#welcome to the chapter that almost ended three times and it shows 😔

[alectoperdita]

Fanfiction: In bed with the mob (29662 words) by Alecto

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto Characters: Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Aged-Up Character(s), Childhood Friends, Reunions, Smoking, Drinking, Flirting, Resolved Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Porn with Feelings, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Come Swallowing, Anal Fingering, Prostate Milking, Facials, Bottom Kaiba Seto, The Booty is Privileged and Confidential, Jealousy, Possessive Sex

Summary:

"Who are you?" the man asked, tonguing the inside of his cheek and puffing out the darkening bruise marring his skin. "Your lawyer," Seto answered brusquely.

****

"Hey there, beautiful," Jounouchi said huskily. He lifted one hand to clasp Seto's flushed cheek.

Seto narrowed his eyes. His teeth bared in a barely contained snarl. "Don't treat me like one of your bimbos."

"I don't. No one's as beautiful as you, Seto."

Maybe it was the sound of his given name or the undeniable sincerity in Jounouchi's voice, but Seto believed him.

Despite that, the grasping, needy creature inside him surged to life once more. He launched himself at the other man, one set of fingers tangling in his wild hair, while the other set tore at his blazer, his mouth and teeth catching his bottom lip. Jounouchi caught him around the waist again before guiding them across the darkened apartment. By the time they reached the bed, Seto had wrestled one arm out of the jacket and was working on the other.

"Chill," Jounouchi laughed, then rubbed Seto's lower back. "Let's try not to rip it."

"You're lucky I don't burn the horrific thing," growled Seto.

Once more, Jounouchi laughed. "Yer still such a drama queen."

Read Chapter 4 on AO3

[watchyourdigits]

WIP Wednesday

(I'm not late, I'm just early for next week!!)

Thanks to the amazing @totally-not-deacon for tagging me in this! I finally have an excuse to share a very early rough draft of the Deacon-centric fic I'm working on.

This WIP (the first part of this chapter, anyway) came about because of the Pepe Silvia meme and the way I think about Deacon every time I see it. Oh, and the concepts presented in this video. "I'm in your corner. Always have been." etc. etc.

I'm a Deacon conspiracy theorist because that's what he would have wanted 🤟🏼😔 Anyway, here's the WIP (1.2k words-ish). I'd tag someone but I genuinely don't know who writes and who doesn't, so consider this an open invitation!!

Three Years Earlier

Deacon took a long drag of his cigarette as he stared at the mess of notes and pinned images on the corkboard before him.

Was it an unnecessary method of organization?

Of course.

Did it entertain him to no end?

Oh, most definitely.

Not only that, but it was a welcome distraction from any of the actual work he should have been doing. Things within the Railroad had been slow lately and it was making him antsy. When Deacon got antsy, nothing good came of it.

He'd set up his personal headquarters two years prior, but only recently had made any use of it. That, and the corkboard he'd sneakily "borrowed" from the Switchboard, had been proving useful in his latest project.

For the past year, he'd been researching dead-end leads (according to Dez, anyway) almost nonstop. He'd tried to explain vaguely to Her Highness what he'd been up to upon his most recent check-in with her, but she didn't seem very interested in his insightful wisdom. Typical.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

Still, all of this work and nothing to show for it. He'd never admit she was right, but he had to wonder if his efforts were worth it in the long run.

Something was still missing… But what?

"Or who?"

Deacon's eyes widened as the lightbulb in his mind began flickering to life. It wasn't his strongest inclination, but it was there. He crushed out his cigarette in the overfull ashtray, standing quickly and moving to the board.

He shifted a few pins around and moved some of the papers in an effort to paint a clearer picture of heat he was dealing with.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad way to visualize his data after all.

There were many separate incidents and sightings involving the Institute, but they all seemed so tangentially related that he was almost convinced he'd imagined the connection in his head all along.

Almost.

Once satisfied with where he'd placed everything, he took a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Who are you?" he pondered aloud, lighting himself up another smoke as he thought deeply about the information before him.

He brought himself back to the first lead he'd gotten that had sent him on this wild goose chase to begin with.

The old man, demented in his age, would go on incessantly about some vault he'd found while exploring as a kid. His wife couldn't stand how obsessed with it he was. Deacon felt there must be a good reason for him to remember that above anything else. Like the birthdays of his three adult children. Or his own name, for that matter.

"Jenny," the elderly man said, pointing at nothing. "Jenny, look! They're taking a baby from that vault! I wonder if there's people down there?"

"That was well over fifty years ago, Richard. Give it a goddamn rest!"

Deacon almost missed that place - a small old folks home in one of the richer areas between the Capital and the Commonwealth. The amount of reconstructive surgery it had taken to get him back to looking like himself had him out of commission for a whole month. He shuddered a little at the thought.

Never again. Stick to prosthetics and really convincing makeup next time you go anywhere as a geriatric. Or just go as a caregiver instead… Dammit, Deacon, keep your head in the game. Think!

The experience itself had been one he didn't exactly cherish, but the stories he heard had been unbelievable.

Or so he thought.

When he'd asked Richard to tell him more about the vault, he had explained that he'd grown up near it and had seen a man and a woman leaving with a baby in tow. No one ever believed him, but he continued to swear up and down all these years later that he really had seen people leaving the vault.

It was only later than Deacon would connect the dots as to what vault he'd been referring to. It wasn't very far from his own HQ, only about a day's hike. Deacon had decided to set up a small camp there. At the time, he had wondered if perhaps there were people there that no one knew about. The area was rather deserted after all, save a Mr. Handy and some local wildlife.

No one knew much about the vault other than the old man, who croaked within a week of Deacon making his first inquiry.

For one reason or another, Deacon found himself fixated on the tale. A memory that strong had to mean something. He was determined to carry on Richard's legacy (obsession was perhaps more accurate) and prove everyone wrong in the process.

I hear you, Dick. Something isn't right about that vault. We'll show them, don't you worry.

He stared at the points on the board, contemplating them as if they were constellations in the sky and he was some ancient philosopher with the ability to divine a worldly truth from the heavens.

Except he was just an ordinary man, stuck out here rescuing synths from those who wished to exploit them. Yada, yada, yada.

The synths themselves had proven useful over the years. A handful of them were able to corroborate the theory that the Institute had a director. They called him 'Father'. An unimportant detail, of course, but it was always good to have a name for your enemy. It made hating them that much easier.

A lot of the sequences on the board didn't connect. Deacon was merely going off his gut instincts that these things were all correlated somehow.

He'd long since forgotten about his cigarette, only remembering it when it burned the tips of his fingers. He hissed, tossing it into the ashtray and bringing his hand to his mouth to suck on his wounds.

Another revelation struck him then as the pain began to fade into the background.

"Dick, you crazy son of a bitch!"

Deacon laughed to himself as he moved the write-up he had on Richard's mystery vault baby to the center of all the points. The image fell into place so clearly before him, he wasn't sure how it had taken him all these months to compose it.

"Well I'll be damned," he muttered, giving a low whistle at his own discovery.

The baby being 'Father' would only make sense. The vague timeline he'd pieced together from the beginning, with Richard's story, down to more recent information about the existence of 'Father' all slotted together effortlessly. The baby was taken from the vault and, within a year, there were reports of early third gen synths roaming the Commonwealth. Broken Mask was a prime example. An event that still had the people of Diamond City wringing their hands over the invisible boogeyman that was in the Institute.

These days, there was a noteworthy amount of buzz surrounding the vault again. None of the synths the Railroad had come across knew much about it, but the few that did speak of a 'buried treasure' provided all the more reason for Deacon to hold stock in his meticulously crafted theory.

Something was happening within the Institute, and that something most definitely involved the vault. After all this time, what remained in there that could possibly hold the interest of such an elusive, horrifying organization?

Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Deacon gathered some supplies and readied himself to head out to his campsite for another stake-out. This time, he had a purpose for going aside from peaceful contemplation (and some private drinking).

This time, he was going to be doing actual research in the form of sitting around and waiting for something - or someone - to emerge from the vault.