#the casual fuckin “Huh? No way.” i almost died

[chisungie]

hELLO?!?!

[doomfox]

An American Werewolf vs Evil Dead

“YES!”

“Alright, David...”

“I DID IT!”

“I know, you’re very pleased with yourself.”

“I FUCKING DID IT!!!” David Kessler bounced through the streets of London, relieved beyond belief. People stared as he jogged by, whooping and hollering, overjoyed ever since he’d woken.

He’d done it. He’d survived the full moon, and hadn’t killed anybody. “Damn right I’m pleased with myself!” He beamed, grinning at Jack as the ghost-man followed him, “I’m a werewolf! I’m a fuckin werewolf but I didn’t kill anybody! I didn’t kill anybody!! YOU HEAR ME LONDON?? I’M A WEREWOLF AND I DIDN’T KILL ANYBODY!!!!”

Jack watched his friend hop onto a park bench and proclaim to the world, passers-by giving him very odd looks indeed. “Still surprised you managed to clean up before your girlfriend came home...”

David chuckled, lacing his hands behind his head and grinning. “Yeah well, I was feeling good wasn’t I?” He hopped up onto a short wall and balanced along it, arms held out by his sides. “I dunno man, I guess it’s residual wolf-energy or something. I feel amazing!”

“Well, I’m very very pleased for you Fido...” Jack reached out and casually removed a Styrofoam tray of fries from a person, the man utterly oblivious at the interaction, “but what about the rest of your life? What you gonna do now, huh?”

David plopped back to the pavement, stealing a handful of fries from the tray. “I dunno... start lookin’ for a cure, I guess. I mean, there has to be right? Now we know spooky supernatural shit exists and all.”

Jack popped some fries into his mouth, ignoring the ones that spilled from his open gullet. “And what if there isn’t, huh? What if you’re stuck like this for the rest of your life? You think about that, dog-brain?”

David stared ahead, now unwilling to meet his friend’s eyes. “I mean... it only happens once or twice a month...” he said awkwardly, kicking at a discarded can as he walked, “I can live with that...”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me...” Jack replied, setting the now empty tray on another man’s head, “David, what about me? What happens to ME?”

David shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “It’s... not like it’s my fault you died, Jack...”

“Oh, there we go! We got there in the end!” Jack spread his arms and scoffed, now glaring at his friend. “David Kessler, showing his true colours! Talk about selfish!”

“ME selfish??” David rounded on the ghost, ignoring the looks he got from surrounding people, “YOU’RE the one who keeps telling me I should KILL myself!!!”

“Damn right you’re selfish! You won’t even kill yourself to put your dead best friend’s soul at rest?? The nerve!”

“I ain’t listening to this...” David waved a hand and turned away, storming for a nearby pub. “I’m goin’ for a drink...” David all but barged into the pub, ignoring the stares the patrons gave him and the flashbacks to his and Jack’s arrival at the Slaughtered Lamb all those weeks back. Spiky-haired punks glared at him, loud music sawed away from above, and a haze of smoke filled the room. The young American didn’t care too much, after his experiences the previous two nights, and simply strode on over to the bar to order a beer.

He was a fucking werewolf. He wasn’t afraid o’ nothin’.

...

“So... this is your life now.”

“Mhm.”

“Drinking away your time waiting for the next full moon...”

“You got it.”

Jack had reappeared beside David, the dead man and the werewolf occupying the bar. David was on his second beer, idly tapping his fingers to the music, while Jack looked around. Bored. “Well ain’t this a fuckin’ party?” He grumbled, arms folded as he inspected the smoke-filled bar. A pair of leather-clad individuals played pool. Other folks played cards. Low muttering permeated the air. It wasn’t hard to miss the odd scathing looks that were shot David’s way. “Almost makes you wanna kill yourself, don’t it?”

“Screw off, meatloaf.”

“Seriously man, you CAN’T want this life? Turning into a giant evil dog every month?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“David, really??”

“You never know, some girls might be into the whole giant dog thing.”

“Oh my God, you’re insane.”

“Fuck OFF, Jack!” David raised a finger and glared at his friend... too late remembering nobody else could see the ghost. He paused and gave an apologetic grin to the blue-haired punk he’d inadvertently cursed at and went back to his beer. “Look...” he hissed beneath his breath, “so long as I don’t go nuts and start eating people, what’s the problem? Sure it hurts, but that’s what the whiskey’s for!”

Jack sighed. “And I get to be a walking corpse for the rest of your life.”

“I... look, look on the bright side man!” David replied, “you don’t have to worry about healthcare!”

“Oh gee, you’re right!”

“You don’t have to pay rent...”

“Wow!”

“And you get to hang with your best friend for all eternity!”

“Oh! Oh my! Oh good Heavens!” Jack said, giving David a little clap, “you really know how to soothe a tortured soul, Davy-boy!”

“Oh my gosh! Are you American??”

Before David could argue back with his dead friend, he turned to find a pair of girls eyeing him. Both girls’ hair was dyed improbably bright, one of them beaming at him with interest while the other looked as though she could not care less.

David worked his jaw, glancing at Jack before leaning against the bar. “Why, yes ma’am. I do believe I am.”

The girl squealed while the other rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, I’ve never met an American before! Can you say ‘marmalade’??”

David grinned. “Marmalade.”

...

“I don’t believe this...” An unimpressed Jack leaned against the bar, chattering to an oblivious older gentlemen who looked as though he might have died himself. He waved a hand at David, still chattering with the two girls. “You seeing this? The man’s an animal!” the corpse-ghost waved a hand in front of the older man’s face, shrugged, then stole his beer and tipped it back.

“Y’know...” David said, happily flirting away with the first girl - Cassandra? - while her friend hovered irritably, “I’m not JUST an American on vacation...”

“Oh?” the girl said, batting her eyes at him, “what else are you, David?”

David, now on his fifth pint, grinned wide and flashed his canines. “I have a secret... a terrible, frightening secret... that I only trust very special people with...”

The other girl rolled her eyes. “Oh my GOD this guy’s a creep.”

“What is it?” Cassandra whispered, big eyes gleaming up at him.

David gave her friend a look and grinned stupidly. “The truth is... I’m a werewolf...” she gave a little gasp, her friend scoffing behind her. “And every night... on the full moon... I transform into a terrible beast...”

“That’s awful!” Cassandra whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yes, it’s very tragic...” David said, raising his beer and sighing dramatically, “but that’s why I gotta keep moving... never staying in one place... to protect the ones I love...”

Jack snorted, spraying beer over the man he’d stolen the drink from. “I can’t believe this guy!” the ghost cackled, the man beside him looking around in mild confusion before continuing to be oblivious, “trust me, he isn’t usually like this. Must be those doggy-genes driving him crazy!”

“The... ones you love?” Cassandra said quietly, as David leaned closer to her.

“Yes...” he whispered back, “all part of the curse... it means we have to... make it count before I... have to move on-”

“Okay, that’s enough!”

“Alright, that’s it!”

Jack and Cassandra’s friend simultaneously approached the two flirters, dragging them away before they could get stupid. “Cass, come on! This guy’s a total nutter!”

“David!” Jack hissed, glaring at his friend as the werewolf turned back to his beer, “what’s WRONG with you?? Did you forget about Alex???”

David shrugged. “Sorry. I guess these werewolf hormones are having an effect. It’s like I’m burning up inside!”

“Huh,” Jack frowned, checking out the window and up at the slowly darkening evening sky. “You feeling good there, wolf-putz?”

“Relax Jack, it’s not a full moon. I’ll be fine!” David tipped back his beer and hissed, grinning at his friend. “nothing’s gonna happen, it’s all gonna be just gravy!”

Jack looked to his friend, suddenly very concerned. He scanned around the bar, shuddering as a wind gusted through from somewhere. The lights flickered, the pub patrons muttering and gesturing at the disturbance. Suddenly, the corpse-man felt everything was wrong. There was some kind of disturbance here. He checked back outside, finding the night falling, a waning moon. He snapped his attention back to David, who had apparently challenged the blue-haired punk to a game of pool. Jack watched him carefully, waiting with bated breath for any sign of an unexpected out-of-cycle transformation.

Nothing happened. The ghost breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head. “Crazy,” he muttered to himself, unable to shake the feeling that something was off. Billiard balls clacked from one another as David took his first shot.

Jack inspected the rest of the pub.

He froze, filled with sudden terror as he found Cassandra... staring right at him with pure white eyes. His half-mouth flapped open as he stared back. “What the fu-”

“JESUS CHRIST”

...

David had been having fun. Bizarrely, he had been actually honest-to-goodness enjoying himself. Maybe it really was his wolf side but he was filled with energy, horny as fuck, and almost swaggering about the pub with a confidence he’d never felt before. If he could control himself... maybe it really wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunate for Jack, but it wasn’t David’s fault his friend had died and was reanimated as a walking ghost-corpse. David had found himself somehow chatting with the punks from earlier, the men taunting the American until he challenged them to a pool game, and now he leaned over the table, licking his lips as he took the first shot. He whooped, potting several balls, and grinned with bravado at his English opponents. “So! How’dya like that, boys??” He cackled, clutching his pool cue tight as they sneered at him, “remember! Loser buys the-” David went utterly still, jaw locking, as a gust of wind wafted through the pub. The lights flickered... and a horrific burning fever fell over him, sending him collapsing over the pool table. “JESUS CHRIST”

David flailed, one hand smacking the white ball and potting the rest as he spasmed. Horror settled over him as he realised what was happening - he was transforming. Again. “IT’S NOT A FULL MOON!!” he wailed, banging his fists against the table, “IT’S NOT A FULL FUCKING MOON!!!!”

“DAVID KESSLER!!!!”

David spun around, leaning back against the table, finding Cassandra grinning madly at him. He yelped as he looked into her eyes, now pupilless and filled with pulsing veins. “Woah! Cassandra?!”

“WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, WOLF-BLOOD!” the girl hissed, now baring crooked and rotten teeth, “CURSED HOUND!!! GUARD-DOG OF THE MORTAL REALM!!!!!!!”

David winced as his body continued snapping. “OW- Hey! What are you- OH JEEZ- talking about???”

“David!!!” David watched, terrified and surrounded by confused pub-goers, as he fought to hold back his budding transformation and Jack grabbed his shoulder. “We gotta get outta here!!!!”

“Cass???” The other girl, Cassandra’s friend, approached her worriedly. “What’s ‘appenin’???”

Cassandra responded by whirling around, spraying spittle in her face, spiking her hand forward, and tearing out her windpipe. The girl collapsed to the floor, mouth flapping like a fish, blood rapidly leaking across the floor.

Pandemonium erupted in the bar, as ‘Cassandra’ lunged for other people, killing them just as violently and easily as she had her friend.

“WHAT THE FUCK???” David screamed, barely keeping his transformation in check, “WHAT THE FUCK????” He yelped as a hand roughly grabbed his jacket collar, and he leaned his head back to find a blue-haired individual, eyes white and grinning teeth yellow... before the possessed punk tossed him in one violent motion across the pub. David landed on a table, smashing through an assortment of leftover drinks and ash trays. “OW!!!”

“David!!!” Jack backed toward his friend, watching in horror as the zombie-like humans ripped through more unfortunate people, blood and gore now decorating the pub, “you have to do something!!!”

“LIKE WHAT??? AAAAH!!!!” David winced, desperately fighting against his own transformation, “WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO???”

“Use your power, David!” Jack said, suddenly decisive, whipping around to face the terrified werewolf, “your body’s responding to the Evil in this place! let it happen! Use it!”

“I don’t WANT to use it!!!” David wailed, desperately clawing at himself as he tried pushing the transformation back, “I just wanna enjoy my vacation!!!”

“David... it called you the Guard Dog of the Mortal Realm...” Jack said, staring his friend down with intent, “USE it, David!! LET IT HAPPEN!!!!”

“NO!”

“DO SOMETHING!!!!”

“GOD DAMN IT!!!” David cried, reaching out and snapping up a leftover pint of bitter, “I just wanted to go to Rome!!!!” He chucked back the beer, guzzled it down... and yelped as he opened the floodgates. He flailed, desperately grabbing at other abandoned drinks and throwing them down his gullet. His bones snapped and stretched, cracked and warped, David stumbling about and knocking tables over in his half-drunk transforming state.

The demonic humans howled and cackled in their blood-rage, ‘Cassandra’ now approaching a screaming woman who scrambled backward in the gore on her arse. “Oooh, filthy!!!! I LIKE IT LIKE THAT!!!!!” The woman screamed, raising her hands defensively... and the demonic human paused. She sniffed, whipping around as a piercing howl sounded through the pub.

Before her, David Kessler slammed onto his front paws, snarling away the pain of his rapid transformation. Beside him, the corpse-ghost of his dead best friend grinned and raised a bony finger, pointing at the possessed humans that bared their teeth and hissed.

“David!” Jack spoke, lowering his brow and grinning wickedly with his half-face, “KILL!!!”

...

David snarled and bounded forward, fearsome teeth bared and claws ready to swipe. He was rewarded with a pool-cue to the face for his efforts, Punk-man swinging the thing and sending him flying with an improbably powerful hit. “*OW!*” David collided with the pool table, reared up on his hind legs, pathetically swinging his paws defensively, “*THAT HURT, YOU FUCK!*”  the pool cue swished back, catching him the other side of the face. “*OW! Stop DOING that, it really hurts!*”

Punk-man grinned wide... impossibly wide, his cheeks splitting open as crooked yellow teeth extended.

“*Oh... oh that is just WRONG!!!*” Punk-man snarled, cackling as he inverted the pool-cue and wielded it like a bayonet, stabbing at David with the chalked end. “*Jesus Christ!!! Jack, I don’t know what to do!!!*”

“I’m coming, David!” Jack started forward, before pausing. “Wait, I’m a ghost numbnuts! What am I supposed to d-” Jack cut off and yelped as the zombielike form of Cassandra landed beside him, cackling maniacally as she grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the pub. He hit the dartboard head-first, collapsing to the floor as the zombie-woman giggled. “Ow, shit!”

“OOOHOOHOOO!!!!” Cassandra squealed with delight, “BULLS-EYE!!!!”

“Hey, no fair!” Jack whined, rubbing his head as he rolled around in a pool of blood and spilled beer, “I’m a ghost! You shouldn’t be able to hurt- OH FUCK!!!!”

Jack was silenced again as the zombie lifted him from the floor, slamming him against the wall and leering hideously into his face. “YOU ARE COMING BACK TO HELL WITH ME, PRETTY-BOY!”

“What?? No! I don’t wanna go to Hell!” Jack winced as the possessed woman hissed in his face, “David! Help me!”

“*I got my own problems, man!*” David dodged side-to-side, still pinned against the pool table and dodging away from the jabbing pool cue. Punk-man laughed hideously and prepared for a powerful lunge, David hopping up just in time to avoid having his vital organs skewered. “*Hey man! Not the balls!*” He landed on the table, rearing up and managing to balance on his hind legs. Punk-man accompanied him, breaking the pool cue in half and wielding both halves like stakes. David snarled at the thing. It cackled and hissed back in response. He was suddenly aware of a wind coming from above. He glanced up to find a spinning ceiling fan above the table.

Punk-man lunged forward. David yelped, caught him in a massive bear-hug, then lifted with both forelimbs.

The possessed human screeched as its head began turning into pulp under the onslaught of the spinning blades. Blood spattered onto him from above, much to the reluctant werewolf’s misfortune.

“SUCH PRETTY EYES!!!” Jack kicked his legs, desperately trying to break free from the monster’s grip. Cassandra raised a pair of fingers, now equipped with improbably sharp claws, “MIND IF I KEEP THEM???”

“Daviiiiid!”

David threw the ruined corpse aside, returning to all-fours as he lunged from the pool table with a snarl. Cassandra whipped around to face him, ignoring the dead man in favour of this more interesting foe. “OOOOH! A BIG DOGGY!!! WANNA PLAY???”

David bared his teeth, releasing a snarl as the demon-woman howled with laughter. David felt a surge of rage at her taunting, for the first time in his werewolf state feeling the vicious urge to maul and kill. He lunged forward, claws outstretched, jaws snapping, and promptly bowled Cassandra to the floor.

“OOOOH! SUCH A BIG, STRONG DOGGY!!!” the possessed woman reared back a clawed hand, ready to strike for David’s throat, “LETS GO PLAY IN HELL!!!!!”

The hand lanced forward... to be caught between David’s jaws. In one violent movement, the werewolf tore away, taking the arm with it. The demon snarled and rose the other arm, only for the process to be repeated, leaving the former human wobbling on the pub floor spurting blood from her shoulders. David finished up by locking his jaws around the thing’s head, and ripping it away to send it flying across the pub.

Job done, the big blood-drenched werewolf reared up and howled, letting the universe know of its victory.

Then reality caught up to David kessler, sirens blaring outside. And he bolted.

[caroldantops]

heart, body, and soul

ship: valkyrie x reader

summary/request: you come back from a trip and your king gives you the welcome home you deserve. 

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smut (18+ only), vaginal sex (reader receiving), strap-ons, dirty talk, pet names (my queen, teasing use of housewife), light daddy kink, mentions of oral on a strap, squirting 

masterlist | ao3 link

You flinch as your hand comes in contact with the ice cold water, grumbling to yourself about how slow the water heater is. Normally, you don't let the dishes stack up in the sink this much, but it seems since you were away for a couple of days visiting Kate, your beloved wife hasn't touched them.

Not that you expected her to. Or even wanted her to. Being the King of Asgard left little room in her brain for menial chores (though, you're pretty sure she never did them before anyway). You were more than happy to play the part of Valkyrie's little housewife.

Almost as if your thoughts about her bad eating habits summoned her, the heavy wooden door swings open. You don't look up from the plate you're scrubbing, simply offering a, "Hello, your majesty."

"That's all I get, huh?" Valkyrie feigns disappointment. "Spend all week without me and you're not jumping into my arms the second I step in the door? Even the King gets no respect around here."

"Maybe if I didn't have to scrub all your dirty dishes, I could've run to you like a lovesick housewife," you laugh when her heavy footsteps are followed by her arms wrapping around your body, peppering kisses into the space between your neck and shoulder.

"Fair point. And besides, you are a gorgeous little housewife," Valkyrie hums into your ear, places a gentle kiss behind it. "Missed you, bug."

"Missed you, too."

You send Val away to change into something comfier than her beautifully tailored suit while you finish up. She joins you on the couch once she's done, jumping over the back of it like she always does. She laughs at the squeak you let out before pulling you into her lap, hands resting on your hips while your hands come up to cup her face.

As wonderful as seeing her in all of her suits is, you're truly obsessed with her casual wear. Today's choice is a faded sweatshirt from a bookstore that you frequented in college - Val is always stealing your things - and basketball shorts that she's worn so much the elastic is starting to give.

"How was your meeting? You didn't break the door when you came in so I assume that's a good sign."

"Pretty standard stuff today. I was pretty distracted though."

"Oh?" You quirk your eyebrow up at her as you feel her hands start edging along the waistband of your leggings. "Thinking about Thor visiting next week?"

"No, I was thinking about a different eager puppy, actually." Val kisses you, leading a trail down to your neck with her lips. She grabs your ass roughly as she mumbles against your skin, "Was countin' the minutes until I could come home to see my queen."

You bite your lip as she continues to grope you, your hips lurching forward so you can feel the distinct bulge in her shorts.

"Nothing's better than comin' home and having the first thing I see be this sweet ass in these fuckin' leggings. You drive me crazy, I swear I just wanna..." The sharp sound of fabric tearing fills the room, and your mouth hangs open in shock. "...rip 'em open."

"Val! Those were expensive!"

"Oh, baby, I'll buy you new ones. I'll buy you as many as I tear through, plus extras so I can rip those open too. Besides," she hums as she opens the tear more and strokes her fingertips against your bare cunt. "If they didn't want me to tear 'em, they should've made 'em a bit stronger."

The snarky comment dies in your throat as she pushes into you with two fingers, fluttering them as your walls tighten around her. She starts making a comment about how wet you are already, but you cut her off by pushing your lips against hers, moaning into her mouth the way you know drives her crazy.

You’re embarrassingly on edge much faster than you’d like to admit (you blame the fact that you’ve been without Val for almost a week, and when the two of you were together you were both insatiable), but Valkyrie doesn’t let you have that release so easily. She curls her fingers against your sweet spot once more before removing them from your pussy with a wet noise. She gives you that loving, mischievous grin as she holds her fingers up to your face, and you immediately know what she wants. You give them a little kitten lick before wrapping your lips around them, groaning as you taste yourself.

“‘You make it so hard to decide which hole of yours I wanna fill,” Val says with much more tenderness than that comment warrants. “As much as I wanna make you gag-” She thrusts hard into your mouth as she says it, reveling in the way you choke on her fingers. “-on my cock, I need to be inside that tight cunt so fucking bad.”

“P’ease,” you mumble around her.

“Yeah?” Her fingers leave your mouth, and the toy between her legs hits your thighs as she tugs down her shorts just enough so she can free it. “You want this huh? Want this big cock inside you? C’mon, tell Daddy.”

“Please, daddy, please.” You grind your hips against the tip of the toy that she’s holding right against your entrance. “Need it.”

“Need it? So dramatic, love. Well, if you need it, it’d be cruel of me to make you wait much longer, huh?” Valkyrie laughs at your fervent nodding that quickly turns into a gasp as she pulls you down flush against her lap, settling her strap deep inside you. She picked the thick one, the one with realistic veins that feel oh so delectable when you squeeze around the toy.

You press your face into her neck, inhaling deeply as she starts to guide your hips up and down on her cock. The scent of her cologne fills your head, the woody smell reminds you of that camping trip she took you on last fall. The one where she gave you the beautifully crafted ring around your finger. Val notices your whimpers against her skin and you feel her shake with laughter.

“My baby’s so pathetic, aren’t they? Whining against me, just begging for Daddy to fill them up. Bet you thought about this the whole time you were gone, didn’t you? Thought about me stretchin’ you out?”

“Yes, yes,” you groan, clutching onto her like your life depends on it. You hardly have to do any of the work, she just guides you up and down along her strap. If she wasn’t wearing the sweatshirt, you’d be able to properly admire the way her biceps flex as she does so. But there’s plenty of time for that later. For now, you savor being used like a sweet whiney toy.

“Good baby. So fuckin’ good.” She pushes you back a bit so she can properly see the way her cock fills you up, the opening she ripped in your leggings framing her view of your dripping cunt like artwork. “Gods, look at that cunt. Soaked. Swallowing me up like I’m nothing. And this pretty clit too.”

Her fingers spread your lips so she can properly admire how swollen your clit is, thumbing over it and admiring the way you jerk when she does. While she plays with the sensitive bud, you grind yourself down in her lap, each movement dragging the toy against your walls in the most delicious way possible. Your body shakes with pleasure as you feel your climax quickly building.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, baby. I swear every time I fuck you, it’s like I’ve died and gone to Valhalla. Want you to cum for me, c’mon. Wanna see those pretty eyes roll back, wanna see that sweet head of yours go empty,” Valkyrie presses kisses along your jaw as you moan out incoherent phrases that sound vaguely like fuckDaddypleaseyespleasegonnacum. A gush of liquid erupts around Val’s strap as you cum, and she moans at the feeling of you squirting against her. “Fuck! That’s it, that’s my baby. Such a fuckin’ mess.”

You go limp against her, cock still nestled inside of you, Val still whispering praises into your ear. Round two is sure to happen, but the two of you take a moment to enjoy each other’s presence, your breath hitting Val’s skin in heavy pants as she strokes your thighs. The material of your leggings is soaked with sweat and cum, and Valkyrie doesn’t fail to notice.

“Aw, bug, you ruined your expensive leggings!”

“Shut up.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Drinking Buddies

Masterlist

--- If Jason ends up going home with someone, call me and I’ll come pick you up.

Y/N read the text from her boyfriend with a smirk. He’d sent it 20 minutes ago, but she was just now seeing it.

It was the only message Dick had sent her all night, always trying to give her the independence and space she needed.

Dick was always amused by Y/N and Jason’s little “club.” It even became an ongoing joke within the family. But Dick also knew that there was something sincere underneath it, as well.

Dick realized early in their relationship that there were some things in Y/N’s past he could never fully understand or help her with. Yes, he had his own trauma. But it didn’t involve abuse. His parents had died, but there wasn’t a day before that when Dick felt unloved by them.

Jason and Y/N had parallel childhoods: abusive parents, fighting to survive on the streets of Gotham, robbed of a happy and sheltered adolescence. Unfortunately, they were both victims of the darkness that Gotham held. The same darkness that drove both of them to risk their lives to stop it from continuing.

Outsiders probably thought it was weird for a man to let his girlfriend go out with his younger brother alone. Especially when said brother was as tall and handsome and broody as Jason Todd. But Dick felt more comfortable doing that than when Y/N had girls’ nights. At least with Jason, Dick knew that Y/N would be safe.

But Dick also knew Jason needed a friend just as much as Y/N did.

--- I doubt that will happen. But I promise I’ll call you if it does. 

Y/N typed back.

--- You’re a freakishly good wing woman. Don’t underestimate yourself. 

Dick texted back instantly. 

--- Have fun. Be safe. I love you.

He double texted.

--- I love you, too. 

Y/N answered before slipping her phone back into her small purse.

“He’s so obsessed with you,” Jason commented without needing to ask who had her smiling down at her phone.

But Y/N wasn’t taking the bait that easily. “Good thing I’m obsessed with him, too.”

“He’s probably sitting at home and crying because he misses you so much.”

Y/N punched Jason in the arm. And it felt like punching a wall rather than a human being with skin, muscle, and fat. “Stop being mean. I didn’t come out with you to listen to Dick get ripped on.”

Jason gave her a crooked smirk. “You’re right. I wanted a drinking buddy.”

“Yes,” she agreed. But then she narrowed her eyes. “But you always wanted to talk to me about a woman.”

“I never said that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I have female intuition.” But her amusement and teasing faded. “Is it Artemis?”

Jason’s body tensed and gulped down the rest of his whiskey. 

“That obvious, huh?” He asked slowly, his embarrassment was easily caught.

“No, it’s not, actually. I’ve just been paying attention.”

“I told you I hated her and that she drives me to insanity,” Jason scoffed.

“Yeah, and I knew that was your sexual tension speaking,” Y/N teased with a tilt of her head and a smirk before taking a sip of her drink.

Jason chuckled at that. “You’re not wrong…”

“So,” Y/N leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms with interest. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s an Amazon. And a badass. She’s tall – taller than me, actually. Red hair. Doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Loves to pick a fight. Loves to get her way even more.” Jason sighed. “And…she’s beautiful,” he finished with. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

“OK. Now that you’ve basically given me her dating app bio,” Y/N ridiculed. “Get to the good shit.”

Jason glared at her.

But he took in a deep breath. “We’ve been…” he didn’t know how to put it politely.

“Fucking?” Y/N offered.

“Fine! Yes, alright?” He growled. “It was just casual at first. Friends with benefits – or whatever.”

Y/N couldn’t stop her laugh from escaping. 

“Jason, even though you try really hard to pretend to be a heartless hard-ass, you and I both know that you’re actually a hopeless romantic. So why you thought you were capable of having a fuck buddy, without falling in love with them, is beyond me.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration. “I know. I fucking know, OK?”

Y/N finally decided to have some sympathy and gripped his shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, bud.”

“Am I? I hate this. I feel like such an idiot. I don’t want to mess this up. But I also don’t want to keep pretending like I’m not in love with her.”

It was moments like these where Y/N truly forgot that Jason was also the Red Hood, one of Gotham’s most feared vigilantes. He was also a murderer, if she was being transparent. But right now, he just seemed like a lost young man, terrified of his own feelings.

“Why don’t you get us another round and I’ll put some music on the jukebox? And then we’ll figure out your shit,” she offered.

Jason smiled. “Deal.”

There were at one of the roughest dive bars in Gotham.

Jason was a regular – as was almost everyone else that was there.

He already made his reputation known. 

And even though on the outside he looked like a helpless pretty boy, the bar patrons learned rather quickly not to pick a fight with Jason Todd. Not that most of them wanted to, he was a perfectly polite guy and tipped far too nicely for the shit service he got there.

Y/N made her way to the vintage jukebox and started scrolling through her options.

“What are you picking? Justin Bieber?” A froggish voice said to her right.

Y/N paused to give him a glare. “Is that because I’m a woman?”

This was negging. And Y/N hated this pick up tactic more than any cheesy line.

The man shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you put on something good.”

“Oh, I will,” Y/N snapped before turning her attention back to the songs.

“How about I help you DJ and then you let me buy you a drink?” He muttered far too closely to her ear.

It made a chill go up her spine and she suddenly felt ill.

“No thanks.”

“Come on. One drink,” he grabbed her wrist.

Y/N whipped her attention back to him and tried to tug her wrist away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she growled.

But his grip tightened.

“Get your hands off her,” Jason barked suddenly from behind her.

Jason had at least 5 inches on the guy and was probably twice his weight.

It was enough to make the man immediately drop Y/N’s wrist. “Maybe don’t leave your girl alone…”

“She’s not ‘my girl.’ She’s my brother’s girlfriend,” Jason corrected with a glare.

He wanted to say more, but he could tell by Y/N’s body language that she didn’t want to start a scene, hating all the eyes that were already on them.

The man had given up. 

But not before both of them heard him mutter, “Fuckin’ whore.”

Without missing a beat, Jason punched him in the face.

The hit knocked the guy off his feet and possibly knocked out a few teeth. 

So much for not causing a scene…

“Say another word about her and I won’t use my hands next time,” Jason practically spit down to him. 

Then he slyly opened up his jacket to show that he had a gun on him.

The guy didn’t need to hear anything else. He jumped to his feet and tried not to run out of the place.

A beat passed before Y/N erupted into laughter.

“Oh, Jason! Oh, my knight in shining armor! You saved me!” Y/N put the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically as she mocked him.

“I should’ve let him grope you,” Jason mumbled as he led them back to their seats.

They both knew he didn’t mean it.

“Dick’s been showing me some self defense, you know.” Y/N beamed proudly as she took a sip of her new drink.

The bartender came over and silently offered them a free round of shots, proving that he’d seen the exchange. And this was his way of apologizing for their troubles.

Jason nodded his head in thanks before handing one of them to Y/N.

“Yeah?” He played dumb.

She nodded excitedly.

They clinked their shot glasses together before throwing them back.

“You know Dick would have my ass if I hadn’t intervened, right?” He asked her.

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. He’s overprotective like that.”

“I’d be the same way,” Jason agreed.

“Even if it was with an Amazon, who was bigger and stronger and had lived for hundreds of years?” Y/N teased, reminding him that she wasn’t done talking about his love life.

“Even then,” he smirked.

The night went on as normal. 

Y/N asked Jason a million questions about Artemis. 

And together, they came up with a game plan.

————————————

Dick was working on his computer.

Gray sweatpants on. No shirt. A couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee table where his feet were propped up.

He wanted to lie to himself and believe he was waiting up for Y/N to make sure she got home safe. But he knew Jason would die before he left anything happen to her – especially on his watch.

No, Dick didn’t bother trying to go to sleep because he basically couldn’t when Y/N was gone. 

Even if he was in bed and she was still up working or walking around the apartment, it was like Dick could feel her presence and that was enough. He needed her to sleep, even if she wasn’t right next to him.

Dick smiled when he heard the loud clattering of keys failing to match with the slot of the lock.

Finally the apartment door opened.

“Special delivery for Richard John Grayson!” Y/N screamed in a slur before he even could see her.

“Shh!” Jason hushed quickly. “He’s probably sleeping.”

But when they rounded the corner, Jason relaxed at the sight of Dick being wide awake.

Y/N was piggybacking Jason with a drunk smile.

“Looks like you two had fun,” Dick commented with a laugh.

“So much fun,” Y/N agreed.

But then she was squirming and Jason realized she wanted off. He released his protective grip on the back of her thighs and carefully dropped her to her feet.

Y/N sprinted to her boyfriend and tackled him into a hug on the couch.

Thankfully Dick saw this coming and had quickly moved the laptop off his lap before she crushed it.

“Well hello to you too,” Dick chuckled as she wrapped her body on top of his like a koala bear.

He kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I’m very tired. And Jason wouldn’t get me Taco Bell,” she whined.

Jason looked offended and held his hands up in surrender. “I did try to get you Taco Bell, but it was closed.”

“He’s lying,” Y/N whispered.

“OK,” Dick managed to suppress his laughter. “How about we get you into bed and maybe chug some water?” Dick asked her softly.

She just nodded into his neck.

“Alright. Here we go,” Dick warned her before he managed to lift both of them off of the couch and carry her to their bedroom.

He helped her out of her clothes and then got her into one of his big t-shirts, not bothering with shorts or pants. He managed to convince her to take out her contacts before he handed her a makeup removal wipe. Then he very nicely asked her to drink some water for him.

“I’m gonna go say bye to Jason and then I’ll be right back,” he whispered as he tucked her into bed.  

Y/N sleepily nodded. “Jason punched a creepy dude for me. So be extra nice to him, K?”

Dick sighed.

Of course Jason did.

When Dick walked out of the bedroom, his younger brother was chugging a glass of water in their kitchen.

“You punched a dude?” Dick asked as he crossed his arms and gave him a suspicious look.

Jason shrugged. “Just another asshole who didn’t know the word no.”

“Thanks. For always looking out for her, I mean.”  

Jason nodded.

“You spending the night?” Dick asked.

They purposely rented a place that had a guest bedroom. It was rather common for someone from his family to crash. A lot of the time it was someone hiding from Bruce out of spite and needed some space from the manor.

“Nah. I just wanted to make sure she got home. I’m walking back to my place.”

Dick nodded, expecting that to be his response.

But Jason seemed to be lingering for some reason.

“You OK?” Dick asked him after a few moments.

“Yeah! Yeah, I just…Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you make sure you don’t fuck it up?”

Jason didn’t need to clarify that ‘it’ was Dick’s relationship with Y/N.

Dick scratched the back of his head. This wasn’t a usual subject for him and Jason. They almost never talked about women with each other.

“I guess I just…” he thought about it for a moment. “I’m honest with her. So she never questions where we’re at. She always knows how I feel. And then it’s never scary for her.”

Jason nodded his head, clearly deep in thought as he mulled over Dick’s answer.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he finally said his goodbyes.

“Get home safe, yeah?”

Jason scoffed. “Always do.”

Dick locked the door behind his brother.

When he made his way back to the bedroom, Y/N appeared to be passed out.

But when Dick crawled into the other side, she instantly moved to him and placed a kiss on his bare chest.

“Hi,” she sighed sleepily.

“Hi,” he kissed the top of her head as he wrapped his arms around her. “What’s up with Jason?”

She smiled with her eyes closed. “Can’t tell you. It’s club business.”

Dick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

He tickled her sides. 

“Noooo,” Y/N whined as she buried her face into his chest.

Dick only stopped because her reaction was so adorable.

“I’m kidding,” she breathed her surrender. “Your brother…is in love.”

“In love, huh?” Dick said in awe, processing the idea. 

“And what advice did you give him?” He asked.

But when he looked down, he realized Y/N was now actually asleep.

Dick kissed her cheek and mentally reminded himself to run to the store early tomorrow so he could make them a greasy breakfast. He could only assume Y/N was going to need it with the inevitable hangover from a night drinking with Jason Todd.

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

Guess I wasn’t finished with them yet 😏

Let me know what you think. And I’ll see if I want to keep doing these. 

ALL BONUS CONTENT CAN BE FOUND: HERE

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging. 

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here. 

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story. 

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield​, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me. 

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this. 

“What’s so funny?” Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk. 

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.” 

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.” 

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?” 

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?” 

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?” 

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.” 

“You’re on.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp. 

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks. 

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.” 

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.” 

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red. 

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type. 

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path. 

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat. 

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers. 

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.” 

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.” 

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?” 

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise. 

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.” 

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily. 

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down. 

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back. 

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple. 

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.” 

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms. 

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own. 

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin. 

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve. 

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.” 

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head. 

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?” 

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him. 

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.” 

She’s not fucking kidding about that part. 

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan. 

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear. 

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up. 

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle. 

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.” 

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily. 

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.” 

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word. 

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles. 

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.” 

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?” 

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?” 

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now. 

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this. 

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair. 

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.” 

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?” 

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.” 

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart. 

“Poughkeepsie.” 

“Gesundheit.” 

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.” 

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I trust you.” 

“Really?” 

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.” 

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.   

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”  

“I’m not.” 

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.” 

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.” 

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.” 

“Tryna be a tough guy?” 

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.” 

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…” 

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.” 

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something. 

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark. 

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close. 

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest. 

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless. 

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human. 

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick. 

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks. 

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.” 

“Tell me what you want, Faith.” 

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm. 

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…” 

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”  

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains. 

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone. 

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent. 

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly. 

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it. 

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?” 

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.” 

“Faith.” 

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.” 

“What do you think I want from you?” 

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?” 

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.” 

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button. 

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue. 

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?” 

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.” 

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.” 

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.” 

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *  

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely. 

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. 

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter. 

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?” 

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.” 

“It does. I picked the lock.” 

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly. 

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins. 

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.” 

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable. 

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away. 

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks. 

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.” 

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.” 

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up. 

“Faith?” 

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?” 

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling. 

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line. 

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs. 

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?” 

“No, I’m busy.” 

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream. 

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in. 

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?” 

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand. 

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.” 

There’s a long, weighted pause. 

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.” 

“Faith…” 

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.” 

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?” 

“Dorchester.” 

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms. 

“Good girl.” 

“Well?” 

“Be patient.” 

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily. 

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.” 

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles. 

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt. 

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing. 

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans. 

“Harder,” she grits out. 

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs. 

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him. 

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?” 

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?” 

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake. 

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him. 

“Need you,” she pants. “More.” 

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet. 

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place. 

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.” 

“What did I say?” 

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain. 

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke. 

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table. 

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —” 

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries. 

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out. 

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too. 

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists. 

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.” 

“Anything you want.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge. 

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks. 

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.” 

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?” 

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.” 

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.” 

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…” 

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth. 

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer. 

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his. 

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.” 

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.” 

“At your service.” 

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy. 

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there. 

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time. 

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability. 

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *  

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this. 

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief. 

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy. 

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic. 

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine. 

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll. 

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp. 

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers. 

“Little bit. I like it.” 

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that. 

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead. 

This feels like a form of worship. 

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers. 

“More?” she murmurs. 

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit. 

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.” 

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes. 

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time. 

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight. 

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.” 

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.” 

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers. 

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths. 

“Gorgeous like this.” 

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“ 

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.” 

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows. 

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too. 

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her. 

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back. 

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.  

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful. 

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?” 

“Yeah.” 

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here. 

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles. 

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?” 

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed. 

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.” 

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress. 

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.  

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops. 

“You know how to get back from here?” 

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising. 

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.” 

“If things were different —” 

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.” 

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ” 

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?” 

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”  

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go. 

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.” 

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong. 

.

.

.

[kittenwhiskers]

Smartass - Peko x gn!Reader x Fuyuhiko

Peko and (y/n) have been spending the past few days pestering their yakuza boyfriend. Though they were fully expecting consequences, they would never have predicted the results!

A/N: Yes, this is a "no one dies" AU. Because we like it better that way.

!This is a poly gender-neutral reader-insert tickle fic that contains a bit of swearing!

It had been a rather chaotic morning on the island on this particular day. The majority of the class had decided today would be a beach day, and so, the morning was spent by (y/n) and most of their classmates on the golden sand. The early hours saw sandcastle competitions, water fights, and much more. By the time the afternoon rolled around, much of the class had dispersed. A few stayed behind at the beach, while most went to their cottages to rest before returning. There were only a handful of students that actually showed up to the restaurant, that being (y/n), Akane, Chiaki, Byakuya, and Teruteru. Everyone could tell the little chef was worn out from that morning’s activities, but he still insisted on preparing food for the handful present. No one was about to fight with him on that one.

(y/n) had been engrossed in some conversation they were having with Chiaki in between bites of food, when they felt a gentle hand lay on their shoulder.

“(y/n), are you almost finished with your meal?”

(y/n) turned around to see a pair of sharp red eyes staring back at them.

“Yeah, Peko, I guess I’m pretty much done,” (y/n) said with a smile, placing their eating utensil down on their plate, “why, what’s up?”

“Fuyuhiko-sama has requested us at his cottage right away,” she explained very matter-of-factly, though (y/n) could sense a tinge of dread behind her words.

The request confused (y/n) at first… until they remembered. They were filled with the same dread as they remembered all the pestering they and Peko had subjected the yakuza to over the past couple days. The three of them all understood it was all in good fun, but pestering was called “pestering” for a reason. (y/n) and Peko both knew this was coming, it was inevitable.

With a sharp inhale, (y/n) rose from their seat and nodded.

“Right then,” they said, pushing their seat back into place, “let’s go meet him, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Peko nodded without a word, and headed for the stairs leading to the lobby, expecting (y/n) to follow behind, however, they were stopped by Chiaki clearing her throat. They turned to the gamer girl, who proceeded to mouth the words “good luck”, and gave them a subtle thumbs-up. (y/n) returned the favor with a half-smile, before turning back and quickly following Peko down the stairs and out the doors of the building.

On the walk to the cottages, (y/n) tried their best to prepare themselves for a fight of some sort. They knew Fuyuhiko wasn’t going to actually hurt either of them, but whatever he had planned in retaliation was probably going to be intense. Peko already knew she was going to accept whatever was coming her way, she would never fight back against Fuyu… but she also knew (y/n) well enough to know that they wouldn’t go down without a fight, and she wouldn’t hold them back from that either.

It only took a few minutes before the two students had arrived, and were now standing outside of the short-tempered blonde’s cottage. They both stood tensely, looking at the wooden door, then at each other.

“So, are you gonna do it, or am I,” (y/n) asked Peko softly, referring to which of the two would knock on the door.

Peko seemed to grunt nervously, looking back between the door and (y/n). There was a moment of silence between the two of them, before Peko’s eyes finally stopped on (y/n) again.

“I don’t wanna do it,” (y/n) finally said with a laugh, which in turn caused Peko to laugh as well. If there was one thing (y/n) could be counted on, it was lightening a tense situation.

Peko finally stepped up and knocked on the door. As she stepped back next to (y/n), footsteps were heard inside the cottage. The two practically winced as the door finally swung open, revealing the smug-faced yakuza standing on the other side.

“Thought you two had pussied out or somethin’,” he said with a grin, motioning for them to get their asses inside, “what took so long?”

“My apologies, young master,” Peko apologized as she walked inside, “I had to retrieve (y/n) from the-”

“Hey!” Fuyuhiko snapped, cutting her off, “what’d we talk about? No more calling me that.”

“M-my apologies, Fuyuhiko-sama,” Peko corrected, nodding in understanding, “it’s a force of habit.”

Fuyuhiko grunted softly, shutting the door behind him once the two students were inside. He then turned back to them, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smirking a little.

“Well, I’m sure you two know why I called you here,” he said rather casually.

“Mm, beats me,” (y/n) said, waving their hands around their sides, “I got no clue!”

Peko had to fight back the urge to smile at her partner’s sarcasm as Fuyuhiko shot them a deadpan glare.

“Really?” he asked flatly, “no clue whatsoever?”

“Nope,” (y/n) continued, “but it must’ve been bad to make you drag us all the way out here! God, we must be awful!”

Fuyuhiko sighed, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“I shoulda’ seen this coming,” he growled. (y/n) didn’t know when too far was too far.

Peko was now giggling up a storm at (y/n)’s remarks, and (y/n) couldn’t hold back their own cheeky grin as they continued to tease the Yakuza.

“Or, maybe, we’re totally innocent, and you just wanted an excuse to get time with us to yourself-”

(y/n) was cut off by the wind practically being knocked out of them as Fuyuhiko tackled both them and Peko to the bed behind them, pushing them down on their backs and hovering over them.

“You think you’re real fuckin’ funny, huh, smartass?” he growled, pulling the two students close together on the mattress, “if you’re really as dumb as you’re acting, then lemme spell it out for ya. I brought you both here to show you why you don’t fuck with a yakuza…”

With wide eyes, (y/n) tried to make a break for it, wiggling to get up off the bed. Unfortunately for them, Fuyuhiko had faster reflexes than they could’ve anticipated. He grabbed them by the shoulder, pushing them down into the bed and keeping them pinned in place as he crawled up onto the foot of the bed, sitting up on his knees, and using his legs to pin Peko’s left thigh and (y/n)’s right thigh together, effectively trapping both the students in place at once.

“It took me a while to think of just the right punishment for you two,” he said, leaning over the two ultimates beneath him with a sadistic grin, “but I think I have something perfect planned out here…”

Faster than they could blink, Fuyuhiko’s hands shot down to (y/n’s) and Peko’s sides, squeezing with a purpose, causing both the students to break out in frantic giggles, and attempt to either wiggle out of Fuyu’s restraint, or swat his hand away. Perfect, Fuyuhiko thought, everything was falling into place.

“Neither of you are going anywhere,” Kuzuryu sneered, working his way up to Peko’s ribs with one hand while the other shot up to (y/n)’s armpit, “don’t waste your energy on trying to get away~!”

Peko only managed to cover her face with her hands, somewhat muffling her laughter as she arched into Fuyuhiko’s touch, meanwhile, (y/n) pinned their arms to their sides (which only trapped Fuyuhiko’ hand in place) and squealed loudly. This earned an amused laugh from the yakuza, who drilled his fingers further into their underarm.

“Jeeze, (y/n),” Fuyu chuckled, “You might be even more sensitive to Peko, listen to you!”

“SHUHUHUT AHAHAHAP!” (y/n) cried, twisting to pry Fuyuhuko’s hand away from the sensitive area. Fuyuhiko narrowed his eyes at this.

“Shut up, huh? Shut up, huh???” Fuyuhiko growled, lowering his hand just enough to drill his fingers into the top of (y/n)’s ribs, forcing their laughter up an octave, “you think you’re in any position to tell me to shut up, huh???”

“NOHOHO NOO, I’M SAHAHARRYYY!!!” (y/n) squealed, only earning a small chuckle from Fuyuhiko in response. He seemed like he was about to say something, before he was cut off by Peko’s pleas.

“Young master, plehehease!” The swordswoman cried through her hands, “n-nohoho mohohohore!”

“What did I say about callin’ me that, Peko?” Fuyuhiko warned in a low tone, moving his hands up to gently tickle Peko’s neck.

“NAH! F-FUYUHIKO-SAHAHAMA, NOHOHOT THERE!” Peko squealed, craning her neck to avoid Fuyu’s merciless fingers.

Fuyuhiko continued to tickle the two students like this for another minute or so, before pulling back and allowing them to breathe. He smirked at the mess of giggles on the bed beneath him, nearly satisfied with his work, before cracking his knuckles in preparation for his next move.

“Now, I got one more thing I wanna try here,” he said almost excitedly, “but since I ain’t got any straws to draw, it’s gonna come down to this, whoever laughs first, gets it first.”

“Fuyu, nohoho,” (y/n) whined pathetically through their giggles, “I cahahan’t take much more of this!”

“Aww, is that so?” Fuyuhiko cooed mockingly, bringing his hands down over each of their bellies, spidering at them through their shirts, “then it’d do you well to keep your mouth shut, huh?”

Almost simultaneously, Peko and (y/n) slapped their hands over their mouths to fight back the giggles threatening to bubble up from their throats.

“Nah-ah, hands away from your faces, that’s cheating,” Fuyuhiko scolded, “if you don’t follow the rules, I’ll just pick randomly!”

Upon hearing this, both the ultimates hesitantly pulled their hands away from their mouths. Peko raised her arms above her head obediently, while (y/n) reached down and gripped at the bedsheets. Both of the yakuza’s victims strained and whimpered to hold back their giggles as Fuyuhiko’s hands freely explored their tummies. This only lasted about 30 seconds before (y/n) thought they’d break… but relief washed over them when they heard Peko titter with giggles.

“N-nohoho, Fuyuhiko-sama, I’m sohohorry,” Peko begged as Fuyuhiko grinned down at her, “plehehease dohohon’t!”

Fuyuhiko only shook his head at her, still wearing his menacing grin as he reached over and pulled Peko’s shirt up enough to show her tummy, before firmly taking each of her wrists in one hand, and leaning down to pepper her belly with kisses! (y/n)’s eyes went wide at the sight before them as Peko squealed with high pitched laughter and giggles, wiggling every which way to avoid the ticklish sensation. (y/n) turned their head to the side and looked away, not being able to handle the anticipation of knowing they were next. It didn’t help much, though. They could only listen as Peko’s laughter grew louder and more frantic with each passing second, indicating that Fuyuhiko was doing more than just planting little kisses now. Still, they couldn’t bring themselves to look!

(y/n) practically jumped out of their skin when they heard Fuyuhiko deal a raspberry against Peko’s skin, followed by Peko’s squealy laughter hitting an all-time high!

(y/n) couldn’t help but try to wiggle their way off the bed, but was only met by a warning squeeze to the side by Fuyuhiko’s hand, causing them to yelp and recoil.

It wasn’t long before Peko’s hysterical laughter was reduced to a feeble wheeze, at which point, Fuyuhiko finally released his restraint on Peko, allowing her to curl over onto her side.

“You’re up, (y/n)~” Fuyuhiko taunted, straddling both of (y/n’s) thighs, and reaching for their shirt to pull it up. He was stopped by (y/n’s) hands grabbing his own, but the yakuza only chuckled and began to wrestle their hands away. He looked over at Peko, who had now sat up and wiped the tears away from her eyes, and smirked.

“Hey, Peko, babe,” he said, “come help me get this little brat under control, will ya?”

Peko looked down at (y/n) reluctantly, who looked back at her with a pleading look in their eyes as they continued to fight Fuyuhiko off.

“I could always tickle you again,” he hummed with a shrug. This caused Peko to jump, and crawl over behind (y/n), grabbing their hands and pinning them above their head.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed down to her partner. Though (y/n) felt completely and utterly betrayed, they understood. It was clear now that Fuyuhiko was a ruthless tickler… and unfortunately, they were about to face his finale.

Fuyuhiko smiled wickedly as he rolled up (y/n)’s shirt, and leaned down to their tummy, planting light, ticklish kisses across every inch of it, making (y/n) throw their head back with laughter and drum their heels against the bed frame. They had no idea kisses alone could tickle so much! Little did they know, it’d only get worse from there…

Their laughter rose to frantic squealing as Fuyuhiko focused most of the kisses around their navel, and used his thumbs to pinch and massage the sides of their tummy.

“FUYU I CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!” (y/n) cried, fighting as hard as they could to fight out of both their boyfriend’s and girlfriend’s restraint, “PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAP!!!”

Fuyuhiko only scoffed a little as he pulled his face away to look at (y/n), his thumbs still drilling into their sides.

“You can handle it,” he sneered, “a little tickling’s never killed anyone.”

(y/n) froze and tensed up as they heard Fuyuhiko begin to inhale, but before they had time to react, the yakuza had already buried his lips into their flesh, blowing raspberry after raspberry into every inch of their tummy, driving them up the wall! Poor (y/n) shrieked and howled with laughter, making the other two swear the others could’ve heard them all the way from the beach!

Fuyuhiko smiled through all the raspberries he delivered as he spidered his fingers up and down (y/n)’s bare sides, before focusing the last few raspberries directly on top of their incredibly sensitive bellybutton.

This seemed to throw (y/n) over the edge, as their laughter quickly turned into silent wheezes. With a final amused chuckle, Fuyuhiko sat up and patted (y/n)’s tummy, rolling their shirt back down and scooping them up, allowing them to lean against him as they recovered from the tickle-attack. As the yakuza stroked their hair, he patted the bed to his left side, inviting Peko to snuggle in on his opposite side, to which she complied, allowing Fuyuhiko to wrap his free arm around her.

“You two know I love you, yeah?” he asked with a smile, resting his head against Peko’s shoulder while keeping (y/n) wrapped in his other arm.

Peko chuckled and smiled down at her shorter boyfriend.

“Of course we do, Fuyuhiko-sama,” she replied. Even though Fuyuhiko acted all big and tough, he still needed reassurance from time to time. Peko and (y/n) were more than okay with that.

“Wehehe’re still getting you back for this, though,” (y/n) giggled weakly.

“Oh, most definitely,” Peko agreed.

“H-hey, that’s not how this works,” Fuyuhiko argued, “This whole thing was supposed to be getting us even!”

Kuzuryu would never catch a break with these two, he should’ve known that by now...

[quillquiver]

The Wind Beneath My Wings

DeanCas Coda to 15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

“…And did I mention that I had seventeen cavities, man. Seventeen! What the fuck, right?”

Castiel gives a sympathetic hum, folding his hands in his lap as he watches Dean literally throw articles of clothing at the duffle on the floor. Things he’s never seen before, like knitted sweaters and hats find themselves lumped in with wash-soft jeans and well-worn plaid shirts.

“It sucked ass, Cas,” Dean continues. He frowns at a pair of wool socks before shrugging and tossing them on the steadily growing pile. “And dairy? I can’t eat it! I had like seven grilled cheeses and I puked my fuckin’ guts out—”

Cas squints.

“—And then,” Dean says, hands moving explosively. “Then some sleezy shifter gets the fuckin’ drop on me, and Sam is useless ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ giraffe, so we get captured so we can—and I shit you not—wrestle some The Rock, tank-looking motherfucker! How fucked is that?!”

“Very fucked,” Cas murmurs placidly. In the interest of not ruining whatever tentative truce they’ve come to, he does not gently mention that eating seven grilled cheeses is insane for literally any human being, nor does he mention that Dean should consider changing his eating habits in the interest of his teeth.

“…So now we have to go to Alaska to get our luck back. Sam obviously wants to fly because he’s insane, but we’re driving because I A) don’t have a death wish, and B) don’t think our flimsy freaking IDs are gonna hold up at an airport. We have to drive through Canada, Cas. Canada! I don’t wanna have to listen to Sam’s rant about Canadian healthcare again—”

“It is a thorough rant.”

“Exactly! See? You get it.” Dean seems to realize that he’s staring a moment too long after the fact, and he clears his throat and purses his lips. “So, uh. How was your day, huh? How—shit!”

He steps backwards and trips over his own feet.

It’s as endearing as it is completely hilarious. Cas snorts, covering his amusement with a cough and an arched brow when Dean grumbles at him, the tips of his ears pink. “Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he mumbles. “You got any fun stories like this, huh? How’d this shit manifest in Heaven?”

Cas considers this. “…It didn’t.”

“What?”

“It didn’t,” he repeats. “Nothing changed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean frowns.

Cas tilts his head to the side, getting comfortable as he leans back on his hands. “I’m not the hero of this story, Dean.”

“What the hell’re you talking about, yeah you are—”

“I’m not,” Cas says. “Everything went exactly as expected. I still have awful luck, but that’s… not new.”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah but was it worse than normal? There’s no way you were spared, dude.”

“Dean, I’m telling you—”

“Cas, look, it’s just not possible, okay? If me and Sammy are the heroes—if I’m the hero, and you’re—I mean—” Dean’s holding a t-shirt in his hands that is currently being twisted within an inch of its life, though this seems to be something he isn’t aware of. There’s a blush high in his cheeks and he swallows thickly, frowning as he bites his lip. “You’re a hero.”

Cas’s heart almost leaps out of his chest. He feels his palms begin to sweat and he wipes them on his slacks. “I don’t think love interests are considered heroes,” he says quietly, feeling vaguely ill at the admission. Every cell in his body holds its breath.

“Uh—” Dean swallows. “What?”

“Love interests,” Cas forces himself to say again. He can’t pigeonhole himself, if he does that he ruins all hope of regaining the shred of normalcy they’ve worked so hard for. “Ah. They’re not main characters. Eileen is—”

Dean scoffs. “You’re not Eileen.”

It’s the speed with which he says it; the casual surety of it, like those words don’t pin Cas to his seat and cause his heart to ache. It shocks them both, judging from the way green eyes skitter to the floor and then back. Nervous but… deliberate. Heavy. When Dean speaks again, his words are sturdy.

“I mean, no disrespect to Eileen,” he says carefully. Measured. “I think she’s great. But she’s not you.”

Cas is half-convinced he died in heaven. There’s no other explanation for the way Dean is looking at him, right now.

“Look, um. We’re a team, alright?” Dean continues. “We fit. And I—come on, man, you know what I mean, I just—I wanna… dance,” he finishes lamely. “With you.”

“You want to dance with me,” Cas repeats quietly. He feels all at once elated and like he’s going to faint. “I—” A pause. A frown. Cas looks away and feels the weight of everything they’ve ever been through weigh on him. “I don’t think I know how.”

“You do,” Dean says. He speaks low and urgent. “Cas, you definitely do.”

“Dean—”

“It’s real easy, look.”

Cas gets pulled to his feet, Dean arms circling his waist to bring them chest-to-chest. Their foreheads press together and Dean gives a shaky exhale. Cas doesn’t know if he’s breathing; he doesn’t think he is.

They sway and Dean says something sweet that Cas can’t hear for the blood rushing in his ears. Though he’s been wanting this for so long—eons, it feels like—he never ever gave a thought to what it would be like if he was lucky enough to have it.

A kiss is probably a good place to start.

Carefully, Cas tilts his chin until their mouths brush, and Dean falls into him like he’s waiting for the opportunity. It’s soft and almost painfully sweet; fingers flex against his waist while Cas fists the material of Dean’s tee. This is—the fact that this is happening, that they’re doing this, it’s—

Dean pulls away with a pleased little grin, and Cas finds that he chases him in the half-moments after. But where social protocol might have called for embarrassment, Cas can’t bring himself to be, not when it makes Dean smile more widely. He wants that expression on his face, always. He wants the way Dean moves to nose behind his ear, the way he squeezes his waist, the way he buries his face in Cas’s neck and breathes: “See? You’re a natural dancer.”

It’s overwhelming; what he says and how he says it, and Cas doesn’t have time to gather himself and even attempt to respond before Dean is pulling back with a cocksure grin and a smirk. “And y’know what, fuck Chuck,” he says. “You’re my hero.”

Cas raises a brow. “Mm,” he murmurs. “But am I the wind beneath your wings?”

It’s the right answer; Dean lights up before making like Cas has wounded him, yelling obscenities about puns and pushing at him until they’re horizontal on the bed and kissing happily. Even with the God mess, and Dean’s clothes holding too much static, and knocking their foreheads and teeth twice, it’s the best night of Cas’s very long life.

“Did you ever know that you're my heroooo….”

“Dean, focus—”

“And everything I would like to beeeee…”

“Dean—”

“I can fly higher than an—mmph! Hey, I gotta finish the chorus! Cas, you’re so—oh.”

It will take more than this to fix what’s between them, Cas knows. But that’s fine; if there’s anything on Earth worth fighting for, it’s this.

It’s him.

[phoebehalliwell]

Hello, I just wanted to say I'm a major Charmed fan and love all four sisters! That being said, as much as I love Paige, I've still always hated that Prue had to die (even though it's been over 20 years, I'm still not over it), and I hate even more that Prue and Phoebe's relationship never had a chance to truly recover from her lie about Cole. Also , I think could see why you shipped Prue/Jack, there relationship certainly had a Moonlighting like dynamic to it, didn't it?

yeah wait we did just clear the twenty year anniversary of prue dying in may huh crazy how time works but like. like okay because ik the whole the way the story goes was ~they didn't know if they were killing off shannen or alyssa~ they left it ~open ended bc they didn't know which sister would die~ but like. they knew. oh bro they so knew. like dude. phoebe got a hot new steamy love interest filled w drama and intrigue who was like integral to the plot after basically two seasons of being love-interest-less prue got what? justin?? prue got an episode coming to terms w the fact she will die. like. they knew okay. and like. what breaks my heart is prue as a character like deserved So Much More like she deserved to break free of this narrative of matriarchal sacrifice that she had been locked into like prue practically had to sacrifice her childhood to raise us yeah yeah but like bro there are genuinely so few places where she got to like actually experience life outside of protecting her sisters and then she died protecting her sisters like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. like bro u knew u were going to kill her and you end her & phoebe on that. even if we're sticking with the narrative they didn't know which sister would die there was the very conscious choice to end the narrative on that. so like. 🤬

of course like. tbh. i don't think prue & phoebe's relationship needs to like fully like "recover" from cole i don't think this is nearly as big of a rift as say roger bc i think between the past three years like they've really grown as people and have a new respect for one another that really had yet to be unearthed in it pilot but it's still like. like phoebe was in the underworld trying to save cole when prue died (& piper almost died!!) and we never do see her grapple with that. like even when we're sowing seeds of doom by making cole the source and have phoebe go full dark side like even in the midst of tanking phole we never bother to get some good old fashioned anger self hatred and making the wrong choice like. like that good have been really fun.

but then!! circling over 2 prue/jack bc i do really love prue/jack i think like my favorite thing about it is like. just like how fun and stupid it is. like. like okay so for starters i will say i love the idea of jack as the one to be prue's first real love interest after andy because with andy like you really did have this whole childhood friends to lovers this deep mutual understanding and trust and love and passion like definitely set up to vibe like soulmatism and then he fuckin bites the dust. but like. it's 1999. it's shannen doherty. she can't be an shw forever like you need your female characters to have love interests that's just kind of the way the world works but how do you top andy? how do you beat like the love of her life her perfect man? do you try to go well here's her perfect-er man,, this one's even better than before!! that we did so many countless times with phoebe no because that shit's fucking stupid instead they said here's jack sheridan & he fuckin sucks. & i love it i really do for starters excellent representation for women who are into lame ass guys like i know it's easy to say like haha i'm into guys and aren't they all lame but i'm talking specifically a man being lame is what makes him unreasonably sexy it's a mental condition i know i suffer from it it's bad but it's also like. really funny. but it's also bad. but that's not the point. the point is prue/jack was always supposed to be something kind of stupid something with an imminent expiration date you know? this is not andy. i mean from the moment we met andy we're like hearing wedding bells right from the moment we meet jack we're like ew wtf lol??? like both prue And jack know goddamn well entering this relationship that this is pointless. this is only here to end. and yet!! in spite of that!!! genuine love blossoms!!!! like. whether or not prue was ever in love with jack is definitely debatable i don't think she ever was like in love with him per se mainly because she didn't like. she didn't want to be. she didn't want to do love again that wasn't the point of this relationship so she's not gonna do it. and then for jack theoretically it should be the same thing because like he does constantly play it so nonchalant like he's not head over heels fucking in love with her but he is!!!! he took this relationship that was meant to be casual and stupid and over in a month and he fuckin blew it man he fell So So In Love With Her. like. drives me crazy it does i love that dynamic. and there was something there from prue's side too like. like over and over again she's telling him like you're not the guy for me you're not the guy i'm going to end up with But right now you're the one i want. like. like she has this vision definitely this andy-like figure someone who will you know be the stable father to her kids and her steady husband for many many years to come and her brain's going yeah no way that's jack but at the same time she doesn't care??? like, she likes him right now? she wants to spend time with him right now??? like fuck that potential future mr. right because he's not the one prue wants to spend time with right now she'd rather spend the night with jack like!!!!!! there are some vastly underrated dynamics going on with pruejack that definitely make me start munching on drywall every time i talk about them but like Oh My God. them <3. lol.

[fayfictions]

Could write something super fluffy of blargxthedooo ?!

bro i don’t think u understand how excited I was when i got this ask, i literally gasped out loud thank u so much

also this is based off of one of blargs videos lmao

(yes i am aware this is formatted differently, i had this one prewritten)

~

It was hard keeping their relationship secret when they were constantly recording together and felt the urge to call each other pet names all the time. They were planning on telling them eventually, but they didn't feel it was

They managed in recordings, but when they met up for PAX (the first time they had seen each other in person after a while) it was even harder.

They hadn't even gotten the chance for a proper kiss when they got there, since the boys all bombarded them the second they had gotten there. They stuck with a hug, maybe hugging a little longer than everyone else, and moved on. They were itching to get time by themselves, but every time they got any time it was interrupted almost instantly.

Matt was glancing longingly at his boyfriend, trying not to be frustrated at how they somehow kept getting separated between friends. Eric was sending pity glances back, just wanting to kiss him until his lips went numb.

Finally the boys had somewhat dispersed, and Matt finally could sit down next to Eric. Ash was still there however, waiting for Bre to get out of the shower. They were having casual conversation between the three of them, and Ash had accidentally interrupted Matt's sentence.

"What were you gonna say, Blarg?" Eric asked, nonchalantly wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he scrolled through his phone.

Matt glances over at Ash, who was doing the same, and he made a move. "We should kiss- I wasn't going to say anything." He pretended that he hadn't said anything, but couldn't help but to glance up at his boyfriend.

Eric stares at him for a couple of seconds before he began to grin. "I'd be down to fuck- okay, well, let me know if you remember what you were gonna say."

At this point Ash was looking up from his phone and at the two with a concerned look on his face.

Matt began to giggle at Eric's response, and he could see Ash shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

"What the fuck?" Ash said, followed soon after with a "huh". Eric and Matt were giggling together at this point.

"Nothin'- nothing sus going on here," Matt said.

"That was so casual between the two of you that it kind of scares me." Ash is laughing a little, thinking that it's just a weird bit.

Eric and Matt just kind of look at each other with a knowing look in their eyes, and Ash's laughter dies a little bit.

"Wait, are you two actually...?"

They look at Ash, who's looking between the two slightly confused. The look on their faces is enough for him to connect the dots and he gasps. "No fucking way are you two together. When the fuck did that happen?"

Eric shrugged, pulling Matt a little closer. "I dunno, a couple months-"

"You two have been together for a few months and you haven't told me? What the fuck! Have you told anyone else?"

Matt coughs awkwardly. "Uh, not really, no. You're uh. Actually the first."

"Really?" They both nod, and Ash kind of laughs with a grin. "Okay, that makes me feel better. I can't believe y'all kept it secret for so long though. That's impressive. When were you planning on telling everyone?"

Both of them shrugged.

Ash sighed. "You two are fucking messes, I swear. Y'all should do it this trip."

"You think so?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, just to get it done and over with. I mean, y'all have been hiding it for months as you've said. You should just do it now while all the homies are together, y'know?"

"He's got a point," Matt says, nodding along.

Ash scoffs. "Of course I have a point. My ideas are always good."

"Well now hold on," Matt starts to argue. "That's a fuckin' lie and a half and you know it."

"Okay Matt, name one bad idea I've had. I'll wait."

"I'll have to go through my footage, but-"

"Nope! You can't think of anything, therefore there's no bad ideas from me."

"I don't think that's how that works, Ash," Eric laughed.

"Nope, that's how it works. Fuck y'all."

[writerofshit]

Secret Santa:X

(This is half headcanon, half fic, all fun times and emotions)

(Shoutout to the Penthouse discord server for help on some of the gifts, would have been lost without you)

The last Christmas they have in the penthouse, Ryan brings up Secret Santa again. It’s partly a joke, partly a nod to the nostalgia that’s been eating at all of them the last few months. He brings it up when they’re all gathered in the living room, watching Gavin try and prove his stealth abilities in Hitman.

(“Just because you can be stealthy in a video game doesn’t mean I’m letting you come with me.” Jack had said at the beginning of it all.

“If I get silent assassin you have to take me!”

“This is your fourth run through!”)

Anyhow, Ryan brings it up, all nonchalant. “Remember that year we did Secret Santa?”

“No?” Jeremy says honestly.

“Before your time.” Michael says with a smile, patting him on the head.

“It was fun. We should do it again.”

(”Goddamnit!” On screen, Gavin dies again.)

The next day they have a meeting of all the ‘movers and shakers’, as Geoff has taken to calling them. He announces that Secret Santa is yet again a thing, and no, Matt, you can’t get out of it. There’s no budget, because they all have access to more money than they know what to do with.

They throw eleven names in a hat and go from there. Geoff calls first pick because he’s an asshole like that, and his choice picks next, so on and so forth.

 “Just get your shit done by Christmas, and we’ll do it then.”

--

Geoff pulls Gavin, and only panics a little.

The kid has everything he could ever want, what’s he really supposed to do? He considers what he might need, ends up crossing ‘bulletproof vest and a helmet’ off the list because it feels a little impersonal. He could do liquor of some sort, but he suspects there will be enough of that floating around on Christmas day.

He considers a camera, knows Gavin is into that kind of shit, but he’s lost a lot of knowledge in that department over the years. The only person who knows enough is Gavin himself, and that kind of defeats the point.

He ends up going for a new pair of gold shades, because the old ones are pretty worn out after six-plus years, and he’s almost positive Gavin has lost them. (Probably in Ryan’s room, but that’s neither here nor there) He gets a pair that have diamonds along the arms, and even though they’re ridiculously expensive he thinks it’s worth it.

Gavin adores them, has them on within 30 seconds of unwrapping them. He pokes himself in the eye, and that feels like a bonus to Geoff.

--

Gavin pulls Trevor, and while he plays it off at first “Oh, this will be easy, I got this person for sure!” he absolutely has no idea what to do.

 There’s a weird bit of time where he tries to get to know Trevor better. He learns absolutely nothing new, despite following the guy for almost a week.

There’s a night he lays in bed with Ryan, bitching about this whole thing. “What the hell do I do? This was terrible for me last time, why would you suggest this?”

He ends up calling Barbara from the Roosters to try and figure out something, who promptly makes fun of him for not knowing anything about the guy he’s worked with for years. She does give one bit of new information, so he goes with it.

He gives Trevor tickets to the next Motocross event, because it’s apparently something he’s into. He throws in a NASA t-shirt as a joke, a nod to the world Trevor left behind.

Both items go over well, Trevor immediately pulling the shirt on over what he’s already wearing. He won’t shut up about Motocross for the rest of the day, either.

--

Trevor pulls Ryan, which he’s immediately terrified of.

 He knows Ryan well enough to know that there won’t be any serious repercussions if he fucks it up, he won’t get gutted over a poor gift choice. But he also knows he’ll get that weird stare Ryan does when he’s pretending to consider whether or not to hurt someone. Plus he won’t live it down from the rest of the crew.

At first he goes to Gavin for help, because apparently nobody is taking the ‘secret’ part seriously. Gavin absolutely refuses to help him, mostly for the laughs. He knows Gavin’s getting a kick out of watching him squirm over this, which is so unfair. Then he asks Jack for help, who just shrugs. 

“You’re a smart guy, Trevor, you’ll figure something out.”

He does, sort of. He gives Ryan a 24 pack of diet coke (because what else?) and an actually beautiful rainbow knife. It seems pretty heavy duty, and he knows its right up his alley. He also throws in some earplugs as a joke.

 “So you can tune out Gav’s idiocy whenever you need.”

“Come on, Trevor. I’ve had years of practice at that. The knife is gorgeous though.”

--

Ryan pulls Alfredo, and he’s not too worried about it.

Alfredo’s their go-to sniper these days, and a new sniper rifle seems pretty obvious. Maybe a gift card to Ammunation or something? It does feel a little lackluster, even to him, so he brings it up to Gavin one night, while Gav is still debating t-shirts from Amazon.

“That’s a bit boring, isn’t it?”

“You’re buying a NASA shirt for an ex-aerospace engineer. I’m gonna need you to rethink your stance on this one.”

“Nah. You gotta do something better for Fredo, he deserves it.”

Which. alright, then what the fuck is he supposed to do? He gets his answer the next week when he sees Alfredo on a motorcycle for the first time.

“I’m going to teach you how to actually ride that thing.” Which is good, a chance to catch up and hang out. Bad, because Ryan’s method of teaching is ‘learn by doing’ and does in fact result in shouting.

Ryan still gives him the sniper rifle, which he is far more excited about.

--

Alfredo pulls Fiona, and it’s the first time he marginally regrets joining the crew.

He’s got no fucking idea what she’d like, what gift she’d appreciate and not hit him over. He tries to be casual about asking around, hoping someone might have better insight. The rest of the crew catches on immediately, and they flood him with false information.

“She loves chocolate. Favorite Halloween candy, in fact!” Michael tells him, but the grin he has says otherwise.

“She mentioned something about wanting to learn a new language.” Jack says seriously.

“Get her an English to French dictionary, she’ll love it.” Gavin tacks on.

“French, yep. She definitely wants to learn that one.”

Lindsay is the only one who actually helps him. “She’s been known to enjoy a drink or two.”

By sheer luck he happens to walk into one of the thousand arguments Fiona has with Michael over the whole ‘Halloween candy’ debacle, and he knows immediately that's a bad route to go down.

He ends up making a gift basket full of liquor mini’s and various candies. He makes sure not to include any chocolates, and throws some extra blowpops in, just to be safe.

Thankfully, she does appreciate the thought he put in, and she says she’ll only share with Alfredo since everyone else is an asshole.

--

Fiona pulls Lindsay, and it’s not hard to figure out what she’ll like.

 She considers something chaotic, the two of them wreaking havoc on the city together. It makes sense. She also thinks about organizing a ‘girls day’, getting all the ladies of the crew together to go out and fuck some shit up. There’s a lot of logistics involved in that one, including convincing some of them to be out in the field like that.

It crosses her mind to bring Lindsay to a shelter to play with cats, because if there’s one thing Lindsay likes more than chaos, it’s cats. That’s also a bit of a logistical nightmare, not to mention the strength it would take to pry her away.

In the end she goes with cat merch. It’s a basket full of goodies, including a mug with a cat holding a bi-pride flag, a dress with various cartoon cats on it, and a cat necklace that has her birthstone as the body.

It’s beautiful, and Lindsay just about cries. She too, immediately changes into her new clothing, and she drinks everything out of the mug for at least a month.

--

Lindsay pulls Matt, and at first she panics.

She knows him fairly well, but like... He’s a real weirdo, what’s she supposed to do with that? She wonders what games he could use, if there’s anything he hasn’t bought himself.

Her confusion lasts until she mentions it to Michael. (Only after he let it slip who he’d picked.)

“Are you fucking kidding me? Matt’s the easiest goddamn one!”

“Bullshit! Name one thing you know about M.att B.ragg!”

“He eats like shit! Give him a box of donuts and he’ll lose his fuckin mind.”

Her response of  “Oh my god.” is barely heard.

She spends a week trying out different recipes, much to Ryan’s delight. He’s happy to play taste-tester while she finds the perfect flavor combination.

She winds up going with a double chocolate espresso concoction. Matt is, of course, super stoked about his cupcakes, and damn near has to fight Ryan off to protect them.

--

Matt pulls Jeremy, which is pretty much a slam dunk.

Whiskey is the obvious choice, one he’ll absolutely go with, thank you very much. Who said taking the easy way out never got you anywhere?

And it would have, if it weren’t for Geoff.

There’s a debate that happens about a week before Christmas, something about the necessity of going to the liquor store. Michael and Jeremy are firmly pro-trip, and Geoff just wants them to “stay home and do some goddamn work. Besides, it’s not like half of you guys aren’t buying each other liquor anyway. In a week I’m sure we’ll be fully stocked.”

Which, alright. Fuck Matt then, huh? He’d genuinely thought it was a good idea, a mix of thoughtful and practical.

He decides to pair the whiskey with- well, it’s kind of a joke gift, but at least he won’t be accused of only buying liquor.

He commissions a customized cowboy hat. Half purple half orange, split right down the middle. There’s a neon yellow buckle on it, and it’s the ugliest thing Matt has ever seen in his life.

Jeremy loves it though, thinks it’s goddamn perfect. He wears it for the rest of the day, and for the next heist.

(Michael is less enthused.)

--

Jeremy pulls Michael, and that-

That’s harder than it should be.

He and Michael have been doing this... Whatever the fuck it is for over six months now, and they haven’t goddamn talked about. Not really. They’ve had moments,sure, here and there when they’re both drunk and thinking far too much about it. Reminding each other that they’re happy, that this is a good time, wouldn’t change it for the world-

But there’s still nights they sleep alone and they don’t talk about why. They still don’t really mention it to anyone else, even if they all know. Jeremy still doesn’t know how to answer when someone asks what the deal is with him and Michael.

So it’s hard, right, to come up with a relationship- appropriate gift. Too jokey and he’ll feel bad. Too serious isn’t their style at all. Plus like… how’s he supposed to do that in front of everybody? Just because they know there’s something there doesn’t mean they need to put on a show.

He settles on the obvious, nice bottle of tequila and a couple of shot glasses. It’s not exactly personal, but it’s good enough to show the room.

Later, in a quiet moment they can steal away, Jeremy offers to take him out the next night.

“We’ll do the bar thing, just you and me. My treat.”

“Oh yeah? You’re buying my drinks all night?” Michael asks him with a sly grin.

“I uh- I’ll get your drinks for as long as you’ll have me.” and it doesn’t come out exactly right, but they both know what he means by it.

Earns him a smile and a sweet kiss, and that alone is worth it.

--

Michael pulls Jack, and he runs through a few options.

He considers buying her furniture, because he knows she'll need it when they all finally do move out. But Jack has a good head on her shoulders and probably already has that shit on lock.

He looks into custom shelving, for all the knick knacks she's collected over the years. He could get it designed in colors she'd like and shell out extra for lighting and all that shit. But she doesn't have a new place yet, as far as he knows, so that's kind of a bust.

He could give her what amounts to a gift certificate, an offer to pay for whatever she wants made, but that seems kind of… Empty?

There's the age old alcohol gift, but that's been done before, and is probably being done by almost everyone else.

He mentions to Lindsay how weirdly difficult it is to buy something for Jack, get’s zero advice but somehow helps her figure out the whole Matt mystery.

In the end he decides to help her out and piss her off, a little bit of a win-win kinda thing. He buys her a couple of new shirts, bold and flowery and almost as bad as Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim shtick. He hates them but he knows she loves them, so it’s worth it.

He tells her it’s because her old shirts gotta be falling out of fashion, an opinion she is not happy about.

But it’s fine, because he also gets her tickets to fucking Disney World, of all places. He even offers to go with her, which she absolutely takes him up on.

It’s more fun than he expects, and it’s a really good chance to actually spend some time with her. He hadn’t realized it had been so long.

--

Jack pulls Geoff, which.

It’s no secret that Geoff is a sentimental bastard when it comes to the crew. It’s exactly why he’d spent months talking to her about the possibility of selling the penthouse, trying to figure out exactly how everyone would react, trying to figure out how he would react to not having them all so close anymore. She spent countless nights listening to him wonder what it meant that he wanted his own space.

Objectively, he was probably a bad person but his love and fierce loyalty to the crew made up for that, in some ways, right? So how can he kick them out, how can he do this to them, he’s being selfish-

And she had just explained to him that he had to do what was right for him. That it was understandable. That he was right, they could all use the opportunity to be a little more independent. She was looking forward to having her own space, and in time the rest of them would too.

So when she pulls Geoff’s name, she knows she’s gotta lean into that a bit. She could get him some books, some puzzles maybe. He’d mentioned off-hand that he missed having the space for them, because the kitchen table was always covered in some sort of crew shenanigans.

She does get him those, because she knows they’ll get some use.

But the big thing is the collage.

She’s had pictures of the crew on her phone for years, dating all the way back to her and Geoff in a shitty apartment. She’s got some of Ray, curled up on the couch with a DS in his hand. Gavin and Michael wrestling one drunken night. Ryan, nodded off on the couch after a heist, face paint still on and a complete mess. Jeremy trying to teach Matt something resembling self-defense. Lindsay cuddling a stray cat she had taken in. Trevor and Alfredo in matching clothes, playing up the ‘twin’ joke that had been going around. Fiona in that bright yellow suit, modeling for her Instagram.

There’s one she gets at the last minute, gets somebody from the support team to take right before their latest heist. It’s all eleven of them, full heist get-up, masks and obnoxious fashion choices and guns tucked here and there. They’re in the boardroom, running through it one more time before they take off, and in retrospect, it’s probably the last time they’ll do that in that room.

She sets that one in the middle, surrounded by all of these moments from the last 12 years.

“For your new place, when you find it.” Jack says.

It’s beautiful, and it makes Geoff cry. It brings some sniffles from a lot of them, even if they all deny it.

Leaving the penthouse isn’t the easiest thing for any of them, but it’s the right move. After all, they’re still a family.

[sinfulredemptions]

@dragcnsden​ submitted:

{ ☆ } If someone told him that he’d ever find someone to feel this- comfortable around— especially down in Hell of all places —Angel would have called them a fucking liar. If they told him it’d be with one of the most feared and dangerous bastards in the place, well… he’d have called them out on their bullshit even harder. And yet, here he is… lingering in the doorway as he looks across the room at Al, for once actually feeling hesitant about joining him. Ironic, isn’t it?

It’s late at night, as most of their pleasant chats seem to be… just another aspect of the nighttime to add to Angel’s ever-growing love admiration of it. And as he rests against the wooden frame, jazz lightly hinting the air and a warm fire flickering in the room making shadows dance in the drowsy lighting, he can’t help but smile. A soft, nervous one… charmingly quirked to the side, as all his sincere ones are, unlike the wide, showy grins he often dons around others.

He’s really gonna fucking do this, huh?

With a deep breath, he releases it with a small shake of his head before pushing away and slowly sauntering into the room as per usual.  ❝  Heya, Luce stellare~  ❞  He pipes up with a playful purr, yet another nickname flowing forth like second nature; albeit, this one meaning more than Alastor could ever likely know. Plopping himself down on a plush chair beside the deer demon, one leg crosses over the other as an elbow props on the armrest, a cheek laying against a closed fist as he gazes into the gently-roaring fire.

It’s a nice sight… The warm colors dancing across the logs, the sound of crackling mingling with the music in the air, helping turn what could have been Silence into a comforting melody. Although, Angel must admit… the moment would be far more soothing if he didn’t have a stubborn decision lingering on the cusp of his mind. Evident by how his legs lightly bounces, free hand lightly drumming slim fingers against his other armrest as he emits a soft, discreet breath… Alright, time to stop being a bitch.

❝ Hey, Al?  ❞   Angel begins, gaze still focused on the fire, and holding a hint of nerves,  ❝  I don’t mean ta- Y'know, make things weird or nothin’…  ❞  The last thing he wants is to destroy the companionship he’s found, the security he’s stumbled upon… And yet- it still feels wrong, in a way, to not be sure that Alastor- understands. At least, as much as is safe for him to.  ❝  But I jus’, heh… I dunno… I jus’ wanted ta let ya know that, I- … I really appreciate these li'l chats we have.  ❞

Looking over at the deer, a sheepish smile tugs at his lips, cheeks tinged with a gentle pink,  ❝  It ain’t often that I can feel this comfortable around someone… Fuckin’ neva’, as a matta’ of fact. So, I figured I oughta thank you…  ❞  Shrugging, gaze wanders to the fire as he raises a brow,  ❝  Now, don’t worry- I ain’t plannin’ ta start spewin’ all my deepest feelin’s an’ shit on ya.  ❞  Don’t want to drive him away, after all. Angel’s no fool… In this relationship arrangement they have going on, HE’S the one who needs Alastor.  ❝  I jus’ wanted ta let you know, that- yer a pretty damn great guy, Smiles.  ❞  

Glancing over at Alastor, expression and tone turns playful— as if trying to backtrack from the snippet of unguarded sincerity he had allowed Alastor to see, to KNOW —as he adds,  ❝  I mean- Yer an asshole, don’t get me wrong…  ❞  Cue a light laugh, a subconscious brush of his bangs as his legs shift positions, hips shuffling slightly   to become more comfortable,  ❝  But you ain’t all bad… In fact, yer one of th’ betta’ guys I’ve eva’ known.  ❞  

One of the best, actually… { ☆ }

Routine.

If there was one thing that Alastor took solace in, it would routine. Things done a certain way at a certain time...as sure as the false sun rose and set, as steady as the ticking of the clock above the mantle..and as inevitable as a certain spider coming to peek into the parlor to see what he was up to that night.

It was...comforting in a way and it sort of alarmed Alastor honestly.

How easily he had come to expect the other to join in on his private time, and he didn’t hate him for it. Angel was respectful, despite their first few meetings where he had been exceedingly crude and the like, but he had seemed to understand that unlike most of the denizens down here, such things were not even on his radar, let alone something he would want to indulge in.

It had been like a switch being flipped he’d noticed, the lewder comments had died down and their dynamic had gotten much more comfortable over time. It was strange to Alastor, who was unused to people wanting to be within his company, most quick and HAPPY to flee at the first sight of him, and for good reason. His violent and murderous reputation preceded him, if the little story that Vaggie had told Angel was any indication~

Tonight, he was tending to his butchery tools, the black leather roll laid out on the table with the whet stone attached to it with a small vice. As per usual, his dress was....casual...almost. Hair pulled back, his suspenders off his shoulders, hanging about his waist on the couch, but tonight he didn’t have gloves on as he pressed the knife to the stone and set to work, humming lowly along with the music as he almost tenderly sharpened his blade before lifting it to check the sharpness against his thumb.

He didn’t look up as the other settled into the couch next to him, close to the fire. Alastor knew Angel enjoyed watching the flames, so he had made the habit of leaving that spot open for him and as always, there was a cup of coffee waiting for him on the table, seemingly out of nowhere. There was a slight jittering on the couch that caught his attention and set his teeth on edge slightly, his ears giving the tiniest of flicks as he glanced over, unable to continue his work while Angel jostled about, but then...he stilled as he began to speak.

A brow perked and he tilted his head with a light, amused expression on his face. The smile that he normally wore, the steel trap wound tight was relaxed just a bit with Angel, and he was sure the other had noticed. They had gotten rather good at reading one another with these late night excursions. Comfortable hm? It was a rather strange thought, Alastor pulling his gaze away from Angel to continue his work, but one ear swiveled towards him would let the other know that yes, he was still listening.

The soft sound of the blade dragging along the stone rumbled like a strange purr under Angel’s words as he spoke. Alastor pondering them over and he chuckled softly, there was a flash of steel then, glinting at the flat of the knife slipped under Angel’s jawline, turning the spider’s face to look at him. “I will argue Angel dear, that I am many things, but a ‘great guy’...isn’t one of them.” The static of his radio dropped out, letting the lower tone of his true voice to ring through the empty room as he leaned in, the two of them rather close as the low crooning of a jazz singer filled the air with lyrics of slow, dark nights.

“But...” He quirked a smile as he shifted the blade upward, giving Angel a gentle pat on the cheek with it. “I do enjoy your company. I find our late night rendezvous to be engaging and in fact, rather relaxing!” The static returned then as the stag withdrew with a little hum. “It is rare to have company that isn’t terrified of me and actually rather interesting to talk to! Besides, I think we have a bit of common ground from being so close to one another death wise~” A small laugh then as he put the finishing touch on his blade, giving it a light thumb and smirking at the thin line that he cut into the skin there. Such a bare graze of a gesture and already small beads of blood welled at the line.

Satisfied, the small wound was given a lick and he tucked that blade away in its slot, picking up another to repeat the process. That was perhaps as close to a thank you and a confession of friendship anyone would EVER get out of Alastor~

@burningfcols​

[elusive---ivory]

Circus Act - Part 14

Sorry for the long wait!! I've been caught up in school and haven't been overall feeling the best mentally. I appreciate all of your support!! Thank you for sticking with me!!

WARNING: Violence, and Sexual themes

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Sandy could put her finger on it. Her anxiety seemed to get taunt her repeatedly as she drove to the corner store to buy some supplies for Arthur.

A bottle of clover green hair dye, and some face paint. Sandy looked at the bottle for a little while. Arthur's bizarre motives seemed to worry her more and more.

She headed back to the apartment with a small brown paper bag in hand.

Arthur was on the couch, with his head tilted up. His chin was rested under a gun. He quickly hid the gun underneath the couch cushions, before Sandy could see.

Sandy walked into the living room, handing Arthur the small bottle of hair dye.

"It was the last bottle." Sandy said, handing the bottle to him.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking at the bottle of green liquid.

He appeared to have a strange glint in his eye like before. His green eyes studied the liquid as it swisher around in the bottle. Arthur seemed so fixated on it, like it was a magic potion.

"I'm gonna be on the Murray show." He said to himself. "Aren't you proud of me, Sandy?"

She nodded, smiling at him. "I'm so very proud of you, Arthur."

Arthur grinned, chuckling a bit. He already knew her answer.

That's Life by Frank Sinatra started blasting on the radio.

Arthur stared intently in the mirror as the hair dye poured down his face. Green dripped from his hair as he danced around the bathroom in his underwear.

Sandy was sitting on the edge of the bed with a cigarette between her lips.

Arthur walked back into the bedroom, picking Sandy up from the bed to dance with her.

She giggled as Arthur twirled her around. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, softly kissing it while slow dancing with her.

Afterwards, Arthur sat at the vanity in the bedroom, carefully applying white face paint.

Sandy sat back on the bed, staring at Arthur through the vanity mirror, admiring his features.

She did have that feeling in the back of her head, nagging at her. She'd been meaning to ask him about the gun she found, but never brought it up.

'There's probably an innocent reason to have a gun. Maybe it's a prop.' Sandy thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door buzzer.

"Coming." Arthur shouted, getting up to answer the door.

Sandy notice Arthur grab something, and put it in his pants pocket. She followed him out of the bedroom, curious to who was at the door.

Arthur opened the door. Randall and Gary were standing outside the door with a wine bottle in hand. Arthur glared at Randall, but his expression changed as he was greeted by Gary.

"Hey, Arthur, how's it going?" Gary said, walking into the apartment.

"Oh, hi guys," Arthur said, "come on in."

Randall and Gary walked inside the apartment.

"Hey fellas." Sandy greeted them with a smile. She was slightly surprised to see them, but happy nonetheless.

"Sandy, I didn't know you were staying here." Randall chuckled. "Looks like you got the girl after all, huh, Art." He teased.

Arthur smirked over at Sandy, who made her way to the kitchen.

"So, did you and Sandy get a new gig?" Gary asked.

"No." Arthur said, shaking his head.

"Ah, you must be heading down to that rally at city hall." Randall smiled, nodding his head.

"Oh, is that today?" Arthur asked, looking kind of surprised.

"Yeah." Randall looked confused. "What's with the makeup, then?"

"My mom died." Arthur said, taking a brief drag from his cigarette. "I'm celebrating."

Sandy looked over at Arthur from the archway that connected the kitchen to the hallway. She couldn't help herself but stare at Arthur's stature. He looked so unbelievably dreamy with his body slanted against the hallway wall.

There was something so hypnotic and charismatic about him, probably why she fell for him in the first place. It almost made her forget her terrifying worry.

"Right, that's why we came by. We figured you needed some cheering up." Randall said, gesturing over at Gary, who was holding a wine bottle.

"That's sweet." Arthur smiled. "But, no, I feel good. I've stopped taking my medication, and Sandy's been taking care of me over the past week or so. I feel a lot better now."

"Well, good for you. I'm sure Ms. Cheekbones feels the same way." Randall said, looking over to Sandy in the kitchen.

Sandy glared at Randall. Cheekbones. God, she hated that stupid nickname. She definitely didn't miss that when she quitted.

"So, hey, listen. The cops have been asking around the shop, about those subway murders." Randall said, trying to get Arthur's attention.

"They didn't talk to me." Gary pointed out.

Randall turned to Gary, shrugging. "That's because the suspect was a regular sized person. If it was a fucking midget, you'd be in jail right now." Randall chuckled.

Arthur let out a high pitched disturbing cackle.

Sandy looked over at Arthur. Something just didn't seem right. She stayed in the kitchen, just to keep watch on Arthur.

"Anyway," Randall continued, "Hoyt said that they talked to you, and now they're looking for me. I just want to know what you said."

Sandy saw for a slight second Arthur take out a small piece of metal.

"-because I just want to make sure our stories line up, and seeing as your my boy." Randall continued speaking.

Arthur nodded his head. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense. Thank you, Randall. Thank you so much."

Sandy's eyes blinked for just a moment, then saw Arthur stab Randall in the eye with the small pair of scissors, he hid in his pocket.

"Arthur, STOP!" Gary cried.

Sandy's mouth laid there agape, as she dropped to her knees. At first, she was in shock. Warm tears fell down her face as she cried silently on the kitchen floor.

Gary began to cry louder and louder.

Arthur slammed Randall's head repeatedly into the wall.

Once Arthur was done, he threw Randall's lifeless corpse to the ground.

Gary hid in the corner, still crying from watching the horror that played in front of him.

"Do you watch the Murray Franklin show?" Arthur asked. The way he said it was so casual as if nothing at all horrendous just happened.

Gary just stood there shaking.

"I'm gonna be on tonight." Arthur smiled. Blood splattered along his painted white face. His eyes looked dark and hollow.

Gary was just confused at this point.

"Fuckin' crazy, innit? Me on the telly?" Arthur said, in a fake British accent. Then, he giggled. "It's okay, Gary. You can go."

Gary was still shaken, trying not to look at the dead body in front of him.

Arthur, of course, gave Gary a quick scare.

Gary screamed as he stumbled towards the door. He tried opening it, but the door was locked.

"Hey, Arthur?" Gary asked, shakily.

"Yeah?" He said, then he chuckled as if it was a silly thing to do. "Oh, sorry."

Gary left in a panic, rushing out the door, just before that, Arthur gave him a small his on the head, and thanked him altogether.

Next, there was the frightening Sandy that was laying on the kitchen floor.

"Sandy." Arthur said.

Sandy gently lifted herself up. Her eyes were still wet from crying. "I know." She said.

Arthur's blood stained hand cupped her cheek, wiping away any tears.

"You're not my Arthur." Sandy said, quietly.

"Not anymore." Arthur replied. "I don't think I could live without you."

Sandy lips began to twitch into a smile. Her smile turned into laughter. "Oh god. That's ironic."

"How so?" Arthur asked, still holding her close.

"Believe it or not. I was gonna kill myself that night. I had nothing going for me. I felt so alone. So trapped in a loveless relationship. Dennis never gave a shit about me, but you. I saw something in you. Something I didn't see in anything else." Sandy began to laugh more. "Because of you, I'm finally free. I'm free, Arthur." She shouted.

Arthur smiled, softly. That's all he needed. He cupped both of Sandy's cheeks and began kissing her, roughly, smudging her cheeks with Randall's blood.

Taglist: @princessgeekface, @memory-mortis, @gloomyladyy, @jokerflecker, @joker-flecked-me, @mr--clown

[hiyorisarugaki]

do you believe in soulmates?

// Blame @hirako5hinji / @paws-bells for this drabble because we were talking about it and the idea wouldn’t go away. So this is dedicated to her. c:

Premise: Hiyori does not survive the winter war and dies from her fatal wounds- and all Shinji has left are the words she once said. He hopes that he can find her again out of trillions of souls. But she had once believed in soulmates... and they should find each other again, right? 

Shiyori.

“Moron, we ain’t yer allies… is what Hiyori would say.”

Probably.

And that is all he has left. Words that she might have said. Words that she almost said. Words that she did say, over and over. Baldy, horseface, moron, dumbass, idiot, Shinji -Shinji, Shinji…

I’m sorry.

And he would give anything in the world for her to open her eyes… open that mouth of hers. To call him any number of names under the sun. To curse him out. To go on a rant against slow-walking people or why Aizen felt the need to wear glasses all that time? He’d give anything to just hear her voice again.

But he’s never going to hear it again. He knew this the terrifying moment he caught the upper half of her body. The moment her warm blood and spinal fluid soaked into his shirt and trousers. He could still smell that acrid scent even now. And she was saying sorry to him, like she was saying her last goodbye. Her eyes trembling, not shedding a tear as she tried to look at him… look at him like she was seeing his face for the very last time. His heart was in his throat and she was just smiling. Like dying in his arms was better than dying anywhere else. Like she was sorry…

If she was really sorry, she wouldn’t have left him all alone like this.

The battle with Aizen was over and yet, Shinji still waged war against his peace of mind. He was consumed by thoughts of Hiyori. Trying to preserve her memory and erasing everything else around him. On autopilot, he accepted the job of his old captainship, still imagining all the rage that he ought to have received by one very angry and short girl. He wore a cravat with his uniform, waiting for her mocking little laughs to fill the air. He stared at his reflection and was distracted by all the red that he could not see.

Hiyori… Hiyori…?? What do I do?

His thoughts were in complete contrast to his actions. On the surface, he appeared as calm and aloof as ever, but his mind was complete bedlam. Only those that knew Shinji well, the vizard he had known all his life, were privy to the staggering mess he had become. Not that they were coping very well either with the loss of their friend.

Kensei had accidentally set a plate for Hiyori, as was natural when they all ate together for over a century, and when the little pig-tailed vizard didn’t show up for her meal… the food never made it down any of their throats. Or if one of them would say something, they all paused, waiting for Hiyori to join in with her own opinion. Or loudly interject about something just for the sake of arguing and they naturally hitched their breaths, waiting to hear a voice that would never be heard again.

Shinji withdrew in his room. In his mind. Trying to preserve that voice. Trying to make sense of this paradox of loss – how could something that had gone, weigh him down like this? She had been such a light little thing and now the prospect of facing this world without her was unbearable.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Shinji?”

“Haaa? What’re ya talkin’ about now?”

“Soulmates… someone yer fated ‘ta meet. Someone made just for you.” And she had looked at him with large, ochre eyes – the meaning in them so painfully obvious that he was kicking himself now. If only he could go back in time and now have turned away from her.

But now, he was not looking away. He was in complete agreement with this concept that he had denied then. That he had not wanted to believe until he lost her. Soulmates- a fateful meeting-?? Then that stood to reason that these souls should reunite with each other.

A little spark of hope flared in his heart at the feeble concept and he immediately sought out Kisuke- his friend that knew a little about souls. How they were made and the chances of… reuniting with her soul again.

Kisuke, was as sharp as ever when Shinji casually brought up the subject. He was also, as was in Kisuke’s nature, quite sympathetic.

“There are a lot of souls in the universe, Hirako-San-” sometimes Kisuke still had the terrible habit of slipping into formality with him. When he was trying to deliver bad news. “There is no guarantee in that the souls we meet as humans, we would ever reunite with them in Soul Society. Not our mothers and fathers…and not our friends.”

He tipped his hat down, pale eyes obscured by the brim of his hat. It was difficult to be clever and not have any answers that made people happy.

…

“However, nothing is truly impossible.”

Armed with that feeble hope, Shinji made it through the agonising years without Hiyori. That one day, he would be reunited with his friend and he could finally unleash his hell on her. To pour out all the anger - to scold her for being so reckless… to make him watch her die. And leave him dying, bit by tiny bit as the years turned into decades. His hope wavered none. Sometimes, he would catch a flare of reiatsu in rukongai and drop everything to flash step towards that reiatsu – only for it to be a false alarm.

“Shinji, it’s been fifty years already… how long are you going to mourn her memory? Do you think she’ll want you to live like this?” Kensei was trying to be practical, but he was still shaking. Kensei could barely say her name without losing air from his lungs, so Shinji thought it was a bit rich that he was lecturing him on mourning.

… But he could imagine her smirking at him, pulling a stupid face and rolling her eyes.

“Yeah baldy, how long are ya gonna continue pinin’ like some tragic fuckin’ heroine? Get over it. Tch… baldy? Ya never even really lo-”

And he couldn’t imagine her voice any longer. Whenever it came to the L word, Hiyori’s voice became distorted. She never used that word… but Hiyori’s love had never been confined to words… had it?

He ran his fingers through his hair, it was growing longer and shaggier. But it didn’t matter at this moment in time. He had another search to conduct in another city of the world. He didn’t care how long it took to find her. He would find her, he vowed. Shinji was a patient and driven man when it came to the important things in life. And he was confident that he would find her. He had always been able to find her in the past. No matter where she had run off to, or what danger she had been facing… he hadn’t been too far behind.

If only… he had been far enough in front.

“Brat… still evading me, huh?”

And his vision swam with red. The red of her jacket and trousers. The red of the straps of her slippers as it flung off his face and knocked a tooth loose. The red of her elastic bands as they fastened into her hair.  The red of her blood… soaking the ground and crawling underneath his fingernails.

He could never unsee Hiyori Red now. That shade she had painted herself with and made her own. Like a crimson banner of rage only Hiyori could wear. There was no other shade of red that would do.

Not even the shade that was on pretty lips that were inching towards his. That were pouting sadly at his refusal to join them. Not tonight. Not ever, as far as Shinji was concerned.

“Aww, but Hirako-Taichou, it’s only for a bit of fun. Why can’t you come with me?”

Shinji’s smile was rueful, but his sincerity managed to cut through their playfulness easily. “Sorry, I’m waiting for my first love.”

If Hiyori had heard that, he would have got a slipper to his face. He missed it- that incoming missile of her violent affections. Goodness… how long would she make him wait? It was because he did not want to end up like this tragic Romeo that he had avoided love and commitment in the first place. And yet, in a cruel twist of irony, the moment he realised he was in love with her, she had left him. Life and Hiyori were determined to make him suffer.

A few more, arduous years followed where he searched and searched like a mad man. Like a deep sea diver searching for pearls and only coming up with empty clams. His luck seemed to run drier and drier, but his drive remained. For Hiyori, he would keep rushing to the human world, keep trying to find her in this stage of life and tell her everything he felt.

And the time he saw her again, it was- with a delicious regularity- a painful encounter.

“What the hell? I dropped all my lunch!! AGH! Watch where yer fuckin’ going!!”

And Shinji, who had been sustaining himself with only memories of her voice until now whipped his head around so fast, he could hear the crack. The way she stood, with a rosy, defiant glare, freckled cheeks and scowling mouth. His heart flip-flopped when he saw the tiny glint of a fang peeking out from just below her cupid’s bow lips.

“Tch, what the hell’re ya staring at, perverted baldy!” And with enviable regularity, from the force of a love that had been building for over two centuries, she took off her sandals and whacked him with it.

It was then that Shinji actually started tearing up. He had thought… he would never get to hear her except outside of his head.

Meanwhile, Hiyori’s wrath at her ruined lunch turned into concern.

“S-shit… oi… are ya okay? I didn’t hit ya that hard,” she was squinting at him, trying to find blood and saw that he was alive. Seriously, why the heck was he crying?

And then, she saw that he was crying with joy and not pain as she had originally thought. A huge smile split his face in half and the pig-tailed girl could feel her own eyes widen with the briefest flicker of déjà vu. After all, it felt like she had seen that grin before… but where?

“Geez… yer a weird one, ain’t ya?”

But, he apologised smoothly. Composed himself as much as he could and attempted to control the impulse to take her in his arms and never, ever let her go.

“Hiyori, let me get ya lunch ‘ta make it up ‘ta ya.”

She agreed without much persuasion. However, it was only when she had steadily eaten through her sixth portion – did she realise that she had never given him her name and yet he appeared to know it?

“Uhhh.. wait… Hirako, right?”

“Call me Shinji. Or baldy, is ya prefer~” Shinji smiled, unable to take his eyes off the girl who had managed to somehow tear her attention away from the food.

“Okayyy… anyway, how’d ya know my name, even though I hadn’t told ya?” 

“Easy. It’s because yer my first love after all. And yes, I do believe in soulmates, Hi.Yo.Ri~”

Hiyori punched him in the face, cheeks flushed scarlet. “Fuckin’ creep! Are ya some kinda stalker?!”

Please keep punching him for the rest of his life- - it was the only way he could get her to touch him without being ... creepy.

Oh well, he could not stop grinning. Hiyori- he had found her again.

And the answer to her question, yes. 

Yes he did believe in soulmates.

He was looking right at her.

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 52-55

Chapter 52

Valen interrogates Andi about his father’s decision to make her his rescuer, and instead of going “take that up with your dad because I don’t know his reasons for doing this,” Andi tries to be all apologetic about all the Kalee stuff and saying how she’s changed and Valen’s like nu-uh!

“It was a mistake,” Andi said again. “If I could take it back—”

Valen gritted his teeth. “Murder isn’t a mistake.”

Have I finally gone off the deep end or is this fucking funny?

“If I recall, you were the one who allowed your little sister and her friend to sneak out for a joyride on your father’s brand-new transport,” Andi replied. Her words were soft and casual, but her eyes were on fire.

“Spectre,” Valen said. “Spectre first, and always. You failed her as that.”

“Again,” Andi said, “it was a mistake. I’ve had to live with the cost of it.”

“Kalee didn’t!” Valen screamed. “She didn’t get to live, Androma!”

It’s honestly impressive that whenever I go into a chapter that’s relatively short and think it’s gonna be fine and I’ll just skim over it, Shinsay proves me wrong by including more bullshit that I just have to talk about. But hey, part of the reason I have this blog is so that people know what not to do and examining why certain things just don’t work, with the added bonus of having the context for it.

It’s also impressive how two women somehow keep making the wrong choice for the same one book, over and over and over. Every narrative choice in this book is wrong.

So, what’s wrong with this particular bit? Remember when Dex and Andi were having their stupid argument and Dex, right after trying to apologize for what he did and explain himself, turned around and started blaming Androma for it instead? Here it’s even more jarring, because Andi genuinely believes she was to blame for Kalee’s death and genuinely wants to atone (or she claims to want that, at least). So when she, out of nowhere, starts trying to defend herself and shift the blame onto Valen? That shit don’t make no sense, y’all.

I think this is a result of the book having too many pointless POVs. We’re in Valen’s right now, so obviously he needs emotional triggers to react to and start monologuing over. He needs to be provoked and damn logic and character consistency, he’s gonna get provoked! Andi’s words make no sense and will not be examined closer once we’re back in her POV, she just said this OOC shit for the sake of drama, yet given everyone’s awful characterization, even small things like these serve only to undermine the characters and their motivations even further.

Shinsay don’t understand that sometimes, no arguments is far more impactful than a dramatic verbal battle of cheap witticisms. Instead of this, Andi could’ve just sat there, quietly, letting Valen dunk on her because she feels she deserves it. Hell, this entire conversation could’ve been saved if only Andi’s blame-shifting line had been given to someone else! I didn’t even read it as her saying it at first and had to double-check and that’s when it fell apart to me.

God, I could go on like this forever. Feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate on dialogue and characterization, I guess? Let’s just move on.

The others try to figure out how Valen was taken and what happened when he was, asking him if he knows anything about Queen Nor, at which point Rage Unlocks Within Him, and he gets up and leaves.

I also want to mention that Valen talks about “things being tense after Kalee was gone,” but Kalee’s been dead for four years, while Valen was taken two years ago. Sooo uh ... huh? He makes it sound like it was two months after and not two years. He could’ve said things “changed” after her death and it would’ve sounded better. Idk just a preference I guess.

Also ... I just realized Valen’s been missing and tortured for two years. How he still talks normally is ... pretty bonkers, to say the least.

Chapter 53

Andi goes out to find Valen but finds Lon instead, his blue tiddies out.

Lon leads Andi to where Valen is, all while dropping hints that Lira has something to say to Andi and that Andi shouldn’t try to influence her decision. To her credit, Andi says she won’t, and that she loves Lira as her sister.

Andi and Valen sit around in nature for a bit and talk about Valen’s art. I don’t hate it?

“When I was locked up, I almost forgot what colors looked like,” [Valen] said, lazily brushing the stick back and forth against the mud. “Did you know that black is more than just a single shade?”

Anish Kapoor would like to know your location.

Valen says he can’t forgive Andi for what she did, but he can also not forgive himself for being part of those choices(????). Andi speculates that her accusation earlier must’ve struck him deep, but that’s all we get on that, no explanation as to why she accused him at all.

“In Lunamere, I had nothing to keep me company but my pain and my thoughts. I had lots of time to think about that night, and everything leading up to it. Time to realize that we were raised in a society where perfection is the only option. But that doesn’t mean it’s always possible. We all made bad choices that night, not just you. She got on that transport herself. And I chose to stay behind.”

Andi wanted to speak, but she feared it would shatter this strange, heart-wrenching moment they had somehow found themselves in.

Thanks for telling me it’s heart-wrenching, lest my idiot self got lost in all this emotion and forgot to realize what was happening.

Christ, even when Shinsay have a decent dramatic and emotional moment going, they just can’t keep their grubby little hands to themselves, huh? I know it’s your book but can you shut the fuck up for a moment and just let the prose stand on its own?

God, if only there had been an editor.

Both Andi and Valen admit they wish they’d died with Kalee and in any other more competent book this would’ve been quite touching.

“Without Kalee...” Andi began, finally voicing the realization she’d come to terms with these past few days. “Without Kalee, there wouldn’t have been a sentence for me to run from. And without that running, I never would have found Dex. And without him...”

“You wouldn’t be the Bloody Baroness,” Valen finished for her. “My father would not have hired you.”

It was a vicious cycle, one that Andi wished she could have undone before it had ever started. But it was her story. Her life.

Her life is a series of reactions to things outside of her control? Love that for a protagonist.

Listen, I know it’s supposed to be sad and stuff, but even Andi’s backstory reinforces her reactionary personality and the way the plot is driven by things completely outside of her control. It’s hard to feel invested in a character when they never make choices and instead only react to whatever happens to them.

Anyway, Valen and Andi seem to have gotten over their differences and go to the festival together. That was easy. I guess it’s to throw us off the scent and make it more surprising when he suddenly turns out to be evil? I’m honestly not sure. It’s pretty bad either way, but I don’t have to tell you that.

Chapter 54

We’re with Lira again and she’s staring off into the distance thinking about the festival. Lon appears again, tiddies still out, but now his muscles and “sculpted” chest feels kind of weird to comment on since we’re in Lira’s head? Whatever, maybe Adhirans are weird like that.

Lon says some cutesy shit about how technically Lira is this planet’s princess but she doesn’t reply or even think about how that would make him the prince? He just says he’s her brother and has to guard her. Maybe Adhirans also don’t let men have political power because that’s what Shinsay think feminism is.

Anyway, they join the other girls and head to the festival while Lira mopes about her decision and how she can’t have two families. Except you can. But whatever. Logic isn’t dramatic enough, I suppose.

“It’s time to let loose,” Breck said. “Lir, you look like you’ve just puked up a pound of Moon Chew.”

“Lira doesn’t puke,” Gilly said.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone pukes,” Breck added.

“I’ve never seen her do it. And I spy on her, like, all the time.” 

Lon chuckled beside Lira. “I see it,” he whispered. “What draws you to this crew.”

I don’t.

Also they’re in the same close space it seems, so I have no idea how they 1) don’t bother to ask Lira what’s going on and 2) don’t notice Lon being all whispery and shit. Convenient!

Gonna gloss over the spying bit as well, I see. Hey, they do have those eye implants that you don’t need consent to activate. Maybe Gilly’s been using it to perv on the rest of the crew.

Lira decides ... not to decide, and just fuckin party down for tonight. I guess in this universe it means she’s gonna get blackout wasted, because That’s What Adults Do. I should also mention that she decides not to decide and then never has to decide anyway because the plot intervenes and the choice is made for her. Love that for a character.

*sigh*

Chapter 55

We’re in Dex’s POV and we get some decent descriptions of how cool the festival is with more incidental aliens and traditions. Dex spots the crew and thinks about how they’re his crew now and realizes he’s bonded with them. I’m glad this is spelled out because I would not have noticed it myself, and frankly I both do and don’t mean it this time.

They’ve only been together for a couple of days, tops. I guess extreme situations make people bond faster but I really feel like we’re jumping the shark here. At the same time I can tell that Dex clearly fits into the crew pretty well, and this just feels forced and redundant. All in all, this comment is just unnecessary. Let the characters evolve and grow closer naturally, Shinsay. You don’t need to convince us they’re a crew, you can just show us and we’ll believe it!

Dex spots Valen and Andi and of course we get a horny description of how cool and sexy Andi is and how impressed Dex is that she and Valen are already friends. Then he decides to get drunk and eat some meat.

Frankly? Relatable. Chapter? Pointless.

[isa-ghost]

Achievements Unlocked?

The last decade has COMPLETELY shaped who I am now and the fact that it ends today and essentially sends me off into the next one where turning 30 is the end is something I can’t wrap my head around and not just bc it’s barely 9am as I’m writing it. Ten years hasn’t felt like ten years and all the shit that’s happened during those ten years feels like it’s happened in the last like,,, 3.

Basically this is just me going How The Fuck Did All Of This Happen In A Decade and highlighting the big things that shaped who I am now.

Uhhh this is long I’m gonna-

2010/2011 (Shit’s A Blur):

I started noticing aesthetic interests I had.

I developed my love for the outdoors and exploration.

I started realizing vaguely spooky things were really intriguing to me.

I got SUPER into Harry Potter.

Which lead to me creating my first two Ocs.

I started switching from drawing animals/landscapes to drawing people.

I made my first cluster of friends I hoped I’d have forever. (Spoiler alert: only still have one of em).

2012:

I started identifying with punk rock & emo culture/aesthetics.

I made my first cluster of online friends (Spoiler alert: don’t talk to any of em now)

I got into YouTubers.

I got into anime.

I made my first “blog.” It was a Facebook page for a fictional character.

I discovered my favorite band.

I made my first online friend I hoped I’d have forever (still have em so far!)

I met my future wife.

I started roleplaying with Ocs.

Which lead to making more.

I started drawing digitally using bases. Which started my improvement.

I made my own first little community via my FB page.

Which lead to an rp group of more friends I hoped I’d have forever (still got a handful of em!)

I discovered my other favorite bands.

I started using Skype.

I got into more anime.

My parents were officially fully separated. 

Which began the very start of realizing my dad was verbally abusive.

Congrats Isa, You Need Glasses You Dumb Fuck. Hooray astigmatism.

I graduated 8th grade.

2013:

I was essentially forced to move in with my dad for high school.

I started high school.

Officially became total anime trash and started watching them like crazy.

I THINK I hit 100 Ocs at some point this year. Just kept makin them from here.

Met my first cluster of irl forever friends (spoiler alert: only have 1 now).

Learned having Ocs was Not Just An Isa Thing, Holy Shit I Thought I Was Just Weird.

Promptly fell in love with learning about other people’s Ocs.

Realized Wow, I Kinda Can’t Stand My Dad And I Don’t Trust Him.

Had my first boyfriend. *gag* He was nasty.

Experienced my first long distance relationship. It lasted 3 days.

2014/2015 (Shit’s Also Blurry):

Got another long distance boyfriend. First relationship I genuinely liked the person.

I realized talking multiple people through the lowest points of their lives and keeping them from harming themselves was a sign I should maybe get into psychology and do that as a job.

I started getting interested in researching mental disorders.

Realized Okay Yeah, I Lowkey Hate My Dad

Realized I had A Concerning Amount Of Symptoms Of Depression. Fuck.

Realized Huh, Girls Are Pretty Too,,,

My friend taught me about bi and pansexuality. Casually started identifying as pan. Didn’t know shit about LGBT+ stuff.

Was shown a video by my friend. Decided Wow I Really Like This Screaming Potato Guy.

Acquired one more forever friend I still have.

Got slapped in the face by Gravity Falls.

My mom moved out of the rural town I just spent the last like 8 Years Of My Own Character Development In, Dammit

I realized money and finances Fucking Sucks.

Had the,, probably worst year of my adolescence. Angry, depressed, sick of my dad. It was Not Great. Almost started self-harming, only didn’t because I’d be a hypocrite if I did after helping my friends stop doing it.

Homestuck invaded my life around here I think.

Decided I’m Gonna Live With My Online Friends One Day! (spoiler alert: nope).

Was kinda forced by my dad to move out of the apartment I lived in and therefore forced to transfer schools.

Got to meet my future wife irl for the first time. Wow that was,, so gay before we even realized.

Okay Hold On, This New School Is,,, Really Nice.

2016:

New school. New me. New friends. New everything. Fuckity shit fuck.

Okay wait they have an anime club like my other school did we good.

Met another two forever friends that I think really are forever friends now.

Angry Shitty Depression Time Died Down A Little.

Somehow learned about evilsonas. Huh, Does Jack Have One? ... Ok Cool, They’re All People’s Ocs. Meh.

Started learning how to drive. Oh My God This Is Fun.

Lost my second ever pet and was... very confused when I wasn’t as traumatized as I was the first time I lost a pet.

Boyfriend kinda Thanos snapped from existence bc his irl life was hectic.

Experienced what it’s like to have a friend that died.

Wow my irl best friend is hot. ... Okay I Think Boyfriend’s Absence Is Bothering Me. *proceeds to ignore that*

Gets into some more bands.

Knock Knock, You Have Separation Anxiety, Isa.

Finally decided to try out high school things like homecoming. Ooh That Was Actually Fun.

The beginning of the worst end to a friendship I’ve ever had starts. Not Handling It Well.

Discovered Fooster. Cue hyperfixation on new favorite YouTuber and more new friends.

Wait What The Fuck What Just Happened To Jack’s Camera,,,, OH MY GOD HE ISN’T-

HE IS. OH FUCK HE IS. MMMMHELLO KNIFE MAN.

Totally forgets he exists for the next like 10 months.

Realization I Really Fucking Love Halloween.

Discovered what asexuality is and immediately identifies because I thought I was just weird.

Hmm maybe I should start watching this Markiplier guy

Big Sad Times, My Friends Graduated. Next Year Gonna SUCK.

Tried out Dungeons & Dragons. Fuckin loved it.

2017:

Ah fuck I’m a senior in high school this is gonna be a trip.

Discovered I like photography.

Literally where did this school year go it’s so blurry.

Was convinced to end the relationship with boyfriend. He’s still a good bean.

Hey uhhhh online best friend do u big gay.

WE big gay.

Found a book I really like that isn’t Harry Potter, damn it’s about time.

Ok But This Book Really Fucked Me Up, I Love It.

OH FUCK WAIT I’M GRADUATING HIGH SCHOOL.

Oh that wasn’t so bad.

Actually had to be PUSHED by my friends to have my first kiss with my girlfriend at my graduation party because I was too busy going [dkasjdjf] about having her physically in my presence at all.

First super memorable vacation. Wow I Fucking Love Traveling.

Got to meet another online friend!! I am,, incredibly lucky about being able to do that, this was like the 4th friend I got to meet.

[That one motion blur conspiracy theorist meme] SABRINA IM TELLING U JACK IS UP TO SOMETHING HIS TWITTER IS FUCKY

Gets punched in the throat with Kill Jacksepticeye on the way home from vacation and remembers how much I fucking love Anti

TIME FOR COLLEGE. I made a mistake.

TIME FOR COMMUNITY COLLEGE. Much Better.

Friend I Still Have From High School 1/2 introduced me to Bendy and the Ink Machine. HYPERFIXATION TIME BABEY.

Let’s,,, lets try Tumblr. Jack exists there a lot. And so does good art of everything I’m interested in.

Wait Who’s This Baby With The Mustache, JACK EXPLAIN

Okay there’s More Going On Here, lets get active in the community.

WHY THE FUCK IS THERE SECURITY FOOTAGE. THIS IS SKETCH. THIS ISOH MOTHERFUCKER ITS ANTI

Isa: Become Theorist

The rest is history, really, all stuff I’ve posted about on here. xD

And knowing me I’ve left out other highlighted bits but remembering all of this is,,, really exhausting lmao, I’m surprised I jotted down as much as I did in Relatively Chronological Order.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

(For the fic summary post) In lieu of Fjord's confessions to the group in ep 72, a fic following Fjord as he studies and views Caduceus as an inspiration and those feelings as an almost idolization and protectiveness is a concept sitting in the back of my mind since that stream

AO3 Link: HERE

So there’s a bit of protectiveness that naturally generates among their group when Caduceus joins up.

Not a surprise. There’s a few reasonable reasons for it.

A: because Caddy has (if possible) less practical experience than Jester (a literal shut in). B: He’s a cleric and you guard your clerics because they’re the vicious beating heart of a combat unit’s anatomy. C: Molly is fucking dead.

It goes without saying because saying it would be awful, but Caduceus is very literally filling a void left by a violent death in the party and there’s no getting around the associations that come with that. The times that Fjord has accidentally called Caduceus ‘Molly’ out loud: 1 time. The times he’s started to call Caduceus ‘Molly’ and stopped himself: a fucking lot. Honestly, just, an embarrassing amount of times and Fjord would rather not too closely examine why it’s taking him so long to get it right.

“Fjord.”

“Hmm?”

It’s the middle of the night (or whatever passes for night in a city that sees no sunrise) and the interior of their Xhorhasian home is gently lit by the fire-fly glow of magical string lights and the flicker of interior lanterns. Fjord’s been sitting in the main common area, contemplating the falchion blade where he’s laid it on the table so he can stare at its golden gleam in detail and ponder the pieces of the Summer Dance rapier subsumed by the living sword. An echo of Mollymauk’s weapon still in the blade.

Beauregard climbs over the back of a chair and takes a crouched position next to him with her knees drawn up like a monk-ish gargoyle. She glances furtively across the room, then takes an overly casual posture with one elbow on the table to appear casual, but just ends up looking odd half scrunched in her seat but leaning her weight wrongly. She commits tp it though, eyeing him.

“What’s up?”

“Why… why’re you sittin’ like that?”

“I – what?” Beau self-consciously sits up, adjusts her hair, and pats her ribs down for some reason. “I don’t know what –” She shakes it off, annoyed, and yanks the chair around so she can sit backwards straddling it and facing him. “Fuck it. You’re staring at Caduceus. What’s up?”

Fjord blinks. “I wasn’t starin’ at Caduceus.”

“Are you wondering if his face is, like, velvety?” Beau lowers her voice in a conspiratorial way. “Because I’ve totally wondered that. Answer: Yes. Totally. He’s, like, slightly fuzzy all over. I dunno. I think it’s a firbolg thing.”

“What? No.”

He has, in fact, wondered precisely that.

“Well, okay, then that means you’re just staring at him. Unless you were zoning out and he was just, like, there. I’ve done that. Been there.” She nods. “Had to run from the city guard. It happens.”

“Beau, not to be rude or nothin’, but I wasn’t staring at Deuces. I was just thinkin’.”

Caduceus is on the other side of the room sitting with Jester who’s showing him something in one of her sketchbooks. The long blue length of her tail lashes around, flipping back and forth while she gestures grandly at what might just be a collection of smutty looking scribbles from one of Caleb’s smutty history novels or whatever. Cad looks politely baffled.

“I dunno, thought you might be…” Beau pauses as thought to reassess her commentary. “Look, a lot of other shit has gone down recently, but back in the City of Beasts, Cad went down. Like, for real. If jester hadn’t had that diamond…”

Fjord feels a slow tension crawl through him from his belly outward, recalling. “Yeah, that certainly did happen. Uh-huh.”

“Caduceus almost dies a lot and it kinda bugs me since, like, we kinda asked him out there with us after Molly died. Does that bother you? Cuz it kinda bothers—”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ bothers me.”

Beau looks at him. Dammit, that maybe came out a bit quick. Fjord by the nature of his innate half-orcish complexion cannot actually blush, but he feels his face get hot all at once and clears his throat while Beau’s eyes narrow. For all that she’s bad at talking to people, she’s pretty decent at reading them from time to time, not that he’s 100% certain himself what she might perceive.

“You worried about losing him?” Fjord rejoins.

“I was standing right there when Molly died.”

There’s a moment of silence. Beau is staring at the table now, but isn’t seeing it. It’s the first time in – what? – how many months since Mollymauk took his last breath that she’s actually said anything beyond the most basic and brutal facts about it. She drums her fingers on the table after a second of quiet and goes on.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to do that again, you know?”

“Hey, I’m not gonna let anything happen to Caduceus.” A pause. He clears his throat. “Uh, none of us are gonna let anything happen. I think he’s got some big stuff he’s supposed to do, you know?”

Beau nods. “He doesn’t freak you out anymore, Fjord?”

“Freak me out? He never freaked me out.”

“Coulda fooled me the way you kept grimacing every time he, you know, is Caduceus and does something eerie as hell and a little morbid. Because, like, he does that. A lot.”

“Well, sure, at first. But I guess I’m used to it now.”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s kinda nice having someone in the group who seems to have confidence in where he’s going and what he’s doing.”

“Right? He’s so, like, sure.”

“I don’t know if sure is the right word,” Fjord says, shaking his head. “He definitely doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. And the stuff we do scares the hell outta him sometimes. But he just… I dunno. He fuckin’ abides. Bad shit happens and he just… has something else to lean on and he doesn’t know if that something is gonna let him die or keep him alive, but he’d be… fine with it. Does that make sense?”

Beau blinks. “That sounds like a thought that didn’t happen over the course of a short conversation there, Fjord.”

Shit. Fjord feels heat spread through his face but shrugs to hide it.

“He just ain’t scared of the same shit I am, I guess.”

Beau tilts her head. “What’re you scared of?”

Shiiiiiit. Why the hell did he say that?

“Nothing specific. Just saying. Different views on the world and all.”

Beau squints at Fjord. Fjord maintains his casual demeanor with the professional control of a man for whom deception has come as second nature for about half a year now in the company of friends. He puts a real effort into appearing casual, lest Beauregard somehow glean from the angle of his eyebrows the constant underlying current of gut-clenching fear that’s begun to grip him every night.

The nightmares coming faster now and more confusing – the oceans, darkness, Avantika’s laugh interrupted by the crack of her neck breaking, and the sensation that someone touched him while he was asleep. He wakes up certain there’s a rope around his neck or a hand over his mouth, fingers on his tongue, a fist around his throat and bone-crushing sinew wrapped around his wrists, his knees, his chest and dragging him down, down, down fathoms deep until the crush of darkness is so deep he just –

“So Caduceus is hot, right?” says Beau.

Fjord sputters. “What?”

“I’m kidding! Yeesh! Calm down, team leader, or you got that whole ‘doth protest to much’ thing going on.” Beau gets up, grabbing a sitting pitcher of water from the table. “Just saying, you’re staring.”

“I am not staring.”

“Whatever, man. If you want a sweet pink undercut, I’ll bet he’d tell you how to get one.”

“That aint remotely it.”

“I know,” says Beau, looking at him.

She waits.

Fjord isn’t sure why, in that moment, with her staring at him, the random impulse to just tell her comes to him. He almost opens his mouth and forgets Vandren, almost swallows that voice like a pill he’s held under his tongue all this time. But the moment passes even as the pale blue curiosity of Beauregard’s stare holds steady and in the wake of that feeling of almost release, he feels tired.

Fjord sighs. “The truth?”

“Or whatever you feel like telling me. No pressure. You just… seem to be thinking is all.”

“I was thinking that his goddess, Melora, seems pretty cool.”

Beau blinks, visibly surprised.

“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” She grins. “Any goddess that says ‘get high and pray to me’ is pretty cool.”

Fjord glances at Caduceus who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with their other cleric.

Jester appears to be showing him lewd diagrams, which he’s regarding with the same academic mien that one might regard anatomical drawings of flora. Fjord can’t begin to understand the compound flush of fondness and jealousy that takes hold of him looking at Caduceus; the fact that the closest thing he’s felt to that was when he first met Avantika – this confusion of response.

He realizes now that his impulse toward Avantika was certainly desperate self-defense and attraction, sure, but having more time to study a similar feeling now, Fjord thinks he got it wrong. He didn’t want to possess the person he was looking at or be possessed by them. Looking back now, he wanted to just be her.

He wanted to inhabit the body of someone who knew what the fuck they were after so badly it felt like arousal. So he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that, lately, when he looks at Caduceus he feels the same unformed impulse to occupy the same damn space as him.

The waking fantasy where he crosses the room, ignores the disinterested academic look Caduceus levels at anything suggestive, and finds out exactly what it would feel like – sliding your fingers into unkempt mane of pink, gripping hold, and pressing your mouth against his. Tasting his tongue, feeling that strange and intimate vibration in his throat when he tries to talk through a kiss so you can just swallow that sound.

Fjord doesn’t know what to do with the notion that doing so would tantamount to worship – or blasphemy – but he knows that the impulse is taking root inside him. Sure as a notion to touch something he shouldn’t just to know the feeling of it. He doesn’t know what to do with this raw, ugly ideation.

So Fjord just grins back at Beau.

“I mean, I sure wouldn’t mind that,” he says.