, you are mine. You know that. Why must you fight it?”

It had been a couple months since you last saw him, since the pads of his fingers had glided over the curves of your body and claimed you as his. You melted, you melted like the butter in a hot pan, sizzling with the heat of his ardor. One taste of him and you were ready to forget why you had left him, why you had packed up and left his house when he was out. Chris Evans didn’t just play your body, he also played your heart. He loved you so hard that it hurt.

You wondered if you should fight, if you should scream or cry. But you knew it the moment you walked inside your house tonight: you were going nowhere but to him. He held you as you captured his lips in yours, a hand fisting his hair and tugging. He pulled until you were on his lap, his beard scratching your skin and reminding you of all the ways he had marked you before.

Panting, you pulled away when he breathily whispered your name, eyes liquid and feral and kind. He was a man of many layers and you had unveiled the darkest of them. He no longer hid the rawest parts of him, and you never knew if it was a good thing or not.

“Pack up, I’m taking you back home.” He said, hands settling on your waist. “I am not spending one more night in a bed without you.”

You nodded, stealing another kiss until you surrendered to his demands. Again.

Dodger ran to you, whining and wagging his tail as you sat down to give him better access. You’d missed your furry companion, his coat soft on your cheek when you nuzzled into him. Chris chuckled, rolling your bags into his room while you and Dodger had your little reunion.

“I am so sorry Bubba” You cooed to him, scratching behind his ears. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me, hmm?”

Dodger barked, rubbing his body against you. You laughed, cuddling your little boy. You’d missed waking upto him snuggled by your feet and the soft pattering of his feet as he followed you around.

“He didn’t eat right for a week after you left. You were being a bad mommy.” Chris said coming behind you. He petted Dodger before pulling you up by your arm, your chest flushed to his. You loved how he smelled of coffee and beer and cinnamon. He tasted of them too, bitter and addictive.

Your fingers traced a path in his beard, lips pressing into the hollow of his throat. It scared you how much power he had over you. You’d promised yourself you’ll break away from his hold when you found him snooping in your phone again. His possessiveness knew no bounds. If Chris had it his way, he’d hide you in a castle made only for his eyes. But right now, in the heaven of his arms, you couldn’t remember why you left him in the first place.

“I am sorry.” You whispered, hugging him tight. His arms came around you, holding you so possessively close that even death couldn’t rip you apart. Chemical romance, that’s how Scott had explained your relationship once. Your friends had stopped complaining, had stopped warning after losing count over how often you broke up and got back together.

“I am so pissed at you.” He said in your ear, breath warm on your skin. “I want to erase every lingering trace of that man’s touch from your body. But more than that, I need to remind you who you belong to.”

You refused to look at him, burying your head in his chest even as you held him tighter.

“I belong to you. I know it baby, I made a mistake.” You said, voice muffled. Chris tutted, pushing your face away firmly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze.

“Here I am, feeling guilty for even touching other women during a scene that is supposed to be my job. And my girl goes around fucking other men because we had an argument?” He hissed, a nerve throbbing in his temple. You pouted, bottom lip wobbling as you tried not to cry. You were raised to be a strong woman, someone who could speak for herself. How was it so easy for this man to reduce you to a sniveling woman for something that wasn’t even your fault.

“I didn’t fuck him.” You countered and Chris’s eyes flashed. You stared at each other until Chris practically growled and dragged you towards the bedroom. Dodger trailed behind you, stopping once Chris ordered him to stay put.

His bedroom, a space you had shared and abandoned all too many times was the same as always. It reeked of his aftershave and cologne, the stars winking at you from the window that overlooked the ground. Chris shut the door, rounding on you and pushing you towards the bed.

“You didn’t fuck him?” He spat, ticked off. “You let him touch you, you let him put his hands on what belongs to me.”

You shivered as your back met the cold sheets, bouncing slightly on the mattress. His anger was scary, but more than that it was exciting. It was you who had brought this strong, powerful man to this animalistic side. You, who could make him scowl and shout and get his heart pumping enough to bring blood to his face. You, who made him primitive as he held you down and fucked you into submission.

“We only kissed.” You said, knowing how to provoke him. That kiss was nice, it was sweet. But your body craved rough and hard, it craved to be possessed and used and worshiped. It craved Chris who left his handprints on your butt and his spent in your cunt. It craved Chris who kissed you until you were out of breath, who whispered the filthiest things to you as he buried himself in your warmth over and over until you were too hoarse to even cry.

He knew it, he read that in your eyes and in your touch that seared through the layers of clothes on his body. He knew you were getting under his skin on purpose, hurting him the way he hurt you so many times. Neither of you held back.

You tore away at his clothes, bucking your hips frantically in a bid to get closer. Chris cursed, squeezing your ass in his large hands and grounding his hardness on your thigh.

“You are testing me” He warned, naked flesh touching yours and hands entwining. You ignored him, the wetness dripping down your core begging his attention.

“Eat me” You cried, wiggling under him. He held fast, rubbing his cock on your abdomen, groaning softly. He nuzzled your neck, kissing softly on the spot he knew drove you wild. His weight prevented you from moving too much, not allowing you to do anything for yourself.

“You don’t tell me what to do baby. Not after letting another man touch you. Not after you walked out on me again.” He said angrily, forcing his gentle touch on your body that craved his roughness. You sobbed against his mouth, getting drunk on his lazy kisses and feather soft caresses. You knew what he was doing, you knew he wanted you to break and beg. And you had no dignity.

“Please” You begged, pathetically with tears in your eyes. “Give me what I want Chris. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

He smirked, sucking a pert nipple in his mouth and rolling it between his tongue. You moaned, struggling to move more. It wasn’t enough to have you under him. He needed more than your compliance. He needed your surrender, he needed you to love him with a hunger as great as his. He was greedy.

“Even when you beg, you look like a goddess. You’re my angel, but I’m not gonna let you go to heaven. We’ll sin together in hell.”

He dove in, tongue swiping away your juice in a practiced move as you howled at the suddenness of his attack. Your thighs held his head captive between their plump flesh, mewls spilling from your mouth without restraint as he finally gave you what you wanted. You pulled on his hair, steering him closer to your core that was flaming under his mouth and flooding with pleasure.

“Oh Chris!” You moaned, writhing and trembling. You had missed his beard scratching the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, missed his nails digging in your flesh to keep you steady, missed his tongue poking inside your warm cavern to taste your sweet nectar. Chris never worshiped you like a devotee to the lord. He worshipped you like a man summoning the devil, by spilling blood and leaving marks that stain the soul.

“Look at you go darling, so beautiful” He praised, easing a finger inside you and curling it. You threw your head back, shattering with an orgasm that took your breath away. Pleasure was a feeling you were familiar with, but combined with Chris’s love and anger, it formed the most intoxicating mix that got you dizzy.

He kissed the swollen head of your clit, gently easing you down from your high with praises whispered directly to your leaking cunt. He cupped your pussy, grinding his heels against you as your eyes met.

“Nobody else will touch you here. Or anywhere else for that matter.” He ordered and you nodded, still desperate for him. His cock was red and angry, warm drops of precum leaking over your stomach and you tugged at him, asking to fill you up.

“Chris, I need you inside me. Please.”

He crawled up and laid beside you, jerking you on top of him. Your hands found his chest, lightly playing with his nipples and the spattering of hair there before moving down to cup his hardness and his balls. He jerked at the first contact, closing his eyes as his breath hitched and you smiled at your own effect over him. You could reduce him to a mess just as well he could to you.

Pumping his length, you licked it slowly, lathering it with your saliva. You remembered the day you’d named it Cumstopher Rogers and he’d slapped you with it, making you choke on him until you had to apologize.

“Put me inside you now because if I have to take over, I’ll choose which hole it goes in and you probably won’t like it.” He growled in impatience. You clenched, his threats going straight to your core.

You positioned yourself over him, sinking slowly and gently, feeling every part of him against your spongy walls. With your thighs flush to his, you stopped to just let the feeling of fullness last a little longer. No matter how many times you’d been with each other, the feeling of Chris being so deep inside you never got old. If you could, you’d never be empty.

“All my holes like your cock Mr. Evans. And I? I love it and your butt and your chest and arms and face and everything else.”

You moved at a slow pace, bouncing gently while holding onto his thighs. Taking his hand in yours, you placed it on your chest, asking him to play with your nipples as you rode him.

“You feeling powerful, baby? You feeling good bouncing on my dick?” He asked, pinching a nipple almost to the point of pain. You nodded, leaning down to kiss him as he started thrusting up a little, hitting your cervix when he went too deep. You rolled your belly, clenching your muscles around his length so that his eyes flew open and hands dug into the softness of your butt.

“Oh Chris, I missed this.” You told him, tasting the sweat on his temple. He nodded, his huge arms wrapping around you and pulling you intimately close.

“I missed you too, which is why I will make sure you never leave me. This is not your power move, this is mine.” He darkly murmured and your eyes met his in confusion. He looked at the side and you followed his gaze, mouth dropping open at the camera that blinked at you with a red light on.

“What the fuck, Chris?” You shout, trying to move away when he rolled you over and under him, thrusting in hard.

“Oh yes, what the fuck baby” He said, holding your wrists as he picked up his pace. “You think it’s okay to pack a bag and leave me every time? You think it’s okay to date other men, to kiss other men? You are mine. And if anyone needs proof of that, now I can show it to them.”

You cried out as he went harder, a pressure building deep inside your belly. Tears escaped your eyes, gazing into blue ones that you loved and hated with a passion. You could have asked him to stop now, you could shout that you don’t want him and he’s sick. But you didn’t. You knew he would stop if you really wanted him to, and as much as your heart broke and your chest tightened with hurt, you loved him. You loved his twisted ways to keep you with him. You loved it when he went above and beyond, got crazy in his desire for you. You were wanted. You were cherished.

“Fuck you.” You cursed, meeting every thrust of his with a raise of your hips. Your eyes closed, sweat dripping down your body as you let the animalistic part of you take over, screaming and tearing and fucking each other like two people whose only goal in life was to be embedded in the other’s heart and psyche.

“I’d like to see you try to walk out tomorrow after tonight.” Chris said, delivering punishing strokes that were agonizing and titillating, that were fire and ice. You held onto him, leaving crescent shaped scars to join the numerous tattoos across his body. He took you apart, fucked you so good all you could do was say him name and fall in a glittery haze of his presence. He came inside you, filling you to the brim and crushing your body with his weight.

You weren’t leaving, that much was obvious.

Throwing in your clothes haphazardly in the bag, you promised yourself this would be the last time you did this. You will not come back to this house and this bed. Chris and you were done for good. The past few months had followed the same pattern. You both rekindling the dying flame of your relationship, mending the broken hearts and trust until it went back to hell.

There were too many arguments, too much shouting and angry sex. Every time you sat down to talk, it ended with your legs in the air. Your mother was right. He wasn’t right for you. Chris wanted to be your hero and your villain. He wanted you to think of nobody but him. Any friends and family that warned you against him had to be cut off. He’ll dismiss every article the paparazzi published about him but would throw a fit if you so much as smiled at the cashier in the grocery store. He kept you close like a dog on a leash, feeling jealous at the very sight of you talking to any man. You’d wanted to give this relationship a chance, but as of twenty minutes ago, Chris had made sure it was over.

You wondered about taking your pictures, but it was better to stay away from any temptations. This was happening, and as much as it broke your heart, you will not come back to him. Zipping up your bag, you straightened just as Chris stormed inside the room, jaw clenched in anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, “Put your stuff back. I’ll be damned if I let you leave me again.”

You scowled at him, wiping the stray tears from your eyes. He had no right to ask anything of you, not after what he had just done.

“Fuck off Chris. I am leaving, and you can’t stop me.” You shouldered past him, sadly looking at Dodger who was whining softly as he watched you move. He had seen this happen enough times to know that you’re not coming home.

Chris marched behind you, snatching your wrist and pulling you back to himself. The blue in his eyes was darker, like the sky covered in thunder clouds. You squirmed, pushing against him.

“You. Are. Not. Leaving.” He hissed, looking scary and mad.

“How dare you? After what you did today?” You sobbed, hitting your fists on his chest. He held your jaw, bringing your face closer to him so he could peer into your watery eyes.

“I proposed! I got down on one knee. What the fuck is your problem?” He shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

You shook your head, looking at him with an expression of disbelief. Is he that oblivious?

“Marriage is permanent Chris” You said, voice suddenly soft. “Marriage is living your life devoted to your partner. We can’t break up and leave and come back again. It’s a responsibility. You and I, we haven’t been able to keep a stable relationship. How the hell will we keep a happy marriage?”

Chris frowned, not liking what you said. He pushed you against the wall, caging you in with his huge arms on either side. You could smell the chocolate and wine on his breath from dinner, his hair all messed up from when he ran his hands through it. On his neck still hung the necklace you’d got him.

“Look at me” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. You breathed deeply, finding it difficult to maintain an eye contact as charged with anger and passion as this one. “You love me, you still love me. It’s all in your eyes. Why won’t you marry me?”

You wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Why did loving him have to be so difficult? Was love worth the fights, the tears and pain and loss of independence? Was loving him enough to keep you going? You were so tired of this back and forth with him. You’d never even talked about marriage before, having been too busy trying to keep any sort of relationship alive. Why would he do this to you?

As your limbs got heavier, you leaned forward and hugged him. You held him to yourself, soaking in his warmth and smell inside you for what would be the last time. You could not give up so much of yourself to sustain this love. Soon enough, there would be nothing more to give and the love would be dead.

“You need to let me go Christopher” You said to him, lips close to his ear. “You need to understand that love is only the beginning. I can’t keep doing this anymore. Please, just let me go.”

Chris hugged you tighter, his head resting over yours and heart beating strong beneath your hand. He was your night, full of twinkling stars and dark mysteries. But dawn was approaching fast, and you needed to bid goodbye to the moon to greet the sun that awaited you.

“Never.” He promised, “You are never leaving me again. I’ll fucking make sure of it.”

He picked you up suddenly, ignoring your protests as he carried you back into the bedroom. Kicking your bag aside, he dropped you on the bed, raising a finger to stop you. He took out the ring from his pocket, the very one you had refused this evening and held it to you.

“Put this on.” He ordered and you rubbed your eyes in exasperation.

“No.”

You both glared at each other, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Fighting with Chris had always been a thrill, more often than not ending with wild sex on any and all surfaces in sight. But today you were determined to end it. You’d not let yourself become weak at the sight of his cock.

“Okay then, you’ve left me no choice.” Chris said. He picked up his phone and tapped away on it, doing god knows what. You sighed, getting up and putting your stuff together again, ignoring his presence behind you. Chris threw his phone on the bed, looking stoically at you work. You were just folding the last of your clothes when your phone started buzzing. You ignored it for a minute, but it kept up, almost falling off the table with its vibrations.

“What the fuck” You gasped, looking at the hundreds of notifications pouring in as more followed. You quickly opened your Instagram to see you’d been tagged by Chris.

And she said YES!

Below that caption was a picture of the both of you from a couple months ago, cuddled up and smiling at each other.

Comments and likes from everyone were popping in, and soon enough, you saw your mother’s call. You stared at Chris, utterly in disbelief. What had he done?

“Try saying no now. You’d be the bitch who broke Chris Evans’s heart, the bitch who played him. Try walking in public between people who’d see you only as a slut and nothing more.”

Your world came crashing down. You were not some hotshot celebrity like Chris. You were just a girl trying to live her life the best way she knew how to, and how it ended up entangled with this man you’d never understand. Even if you shouted from the rooftops the truth of today, no one would believe you. Chris’s fans would tear you to shreds, destroy your life with their mean comments and attacks. And your family would not be spared either. They’ll be exposed to a celebrity scandal, dragged through the mud along with your good name.

“Oh god Chris, what have you done?” You choked out, falling to your knees. He came before you, gently caressing your head before kneeling in front of you. Cupping your face, he kissed you deep and hard, countering your hate with his love that hit you like your own kryptonite.

“I told you. I told you I’ll never let you leave.” He breathed against your mouth, pulling you closer. You dug your nails in his arms, hurting him with the hurt he just caused you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“You’re a monster” You said, chest heaving with emotions.

“Yes, I am. But you know what darling?” He said sweetly, “Even after this, you still love me. I am a monster, but I am a monster you created and one you love.”

You ended up on the bed, sprawled underneath him again. Even with icy hate in your eyes, your heart burned with love for him. It was unnatural, it was chemical and wrong. And yet, it was your reality. He was yours, no matter what he did. And you were his, regardless of every protest that you ever made.

“Now, I’ll ask this one more time. Will you marry me?” He asked softly, looking at you like you were all he ever saw.

“Yes” You breathed, watching silently as he slipped the ring on your finger and kissed it. Meeting your eyes, he settled over your body, his arousal pulsing over your thigh. Sealing the deal with a kiss, Chris went to remove your shirt.

“Then let’s celebrate. After we’re done, we can call our families with the good news.”

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 2

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: heavy/shameless flirting, provocative actions, dirty talk, aggressive-ish sexual advances, female!reader

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 1

Next →Part 3

“Too old for you, sweetheart.” 

Those words repeated in your head over and over again, pissing you off more than they probably should have. Even though Keishin had yet to explicitly tell you how old he was, you were already well aware that he was probably a good four or five years older than you at least. Him pointing out that simple fact was not what was grinding your gears—it was the way he had said it.

With that devilish smirk on his face, he had practically said it as if he were taunting you with it. The way he had shut down your question was like he was holding his superiority over you; he might as well have just laughed in your face and said, “You couldn’t have me even if you wanted to.”

It was awfully bold of him to assume something like that with his tone of voice, because you didn’t even want him . . . well, back then you hadn’t wanted him. Now was a different story, and even though you knew it probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, the blatant ‘you can’t do it’ that screamed at you in his dark brown eyes was more than enough to make you change your perspective. 

So now your mission was to wrap Ukai Keishin around your finger just to prove that you could. 

At first, you hadn’t been sure how to go about accomplishing said mission because Keishin was rarely at the shop at all, which was how you landed the job in the first place—to take over for him. So, you really only had a short window at the beginning of the day when he was leaving and in the evening when he was coming home, but he was usually in too much of a rush or too exhausted to even look in your direction, let alone give you the time of day to make him fall for you.

Nevertheless, you used the few minutes you were graced with each day to the fullest. 

Leaning against the counter, your eyes kept flickering to the clock above the counter and to the door that led to the back room and, in turn, the stairs up to Keishin’s apartment. After working at the store for a few weeks by now, you had come to learn Mrs. Sakanoshita’s and Keishin’s schedules pretty well and knew that Keishin was due to come down the stairs, grumbling about how he was running late, any second now.

Right then, almost as if on cue, you heard heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs and got ready for your morning routine. When the door opened and Keishin emerged with a granola bar stuffed in his mouth and a cup of coffee in hand, you were quick to greet him.

“Good morning.” You smiled as you perked up. 

“Goog morngnan,” his speech was mumbled over the entire granola bar in his mouth, but you caught the gist anyway. He barely paused to acknowledge your presence, his mind completely focused on getting out the door.

A smirk playing at the corners of your mouth, you leaned over the counter, cleavage on full display from your tank top and apron, which hung low on you, and gently grabbed his arm. “Will you be back later tonight or should I wait for you before locking up?” you asked.

Keishin just rolled his eyes at you. You asked him this every day, and every day he gave you the same answer. “Just leave when you’re done. I have keys to the store . . . just like I did yesterday . . . and the day before that.”

“Just checking.” You let go of him, but not before you let your fingertips ghost over his forearm. “Have a good day, Keishin.”

“Yeah, you too.” He never returned the sentiment by using your name as well, but you still persisted, hoping that he might change his mind one day. 

As he turned his back to you and headed out the door, you watched him leave. Although men who pretty much wore track suits exclusively were not usually your type, there was just something about the way Keishin’s ass looked in track pants that did it for you. As you wondered whether he was as nicely sculpted everywhere else—and whether it came from volleyball or if he worked out sometimes in secret—he had disappeared from sight. 

With your short-lived window of opportunity having come and gone, resulting in the same pathetic outcome as always, you sighed heavily and got back to work. As much as ogling the boss’ son was entertaining, you still wanted to keep your job because you did really like it, so you still had to actually get the job done. 

Like every other day, you spend your shift helping out customers, manning the front counter, and cleaning when cleaning needed to be done. The days were usually more or less the same, so by now you could predict when a heavy customer flow would hit—like around lunchtime and after work/school hours—and when the store would be dead, giving you time to take a break, eat some lunch, and get some chores done. 

Sometimes the days went by in the blink of an eye and sometimes they dragged on painfully slowly. Today was the former, probably because it was a Friday and the store tended to see a higher than normal customer rush in the afternoon when people stopped by on their way home to grab snacks and drinks for the weekend. 

Today, however, ended up being unusually busy, even for a Friday, and before you knew it, it was almost time for your shift to end and you still had quite a bit of shelves to restock. You were a little bummed about having to stay late on a Friday night, but you knew that if you went home you would just end up eating some leftovers in the fridge, taking a shower, and lying in bed, scrolling on your phone, until you passed out. Unfortunately, you didn’t have any exciting plans for the evening, so it wasn’t a hard decision to choose to stay later to get the work done instead of having to come in earlier on Saturday morning. 

With the radio playing in the background, like it always was in the evenings when the customer flow was practically nonexistent, you locked the front doors and worked through box after box, restocking the shelves and doing some of the remaining cleaning that you hadn’t been able to get done during the day.

Half an hour or so later, you heard a slight commotion from the front doors and instinctively looked up at the clock, noting the time. It was well past closing time by now, but this also wouldn’t be the first time you would have needed to deal with someone who couldn’t tell time and send them on their way empty-handed. 

Just as you stood up from where you were kneeling in front of one of the back shelves, the familiar sound of the front doors sliding open filled the store. Confused and a little on-edge, you approached the noise. Ever since your first day, you refused to be snuck up on again and always had your ears sharp and listening for people. 

Rounding the shelf, you spotted a figure with its back turned to you. However, you recognized that ass and poorly dyed blonde hair instantly and calmed down. It was only Keishin.

“You’re back late,” you commented. Sure, he always reminded you that he had a set of keys for the store, but he had never returned after you had locked up and actually had to use them before. 

When Keishin turned around after locking the doors behind himself, you noticed he was a little wobbly on his feet and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, so that’s why you’re late.” You stood back and gave him a wide birth as he slowly stumbled over to the counter and sat down on the stool behind it. 

Keishin narrowed his brown brows at you. “What’s that mean?” he inquired, his speech completely unaffected despite the fact that he was moving like he was tipsy, which he seemed to be.

“Oh, nothing.” You shrugged, brushing off his inquiry. “At least one of us had a good night.”

“Mmm . . . very good,” he sighed before folding his arms on the counter top and resting his head on them. 

You watched him for a minute or so, watching his back for rising and falling to prove he was still breathing when he went silent and still. “You should probably go to bed,” you told him, afraid he might pass out right there on the counter, leaving you to deal with his unconscious body. 

“Yeah . . .” He paused for a while before continuing. “Just rest here for a little bit first.”

“Okay.” You nodded slowly before turning back toward the shelves you had been stocking. “Well, I’ve still got some stuff to finish up so just call if you need anything.”

“Kay.”

Normally, you would be using this time to try to seduce him some more in whatever subtle way you could think of, but since he was pretty drunk, you decided against it for tonight. Besides, you were a little too exhausted to try anything anyway. Maybe this had all worked out for the best; a night off to just be in the same room as him and maybe you could gather some information to aid your pursuit that would resume the following day.

As the radio continued to play softly throughout the store and Keishin rested on the counter top, you quickly finished up stocking the shelves, noting that you would need to do some sweeping the next morning due to how dusty the tile was in the back corner. 

Standing up, you dusted off your hands and began patting your black pants off as you strolled back to the front. Surprisingly, Keishin was sitting up now, leaning back against the wall and typing something on his phone. In about twenty minutes, he seemed to have sobered up quite a bit.

“Damn, you bounce back fast,” you said, eyeing him and the nimble movements of his fingers while he typed. When he didn’t respond at first, you just went back to dusting off your pants.

“You missed a spot,” he finally spoke, his fingers ceasing movement while his eyes flickered over his phone at you.

Trying to inspect the back of your pants and failing miserably, you huffed. “Where?” You patted a few more spots, starting to wonder if you had actually missed a spot or if he was just messing with you.

“No, not there. On the side-” He tried to point out the spot he meant, but when you kept turning and twisting, it was impossible for him to pinpoint the area for you. “Oh, for fuck sake.” He set his phone down, stood up, and approached you. 

Right as he extended his hand to wipe away the smudge of dust on the side of your thigh, you turned again and he ended up brushed his hand across your ass. You both froze immediately, and when you looked up at him, you noticed a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

Out of all the fruitless plans and days you had spent trying to get any reaction out of him, in the end, all it had taken was a few drinks on his part, an accidental encounter, and a misunderstanding to see any sort of progress.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered slightly, but you knew it wasn’t from the alcohol . . . or, at least, it wasn’t just from the alcohol. 

“It’s okay,” you told him, shrugging it off right away. It really wasn’t that big of a deal and you were slightly surprised to see such a reaction from him after something as trivial as an accidental butt touch. 

“I-I was trying to brush your thigh but you turned and then-”

You giggled. “Really, it’s okay.” You found his embarrassment endearing. “I think I’ll survive.”

“It’s not about that.” He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Workplace harassment is taken pretty seriously these days. Not to mention . . . sexual harassment.”

This time your giggle turned into a full blown belly laugh. “Do you honestly think I’m going to report you for an accident like that?” you questioned. “Besides, who am I going to report you to? You and your mom own this place, right?”

Furrowing his brows, Keishin seemed pretty disgruntled about what had happened. “You’re sure you’re not upset about it?”

“You’re really bent out of shape over this, aren’t you?” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, how about we make it even?”

“What are you-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you had reached around and gently planted your hand on his ass. It took every ounce of self restraint you possessed not to give it a squeeze and test to see if it truly felt as great as it looked, but in the end you just left it at a light touch like he had done to you.

“Now we’re even,” you told him softly. “You gonna be okay now?”

Just like before, there was a faint blush on Keishin’s cheeks. But this time, in addition to the pink hue, there was a hungry look in his eyes, and you truly couldn’t tell if he was actually hungry after drinking so much or if he was hungry for something else . . . for you.

The two of you fell into silence for a few moments, breathing heavy and eyes locked. The way he was staring at you, you were ready for him to lunge at you at any second, but he never did. His hand twitched slightly by his side and his tongue ran over his bottom lip, but he never stepped closer.

Since this seemed like your best chance, you were forced to make the first move. If he didn’t want this, you would stop right away . . . but you were half convinced he did want this.

“You work so much . . . has it been a while since someone has touched you like this?” you asked in a hushed whisper, slowly removing your hand from his behind and moving your fingers to toy with the hem of his shirt. 

Keishin, whose face and neck were bright red at this point, didn’t answer. Instead, he swallowed hard and wrapped his hands around your arms. Then, he stepped backward, sat back down on the stool, and pulled you to stand between his legs. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” Your hands began travelling up under his shirt, nails lightly scratching over his lower stomach. “Say the word and I can make you feel good.”

Keishin’s lips parted and it looked like he was seconds away from practically begging for it, but before he did, something flashed in his eyes and he came to his senses. Running his hands down your arms, he snatched your wrists, pulled your hands out from under his shirt, and held you at arms-length. 

“I know that you think this is all fun and games, sweetheart, but you’re seriously biting off more than you can chew here,” he warned, eyes dark and serious.

You were taken aback. How had he done a 180 so quickly?  “How do you know how much I can fit in my mouth?” you teased, choosing your words carefully. “You haven’t even let me show you yet.”

He just shook his head. “26.”

You cocked a brow, unsure if you had heard him correctly or not. “What?”

“You asked me how old I was,” he elaborated. “I’m 26. You’re 18. That’s an eight year age gap. Eight years is a lot when you’re 18.”

You felt your blood begin to boil in your veins. “Why does everyone think they know what I can and cannot handle?”

“Why are you so adamant on refusing to acknowledge that people older than you might have some useful advice?” he said plainly. “I’ve been 18 before. I know what it’s like to feel like no one is taking you seriously, but making stupid choices in order to pass as independent is not the way to go about rectifying that situation”

Groaning in frustration, you pulled your hands out of his grasp. “I’m not trying to ‘pass as independent’. I am independent! I can make my own decisions and if I want to have meaningless sex with a 26-year-old I should be able to do that!”

“Why is this the hill you want to die on?” he inquired.

“Because it’s the only hill I have!” 

Untying your apron from around your waist, you yanked it over your head and threw it harshly onto the counter. After grabbing your belongings from the back room, you headed for the door, ready to be as far away from Keishin and the store as possible.

“Just my luck that I stumble across the only morally-responsible 26-year-old burnout in the fucking world,” you spat at him on your way past him to the front door. “I’m going home.”

“Okay, goodnight,” Keishin responded calmly, definitely completely sober by this point. He watched as you struggled with unlocking the front doors, waiting a reasonable about of time before offering his help. “You have to turn it the other way.”

Taking his advice without a word in response, you shot a glare at him over your shoulder as you pushed the doors open. You wanted to hurl one last insult his way, but by then, you were too emotionally exhausted and mentally flustered to think of anything appropriate . . . and if you were being honest with yourself, his words were sinking too deep for your liking and you needed to be away from him before you did something truly horrible . . .

. . . like admitting he might be right. 

[spunkpunx]

Say You Love Me - Jimmy Darling

Plot: Reader is heartbroken when she hears Jimmy has lost his hands, but when they're replaced he decides to make up for lost time

Word count: 3105

Warnings: Smut, Smoking, Mild violence

The words hit me like a ton of bricks when Dell brought the news. Jimmy's hands were gone. My Jimmy's hands were gone. Taken. That no good piece of shit Richard Spencer and his lies. I couldn't believe Elsa had fallen for his bollocks, but I supposed that was his game. The rest of the freaks stood in shock.

"Oh no, not Jimmy!" Ima cried over dramatically. I felt my blood boil. My skin crawled as she wailed. I felt my ears burn up with my rage. She'd been here not five minutes and here she was, caterwauling over what they had done to him. I couldn't out loud admit what I felt about Jimmy, but I sure as hell could let it be known how I felt about her. I ran at her and swung one hard punch to the side of her head. The force did not knock her over, but the shock certainly did. 

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I spat out the words repeatedly as I continued to hit her face and chest once she had fallen. I felt my eyes prick as I screamed at her, before Paul and Eve pulled me away. The second the anger cleared I collapsed in tears. Penny came over to me as Eve followed Dell out the tent. She held me tight as I sobbed into her chest. Ima was taken out the tent, bloodied and bruised and sniveling. I lifted my head only to spit in her direction.

"Shh, shh," Penny cooed, stroking my hair. 

"What have they done to him?" I whimpered, my voice coming out far more feeble and cracked then I had ever heard it. "How's he going to survive in there without his hands?"

"I don't know," Penny told me, honestly. "I'm sure he'll find a way."

She took me back to my caravan and I poured myself a drink. I pulled an ashtray out the cupboard and lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to watch over me Penny. I'm sure you probably best go check on your man."

"I don't want to leave you like this," she admitted, sat delicately on the edge of my bed. She was still so beautiful, despite the lizard tattoo, and so kind as well. I couldn't bear to be around anyone at the minute though.

"I'll be fine," I told her softly, but when she didn't move I snapped at her. "Piss off! I don't want you here!" I hadn't meant to be so harsh, but she gathered herself up and left. I knocked back my drink in one. It burned my eyes and stung my throat but I hoped for my own sake it would help me sleep.

I went through more alcohol and more cigarettes. My ashtray overflowed. My head was spinning as I reached toward the bottom of the bottle. With my head heavy I fell over into my bed and pulled the covers round myself, only bothering to clumsily remove my shoes before shutting my eyes tight and trying to forget my thoughts. I lay there, my mind playing a reel of horrors of what could have happened to Jimmy. I pictured him beaten in a jail cell, battered to death like Meep was, or sat in despair at his own situation. I knew he couldn't have killed those women, even if he didn't, because he was here in this caravan when it happened. I knotted my fingers into my hair, reeling drunk. I was just as bad as he had been. 

I eventually passed out, but kept waking, sweaty and restless after nightmares. At one point my stomach turned and I chugged up my guts off the side of my bed. I rolled back over after that and caught half an hours rest before I woke again. The night went on like that until the sun rose and Eve came in to get me up. 

"Oh sweetheart," she muttered upon seeing my sorry state. She delicately picked her way to the bed past the vomit and brought me out of bed to go sit on the seat I had. I blubbered pathetically while she tossed a towel over my mess and brought me a glass of water. I was still slightly drunk, but tried to be as co-operative as possible. Eve sat next to me, pulling me in for a hug while I continued to feel like a maudlin burden on her. She took me over to have breakfast with the others, and I hiccuped my way through some bread and butter, as everyone threw pitiful stares my way. I began to sober up. 

"I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry I'm so useless."

"Don't be silly, come with me," she directed, taking my hand and leading me away from the show ground. As we walked further away I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"It's awful nice of you to try cheer me up but I'd rather not go anywhere," I told Eve, following her through the undergrowth. We passed the spot where Ethel had ended her life, which brought back more memories of how Jimmy had been after she passed. My eyes welled, but I tried hard to keep it suppressed. I didn't want anyone to think I was being such a pathetic mess over Jimmy Darling. I didn't want to be another of the freaks that he's fucked and now loves him.

"It's Elsa who said you ought to come here," Eve explained. It was probably her plan to distract me from my wallowing, or punish me for what I did to Ima. I expected hard labour ahead of me.  We reached a small barn with the doors locked. Eve produced a key, unlocking the chains. "Now listen. Elsa says its your job to look after him," she instructed pulling the door open to let me see inside. It took me a minute to realise there was a bed, a bed and a familiar face. 

"Jimmy!" I gasped, rushing to his side. I burst into tears again, this time from pure relief. "Oh baby your hands!" 

By his side lay two bloodied stumps wrapped in bandage. His eyes filled with tears when he looked at me. 

"Princess I haven't ever seen you cry before," he told me lightheartedly, but his voice cracked and he wept. I placed my hand on his face and he leaned into my touch as I wiped his tear with my thumb. I turned back to give Eve a thank you but she had left. I turned to Jimmy. 

"I thought you were gonna be gone forever," I told him, sniffling. 

"Me too baby." I bent down and pressed my lips down against his. We shared a salty kiss. I felt him flinch hard and cut off the kiss when he lifted his arm hold me. He immediately broke down in tears again. "I'm never going to be able to hold you again," he whimpered, and I sensed that there was certainly more to it than that. It stung to see him in such a sorry state.

"Oh Jimmy don't upset yourself," I tried to comfort him. "I have to change your bandages. Okay?" He shook his head. "I let you do it for me," I reminded him.

"Well you have no fucking idea how much it hurts," he snapped. I understood his frustration, but I couldn't help but pull away, hurt. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry (y/n), I just... I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Hold, still." I ran my hand down his arm slowly until I reached the bandage trying to cause minimum pain. I unwrapped it slowly, Jimmy putting on a brave face. As I pulled the bloodied part away from his wound he flinched and gritted his teeth. "This is really gonna sting," I warned as I poured alcohol onto cotton to clean his injury. He bit down on his pillow and nodded for me to go ahead. I wiped it as gently as I could and tried to ignore his muffled howl. "I'm sorry." He let the pillow from his teeth.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, doll," he assured, breathless from pain. I took his stump in my hands, wrapping it in bandage.

"I tried to tell the police it wasn't you, but they wouldn't listen."

"It might have been me, I was there, I was blind drunk."

"It wasn't, Jimmy. You were in my caravan. You said you loved me."

"I do." He looked at me sincerely. I avoided his eye, focusing my attention back to binding up his arm.

"You don't Jimmy, you love Maggie, you only wanted me because you were scared she might leave you and you thought I wouldn't." I sighed. 

"That's not true, I kept coming back because I love you." Tears pricked my eyes again. He probably thought Maggie had left and was settling for me. I tied off the bandage and he raised his arm up to my face, sucking in his breath sharply as his stump brushed my cheek. "And you love me too."

"No, I don't," I lied. He watched me, his stare breaking me apart like it always had.

"Paul came by before you. I haven't seen you cry once before, (y/n), but he said you have been tearful all morning. He also told me about Ima," he teased, smugly. I didn't know it was possible to sound both so weak and so smug at the same time. 

"I was worried, it doesn't mean-" 

"Please just tell me it does. Just tell me you love me, it's all I ever wanted to hear." I let out a breath I never realised I was holding.

"I love you, Jimmy Darling." He smiled at me. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before taking a few draws. I put it between his lips for him so he could take a puff. 

"Look at me," he complained. "Can't even hold my own cigarette."

"Hush now Jimmy. Things will take time," I reassured him, to little effect. We shared the rest of the cigarette and I moved round to change the bandage on the other side. Jimmy didn't speak until I'd finished and stood up to leave.

"Thank you, (y/n)," he said sincerely. I went back to his bedside, leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I'll be here to change your bandages again tomorrow,"  I told him softly.

Although Elsa had not left, she had still sold the show to Chester, who although had a definite screw loose, seemed harmless enough. He was bright, chirpy and certainly not bossy. His odd qualities only came from the wooden ventriloquist doll he was so attached to. The twins seemed quite smitten with him, and, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were screwing him. 

I was civil with Maggie after her trickery, especially knowing how difficult the world could be, but Jimmy had far from forgiven her. This was a hard situation to negotiate. She had asked about him, and I knew she cared, but Jimmy was set in his hatred of her. It was hard to sympathise with a woman who had been part in a scheme resulting in the death of Ma Petite and the loss of Jimmy's hands. For the most part I told the truth. Jimmy was not going to soften any time soon.

I apologised to Ima too, hard as it was. She didn't really take my apology, but it hardly bothered me. It was mainly for the sake of the others, and to keep the peace. 

That night, Dell was shot. He, it turned out, had been the one to kill Ma Petite. I felt bad for his death. As shitty as his actions were, I always felt he was trying his hardest for a better life. Still, killing another freak was unforgivable, and Ma Petite was innocence itself. It was my job to deliver the news to Jimmy, which was horrible.

"He was my father!" 

"I know Jimmy! I'm sorry!"

"Don't you dare start apologising for those murderers, (y/n)!"

"Jimmy he killed Ma Petite!" I ended up snapping. "He killed an innocent and he paid the price." Jimmy broke down into tears again, and I ended up wrapping my arms around him.

"I'm losing everything."

"Come on, baby. It hurts to see you cry so much," I mumbled into his neck. He sobbed into my shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me (y/n). Don't ever break my heart.”

The day Jimmy's hands were ready was the happiest I had seen him in months. I came into the barn again to see him, when I spotted him sat on the bed. The moment he saw me he stood up and rushed toward me. I opened my arms to him and he caught me in his grasp, lifting me off my toes. He kissed me, properly. His dark eyes seemed full of hope. I took his arms from around me and held one of his new hands in mine. Mr. Dolcefino had created perfect wooden hands, still with Jimmy's finger shapes. They were works of art.

"They're beautiful, baby," I told him, smiling.

"They ain't half as functional as they were, but my hands have never looked so good."

"Your hands always looked good." I kissed him again, harder this time. He pulled me flush against him.

"It kills me I can't touch you the same baby," he told me, running his wrists down my side in place of his hands.

"I don't care, Jimmy. I love you," I said, and it was the first time I'd said it since he asked me to. He pulled me in again for another kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth and pushing the backs of my knees against the bed. "Easy tiger," I teased.

"I haven't held you in so long (y/n)," he replied, pushing himself even closer to me, my body flush with his own. I felt him, hard against my thigh. I kissed him again, hard, and let him push me onto the bed, his own weight on top of mine. He began to nip at my neck, and I sighed contentedly. He went to cup my breast with his hand, but came short when he realised his hands could not move the same, could not feel. "Baby, I'm sorry," he apologised, sitting up on his knees and pulling away. I sat up with him and put my hands around his neck, fiddling with the hair at its nape.

"You aren't giving up that easy are you?" I jibed. "After all, you have a mouth in perfect working order." He grinned at me, pulling me into another hungry kiss. He nibbled down my neck again.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to undress yourself, doll." I did as instructed, pulling my jumper over my head while Jimmy watched. He returned to kissing my collarbone as I undid my bra. His kisses travelled over my breasts, wooden hand against my side. He kissed along my chest, eventually moving to take one of my nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as I sighed. He bit down on it and I yelped, scolding him lightly by giving him a little slap on the arm. He grinned again at my reaction, before kissing his way down my sternum. He stopped for a second, giving me an opportunity to pull my trousers off for him. I went to pull my underwear down but he stopped me, instead using his teeth to pull them down and bringing them the rest of the way with his prosthetic. I laughed at his actions, until he buried his face into my heat, licking over my clit again and again. I felt myself get quickly wetter as he flicked his tongue up my slit. His attention went back to my clit, circling it as I dug my fingers into his hair, pulling at it and moaning as I did. I felt my cheeks flush when he came back up the bed to kiss me again, my taste still on his lips. "I'm feeling a little uncomfortable in these pants, do you think you can help doll?" he asked. I happily obliged.

"Of course baby." I pulled his shirt of his shoulders slowly, the removed his vest, taking my time to run my hands all across his chest and take it all in again. I ran my hand over his stomach and reached to palm him through his trousers. He groaned and closed his eyes. Then I took off the trousers, getting him to sit up in order to help me. I could see the shame in his eyes so as soon as they were off I kissed him hard and put my hands into his pants, stroking his cock. He let out the most delicious moan into the kiss. After a minute of this we were both desperate for it so I bit his earlobe and pulled his cock out of his pants, guiding it to the right place. He pushed into me slowly.

"Fuck," he swore, before capturing my mouth with his and thrusting again. I let out another moan into his mouth as he bit down hard on my lip. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, speeding up his thrusts with considerable lack of control. It had been a while since we had sex, so the desperation in his movements was very apparent. He let out the most beautiful gasps and moans, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair as he continued to nip and suck at my collarbone. I tugged at his brown curls and he groaned breathily. He recaptured my lips in his own and I let out a moan as he pushed deeper into me.

"Jimmy," I panted into his ear, before pulling on his earlobe with my teeth. He let out what was almost a growl and fucked me even harder. I felt myself drawing closer to finishing and let out a desperate string of swears.

“Come on, baby doll, fuckin finish for me,” Jimmy murmured deeply, kissing along my jaw and neck before biting down on my collarbone. I let out a gasp as I felt a wave of pleasure over me, clenching around him and digging my nails into his back. He kept going, his thrusts sloppy, coaxing me through my orgasm until a faltering moan fell from his lips and he pulled out, spilling his load onto my stomach. He lay on top of me, spent, and I pulled my fingers through his hair, running my nails against his scalp.

“You really love me?” I asked, as his hot breath brushed my neck. Before he answered he pressed soft kisses against my shoulder.

“Of course I do, doll face.”

[simping-hours-are-24-7]

A Deal to Save What You Have Lost

After the Fall of MC, Mammon is hoping that Lucifer will come help him. But someone else arrives and offers a deal to save what he is losing.

(Mammon x GN!MC, Diavolo x GN!MC)

TW: Heavy angst, forced relationship, elements of non-con, minor descriptions of gore

An alternative (angstier) ending for the fic, Promise That You'll Fall for Me? (tagging @sevendeadlymorons bc you were the one who kinda made it well known and @cherryjkj who asked for a part 2. Not exactly a continuation, but I hope this suffice! also thank you @beepboop0987 for helping me out with this) AO3 Link

Mammon catches their shaky hand in his own, clasping it tightly. “MC, don’t move. Lucifer… Help will come I promise. Please MC, please” he said brokenly, tears now dripping off his face and landing on theirs. “Please hold on just a bit longer.”

MC shook their head, or tried to before groaning, their face and body twisting into pain. Eventually, their body relaxed only somewhat as they met Mammon’s blue eyes through a squinted eye. A shaky grin stretches across their face, “Hey Mammon… looks like I kept my promise.” Another groan escapes them as their face scrunches up again, “Mammon, it hurts…it hurts so much.”

“I know MC, I know.” He whispers out. “Lucifer will come. I promise. He’ll...He’ll help us. So hang on just a bit longer.”

“Oh? This is a rather familiar scene, isn’t it Barbatos?” A deep voice mused above the two lovers. Mammon’s head snaps up and locks eyes with the golden gaze of the Prince.

“Quite familiar indeed. Although to be frank, I didn’t predict this would happen.” Barbatos responds, a placid smile on his face. It pisses Mammon off seeing the butler smile all while MC is suffering beneath him. He wants to tear the smug demon to shreds, but he can’t. Not with MC still struggling to catch their breath without choking. The Avatar glances down at MC and squeezes their hand.

“Help them,” he says weakly, his voice cracking slightly. Now Mammon knew he wasn’t always the sharpest crayon in the box, but he knew shit, important shit. After The Attic Incident, he confronted Lucifer about what he, MC, and Diavolo revealed about Lillith, or at least what little they told everyone else. It took a bit more effort than planned, but Lucifer caved. He spoke of his oath to Lord Diavolo, the promise he made. He clears his throat and stares into Diavolo’s strangely glowing eyes, “I’ll make a deal with you like you did with Lucifer, I’ll do anything. Just help them.”

At the word “anything” Diavolo’s relaxed face shifts into something akin to shock. “Ho? So you know about me and Lucifer’s agreement then. And yet you’ll swear an oath with me?”

Mammon’s eyes flicker down to MC’s barely open ones. He can feel something dark growing within them eating away the last bits of holy energy, the kind of darkness he's grown familiar with for the past millennium. Leaning down, he rests his forehead against theirs, “MC don’t worry, I’m going to help you, I promise you.”

He can feel MC frantically squeezing his hand as if to stop him and hear their weak protests, but he ignores them to look straight into the prince’s still glowing eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll swear absolute loyalty to you, Prince Diavolo, on my name as Mammon, the Avatar of Greed. In exchange, help MC. They're already halfway to becoming a demon, isn't there something you could do to help them?"

Diavolo's head cocks to the side, "There is. Luckily for you two, not only am I rather fond of our dear MC, they are already halfway to becoming a demon and they still have their pacts with you brothers scarred into their soul." The Prince shakes his head. "I won't ask you the same I asked of Lucifer. As I have said, I am rather fond of them myself. How’s this for a deal Mammon, the second-born, Avatar of Greed? I do what you ask and turn our dear MC into a proper demon with just as much strength as you brothers. However, I take MC as my consort. After all, they’ve been the key to the success of my exchange problem. And where else will we ever meet someone who has been of all Three Realms? But-”

“But what?!” Mammon growls out and pulls the broken, but slowly corrupting form of MC closer to him, still ignoring their weak protests. “What more do you want?! You’re already taking away MC from me!” He can feel his true form boiling under his skin, aching to come out and take MC away, to keep his dearest treasure away from the thief who’s trying to steal away his heart. “You already have my brother, why do you need MC? They’re MINE!”

Diavolo just sighs like a parent watching an unruly child throw a tantrum. It pisses Mammon even more. “Enough Mammon, you didn’t let me finish.” He breaks into a smile, but there is nothing like the kind-hearted demon behind it. It’s sharp and calculating with a slight tinge of amusement, as if eagerly waiting to see what will happen next. “I am already well aware of your feelings for each other. I’m also near certain that their Fall has something to do with you as well. So this will be the deal, Mammon, I use the infernal magic fueling the pacts with you brothers as a way to help their transformation and take them in as my consort. However,” he emphasizes, “I’ll allow you two to be… close shall we say. How’s this? You can be their paramour as long as you swear to never steal away MC from me or the Throne, I’ll do all that I promised.” The prince lets out a hearty laugh, “Quite honestly Mammon you get quite a lot out of this, so what you say Mammon, do we have a deal?”

He stares at the prince’s outreached hand and down to MC. Their eyes have rolled back into their head, probably passed out to pain during his “conversation” with the Prince. He can even see the black horns begin to force its way out from their skull, no longer bleeding gold, but instead a pitch-black tar. And he thinks; either way he’s going to lose them, either to death or to Diavolo. Something within him says just to keep them with him for eternity. They wouldn’t be the first dead body kept within the House. But he can’t. He can’t let MC, the holder of his heart and the only one he truly loved die. Even if it means to let them go.

He leans down and softly kisses MC’s bloody forehead, ignoring the slight sting of both holy and unholy blood left on his lips. “Everything will be alright, I promise.” He whispers, before turning his face up to face Diavolo and plasters a cocky grin on his face. Fake, it feels fake as all hell, but he can’t crack. He’s selling his heart away and one day he’ll get it back, even if he has to steal it away. Clasping his blood-stained hand into the Prince’s, “You have a deal, Lord Diavolo. But don’t go whining about a broken deal if MC elopes with me in the end.”

Diavolo’s grin is just as fake and sharp as his and as he shakes the Avatar’s hand a cloud of Infernal magic swirls around them. “We shall see Mammon. We shall see.”

Previous | Next | M.List | AO3

[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.