shipping stuff? siren drops off stupid drabbles

here are some things that i have written

1.) damien x cattivo

Venice.

He's there, only by request and in short: he really doesn't know why he comes, but he does, just to smoke and watch fucking sunsets with idiots.

Today was no exception. Damien laughs when Cattivo scrunches his nose, and leans forward, putting his weight onto the ledge and stares up, his back against the sunset. It feels a little like summer, though it's already well into November.

"This is perfect."

Spare me.

A chuckle. "No really, it's true." And with arms and back to support him, lowers himself down, down, down, leaning over the side, coffee can dangling dangerously in his hands. "It'd be nice to stay here forever."

They didn't speak, with Cattivo staring sea-wards and the other sky-ward, until Damien opens his mouth and sounds it out, proper and well: "if you ever want to find me, I'll be here."

Cattivo's taken aback, but regains his composure, refusing to become flustered.

What makes you think I'd want to find you.

"Same way that I thought I'd never want to find you."

2.) francisco x gilbert

He's a little more familiar with the sheets of water pelting the pitch-black earth, with the speed and mercy of hailing bullets, and the jarring claps of thunder resonating through the dark like abruptly silenced screams than the warmth of an embrace, but it's not completely uncomfortable.

The whole thing feels awkward, however, with arms wrapped around him and the man's apparently hand-made (and completely hideous) blanket draped over his slowly warming body; it's nothing like the howling gale and violent rainfall of a storm, nothing like bated insecurity and dejection hanging over his head like a black cloud. It's warm, hot almost, and soft and the way Francisco's heart beats so closely to him, Gilbert thinks he can almost feel the life vibrating within him.

Idiot, the boy scoffs, turning his face to hide the warmth spreading from the tips of his ears to his face and succeeding only in pressing his cheek to Francisco''s chest. You're holding me too tight.

The man only snorts and, as if to spite Gilbert and that bright little frown of his, tightens his hold around the delicate and wiry frame. All Gilbert can do is curl the fist trapped between the warmth and vitality of their bodies, shut his eyes tight and feel. He wonders briefly if this is what a sensory overload is like, or if this is what that love he didn't know he had been searching for his whole life feels like.

Maybe I want us to become one, Francisco says absently, leaning down to press his lips to the soft copper-colored hair beneath him. So we'll never have to be apart.

Gilbert wonders to himself What if the storm ends?, what will become of the two of them when Francisco is forced to let go and untangle their limbs. The answer comes to him not like a bright and blinding impact, but with the subtle grace of a pair of boat lights bobbing through the tempest as Franscio smooths a hand through Gilbert''s hair and leans down and kisses him.

3,) cattivo x damien (wow i kinda have a soft spot for them being exes)

The last time Cattivo acknowledges his birthday is when he is a boy of fourteen or so, and Damien's first tattoo is still fresh and healing on his shoulder.

The spring heat drives him sort of mad because spring is the season of lovers, but the warmth does nothing to calm him down. Despite that, however,Cattivo appears almost tame, sitting beneath a tree next to Damien Breedlove like the two of them are friends and they are ordinary boys.

"I almost forgot to ask," Damien turns to him, the bandage across the bridge of his nose crinkling with this smile. "What do you want for your birthday this year? I'm not free that day but I'll sneak out of class to meet you before lunch."

Cattivo scoffs, sweat-slick hair stuck to the nape of his neck cooling for a brief second, before looking at Damien as if he were the most unfortunate man on earth.

"I told you I'm not celebrating it this year! I said the same damn thing to you last year too--!"

Cattivo is about to go on and on and on about the tiny little downfalls that make up Damien''s memory, but the other boy just smiles and laughs and ignores the fatal flaw of his called sentimentality.

"Should I surprise you, then?"

4.) dagrxallen i cannot be convinced otherwise
Dagr walks back to the house; he is not surprised to find Allen sitting in front of the television watching re-runs on T.V. with the lights off. He does not know why he is not surprised. He cannot think of a particular reason for why he is not surprised. Dagr realizes he doesn't have many particular reasons anymore. He sits down next to Allen. The television casts blue squares over both of their faces.

"I'm not a shithead," says Dagr.

Allen doesn't say anything.

"Aren't you going to argue with me about whether or not I am a shithead?" says Dagr.

"I don't need to argue about it," says Allen. "People don't need to argue over true things. We never argue over whether or not the Earth is round. That is because the Earth is round and everyone knows it--except for shitheads."

"That's what she said," says Dagr.

"No it's not," says Allen. "She's never said anything like that--"

"It's a joke, from Cat--" says Dagr.

"--Because you have no women," says Allen; he hadn't finished pummeling Dagr verbally yet.

A gaping silence hangs in the air.

"Are you gay right now?" says Dagr.

"Yes," says Allen. "Very. For no particular reason." He looks at Dagr. "At least, I don't see one."

"Oh," says Dagr. "Maybe it's because I'm gay?"

Another gaping silence--this time a gape that is so large that it might have been a yawn.

"Maybe," says Allen.

They both shift in their seats.

"What do we do then?" says Dagr. "What is the only intelligent decision?"

Allen shrugs. They watch T.V. for a little while longer. Then-- suddenly, unexpectedly, maybe even a little fearsomely--Allen pounces on Dagr and presses their mouths together. It is a hard kiss. It is a clumsy kiss. Allen lays on Dagr's chest, pinning Dagr's arms to either side of Dagr's head, and kisses Dagr all in one breath, with no breaks or tenderness or mercy. It is an awkward kiss. Elbows are splaying. Teeth are clattering. Joints are creaking. And noses are colliding. It is so awkward that both Allen and Dagr decide the only intelligent decision is to stop.

"That was awkward," says Dagr. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's what she said," says Allen. He grins; his teeth seem to glow in the half-dark of the room.

"That better not be what she said," says Dagr.

"Why?" says Allen.

"Because that's what I said."

5.) Cattivo x Artemisa



“I’m serious. That thing is a fucking monster.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let it drink.” Artemisa’s words were slurred as she tapped the cat’s head, which responded in a few purrs and scratched its back on the table. Cattivo flinched; the cat seemed to let anyone but him touch it.

“Shut up.” Cattivo’s voice was just as slurred as he poured more alcohol into a dish. Maybe, just maybe, if the damn cat was drunk, it would be much tamer. But, really, the only reason he was giving it vodka was because he was drunk himself. That was the only possible reason why he would be giving a cat alcohol, or why he wasn’t complaining on the fact that one of Artemisa’s hands was riding up his shirt.

Artemisa had figured out why Cattivo was so intent on getting the cat a much less hostile persona. As her hand roamed from the Italian’s arms and down to his flat stomach, up to his chest and massaging the back of his neck, she could feel all the scrapes that were the product of scratches from said cat. She wondered why Cattivo wouldn’t just kick it out or give it back to Francisco. He must really like the cat, Artemisa decided.

“I think you’ve given it enough… haha…” Artemisa muttered softly as her eyes drooped and she nibbled on Cattivo’s nape, eliciting a moan from the Italian. “I think… we’ve had enough, too…” She added, but she wasn’t really counting on being heard.

“Get the fuck off me, dammit,” He said this, but Cattivo made no action to push her away, so Artemisa didn’t budge. Her other hand, the one not under Cattivo’s shirt, scratched the back of the cat’s ears. The dark-haired boy blinked as he heard the low purr that the cat gave, and Cattivo raised an eyebrow in question to the amusement in Artemisa’s face.

“Hahaha…I don’t even like animals.”

“What.” Cattivo asked dryly. “Are you laughing about.” It wasn’t a question as it was an implication for her to shut up.

“No.” was the senseless reply as Artemisa drooped forward and burried her face in the boy’s neck. Tiredness and sleepiness was starting to kick in. Mixed with alcohol, it wasn’t all too pretty.

“No…? The fuck… fucking idiot…” Cattivo slurred.

The cat was starting to nibble on Artemisa’s fingers, and she realized it was because she had stopped scratching it behind the ear. Apparently, it liked Artemisa’s attention. The dark-haired girl lazily brought her hand to rest on the cat’s head. “What’s the cat’s name?” She whispered against Cattivo’s skin.

“Don’t care.”

“How about Ichigo?”

Ichigo, otherwise known as Strawberry, was the flavor of the vodka they were drinking.

“…Ichigo… what the hell…we already got Fran’s melon cat.”

Artemisa laughed as Cattivo finally reached over to move the cat but got distracted midway (by Artemisa’s tongue)
---------------
“Cattivo…” Artemisa muttered, hours later. Her consciousness had come back, but she hadn’t been drunk enough to forget what she and the Italian had been doing. “Cattivo, can you hear that?”

“Shut up…” The Italian growled as he burried his face deeper into the pillow. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“It sounds like Ichigo.” Artemisa said as she sat up and put a shirt on. When Cattivo pulled away from his pillow and stared at Artemisa, the dark-haired girl pulled him close by the neck and kissed him. “I’ll go get him.”

“Ichigo… God, what a name… it’s not the damn cat… I put it back in the room.”

No, no you didn’t, Artemisa wanted to tell him. You never got to it.

Smiling, Artemisa fondly scratched Cattivo in the part where his ears met his neck. She smiled to herself as Cattivo unconsciously bit back a sound that sounded, to Artemisa, particularly identical to his cat’s purr. This was the same reason she smiled hours ago, when she scratched the cat’s ears and found that familiar sound. She didn’t tell Cattivo that, of course, because, really, if she went ‘Cattivo, you make a sound like a cat purr!’, she’d be dead by now.

“I’ll go get him.” Artemisa repeated as she climbed off the bed, out the door, and towards the noise Ichigo was making. She found Francisco, who had also awakened from the noise.

Surprisingly, it was Damien who had caught the cat. Holding it by the neck, he said, “It was drunk and wandered over to my place.”

Artemisa bit back a smile. She did tell Cattivo that he gave it too much.

“Geh! I thought I put it away!” Cattivo’s voice exclaimed as he suddenly appeared. He called the cat, but it ignored him. “Ichigo!” He added, and it finally looked over to Cattivo. Artemisa didn’t miss it when Cattivo muttered, “Ichigo… damn cat wants to be named after a fucking fruit…”

Cattivo’s Biography.
Cattivo was born deaf.

His mother wasn’t aware because he picked up speech easily. As it turned out he had a form of hearing—he was able to perceive the vibrations in the air. He was fine when it came to small crowds but when he was taken to the first large family event he panicked. It was too many people at once and he couldn’t understand anyone—he ran to hide. His mother found him hours later with his hands clasped over his ears.
Cattivo’s grandmother on his mother’s side was disappointed when she heard the news---the fact that the Kamaitachi would be passed down to a “broken boy” made her bemoan the future of the dragon trio. She tried to convince her daughter to have another child, one that was without disability, but she didn’t comply.

As he grew, Cattivo was able to interpret the waves more easily, but he still had trouble with crowds. Alcohol helped him calm down—there was something relaxing about the waves of sound that washed over him, it helped to clear his mind. He was prickly toward most of his relatives but found that he got along extraordinarily well with Francisco, who didn’t seem to care about his hearing disability. (And also didn’t feel the need to tell every damn person they came across like his other cousins did.)

[It was futile to try and teach Francisco sign language then. He could remember the basics (baby-speak, really) like "eat" and "sleep" and "milk" (which stuck in his brain only because the motions amused the sense out of him)... but sentence construction and most adjectives went over his head.

Lip-reading usually worked, but when the young Francisco forgot himself and started chattering too fast, Cattivo would groan or sigh as loudly as he could, then stride up and press the tips of three fingers against Francisco’s windpipe. With a pointed look he would tell Francisco Now, TALK but the taller boy would laugh and bat Cattivo’'s hand away.

It took a while before the young Francisco realized he could "hear" things from vibrations. Cattivo had tried to explain this to him with the use of stick figures, and wild gesticulations, but none of it worked. It was only when Cattivo’s hand lashed out and wrapped one hand around Francisco’s throat - in anger, it seemed at the time - and then started to repeat everything Francisco was saying, that Francisco finally understood.

He was quite amazed with Cattivo for a bit, but he soon learned that Cattivo hated interpreting in that manner- perhaps because most of the time it meant having to touch somebody he didn't particularly like.]
The night of his eighth birthday, Cattivo’s maternal grandmother attempted to smother him in his sleep. In his panic he summoned the Kamaitachi and they killed her. Francisco had been in the room asleep on the floor, spending the night with Cattivo. When he woke up and found Cattivo panicked and the dead body he didn’t ask for an explanation—he soothed Cattivo, told him “We can hide her body, I have powers that can move her, nobody will ever know.”

They hid the body the same night, far away.

(”We’re going to burn the house down.” Francisco explained to the still sobbing Cattivo. “Granny Dragoni will take you and your parents in without question. She told me before I came here that there would be blood…I hadn’t expected this, but.” Francisco laughed, strained in a manner that showed that maybe the situation was too much for a nine year old to handle. “On the bright side you’ll live with me from now on, Cat.”)

The years after the cousins were inseparable. Both seemed to go through different changes as they went through adolescence. Francisco lost most of the joviality he had as a young child—his humor became more reserved as he took on a ‘responsible’ role to be the one to calm Cattivo. Cattivo seemed to go through adolescence with gnashing teeth and swears—he came to hate any sort of authority being exerted over him and was commonly in trouble at school.

Cattivo met Artemisa at his first high school party, some half assed celebration for the football team winning. From there Francisco, Artemisa, and Cattivo became fast friends. (Although she doesn’t know about Cattivo’s hearing impairment.)

His parents divorced when he was fourteen, his father walking out the door never to come back again. Francisco offered to help track him down but Cattivo said ”Fuck that, I hope I never have to see that bastard again, at least I still got my mom.” His mother became…slower after Cattivo’s father left, lackluster, like a shadow of her former self. Cattivo tried (and still tries) to get her to smile by showering her with love and affection, and sometimes it works, and other times she cries because he looks like his father.

Around that time Francisco came up with his idea for a ‘Club’. Cattivo never watched the news so he didn’t know anything weird was happening but Francisco was persistent. He felt some sort of satisfaction in solving the cases, in helping people stay safe, but he’d rather die than voice as much.

[It's been a long while ( a damn long while ) since lady luck smiled at him with those pretty little lips and ice cold eyes. She hasn't looked his way ever since his sky bid the stars goodbye and fell ( fall, fallen, falling ) with boneless wings and featherless dust. A constant miscalculation on his part, but it was his fault. His fault. He'll never get over it. But like a little kid, he finds himself thinking sometimes, that maybe, maybe, she'll come back someday. That maybe she'll remember what it's like to see him smile and come back with open arms and give him the good things in life again, the things he'll never ever have again. And it's that part that gets him, 'cause he knows she won't. He knows she never will.

“So it's hello madam nicotine, how are you today? Let's light you up and let you take my breath away --

Or some shit like that.”]

Damien x Cattivo (This is the last one I swear, also entitled “Damien is a horrible sempai”)

Damien’s infatuation is understandably one-sided. The cause of all this obsession and sky rocketing bills for roses and teddy-bears and punches to the head and adoration, is none other than the treasurer of the CA club. Damien now has a huge crush on his ‘little brother.’ (Which began in winter, unceremoniously shoving Damien from the mistletoe and leaving Damien with enough scraped IO points from where his head slammed into the floor to fill in the gaps.)

Of course, Damien’s a charmer. He attempts it in every way possible; distraught when his schemes fail and bursting with love at Cattivo’s bashful loathing and affectionate kicks to the balls. He finds himself alone, fully fallen in love, so much so that he’s down beneath the surface and gets nauseas if he crouches too low. Damien’s continuous rejection leaved him understandably depressed.

“Fucking Breedlove,” Cattivo mumbles when Damien is ‘passing by’, just happens to be fully briefed in the whole situation by coincidence. Cattivo’s beaten and sore, sits lost without any cigarettes, fumbling with the bottom of his belt for substitution. He drops himself into Damien’s car, bloody. Damien catches the wince on his face, feels Cattivo’s head lolling exhaustedly onto his shoulder. It snaps up abruptly, and Cattivo forces himself back against the car door as they drive him back to a hospital.

Damien sees it: blood, trickling down into his shirt, the flush of his cheeks. Opportunity, in other words.

He pulls Cattivo back, sure to check the black glass hasn’t suddenly caved and left him open to all eyes. Satisfied, he gingerly tugs down Cattivo’s collar. “Those look bad,” he says, and something of a purr in his voice makes Cattivo blush angrily and something about the boldness of this manchild when he cranes his neck and slides his tongue along the first long wound, all slow and wet…

“What are you-“ Damien’s teeth graze the suddenly sensitive skin “- doing?”

Damien doesn’t stop, anyway. Cattivo’s skin is pale and soft, warm, and although it’s cliché to say it’s how he dreamed, how he was certain it was when he let his eyes wander and mouth drool.He licks a trail all the way to the other cut, across the kid’s cheekbone, tasting like a cat, tongue flickering backwards and forwards. “Cleaning you up,” he murmurs, and savours the little tremble Cattivo gives when he tends to one of the more reactive wounds, across Cattivo’s throat. He straddles the younger boy’s hips, hunches down and sucks on unmarked skin and kisses bony collarbones. “You’re a real mess,” Damien says, hands sliding lower. Cattivo inhales, sharp and half-lidded at the feeling of Damien’s fingertips grazing an erection he was totally unaware of.

“Stop, you…” fucking stupid fucking moron, stop.

Obviously, Cattivo’s cock is disagreeing with him. His hips roll into Damien’s palm, eyelids fluttering heatedly and blurring over the sight of Damien’s tongue across the wound on his chest, across his nipple. He groans, hard; Damien’s been staring up at him throughout the whole ordeal, mouth wide, eyes intent and perverted as sin, something Cattivo is denying to himself turns him on. His face is nearly Italian and crafted and eyes and warm and intent and God no, this is so not Cattivo’s thought process. He bucks his hips again, this time meeting Damien’s own. His face heats up instantly. “No fucking way,” he says. Damien’s face disappears into his neck, wet mouth over Cattivo’s ear and cock all up in the poor kid’s space. “No fucking way,” he says again, just in case Damien didn’t hear him.

“Afraid so,” Damien murmurs, breath tickling and too close. His eyes clench shut while he grinds into Cattivo, mouth open and on him and salivating in a way most undesirable – somehow still sexy. Damien rocks into him, grips his hips tight and rubs against him rough, until they’re both finally face-to-face above the heads of the seats. A glance makes Damien want to come, something obvious in his facial expression; something that makes Cattivo feel uncomfortable and flattered, the latter of which was new and turning this whole situation into something wrongly sweet. “Dear God you’re…” Damien hisses, forehead against Cattivo’s chin.

“Please,” Cattivo breathes softly. Damien is expectant and aroused as hell. “Shut up.” Which means of course, Cattivo no longer minds this whole frottage thing, no longer minds Damien crushing him into a kiss and grabbing onto his ass and coming down their connected thighs. He muffles a loud moan into Cattivo’s hair, feeling his hand shake against his chest and feeling him come quick, panting and exhausted. “Shit,” he manages. There isn’t enough air in the car for Damien to construct a reply.

Cattivo droops back onto the seat, relatively dead after a hard battle and a harder after-screw. This concerns Damien immediately, who goes back to syrupy admirer all the way from pedophilic stalker. His hands runs through Cattivo’s hair, fix it, button up his shirt higher than a walking fashion-statement like Cattivo knew it could go in an attempt to hide numerous (but rather skillful) hickeys, and he was stumped at how to remove all the traces of ‘just-mauled’ from the kid’s pants. Admittedly, he looked a lot worse now from when he’d first got in the car.

Damien resorts to yanking off his jumper and tying it around Cattivo’s still limp waist, in a way that had a bull been passing, it would have went head-first for his red-clothed crotch. In other words, Cattivo looked stupid. “Um,” Damien says. What the hell did you say to someone who just fell victim to you jumping them? Who was practically comatose after and beyond?

The car slows to park. Damien fears for his groin in case Cattivo comes to.

Which he does. “Visit me.”

“Huh?”

Cattivo flushes ridiculous colours, tries to collapse his head into his neck in embarrassment. “In the hospital.” He then shoots a glare at Damien, radiating that serial-killer aura Damien’s come to love so much. “Not for this.”

Damien, so terribly chuffed with himself, explodes in teeth; the most blinding smile Cattivo has ever had the displeasure of witnessing. “You want me to visit you?” the Breedlove declares, and immediately the aura is stronger, seeps out the tiny gap in the windows and pollutes the air like toxin.

Cattivo slaps him ear-ringingly hard, forces the idiot off of him and storms out the door of the car.

A visit, Damien thinks while his heart is so full to the brim with love and his cheek has been so violently whipped with the fury of Cattivo’s thousand rings on ten fingers, sounds perfectly lovely.

Damien x Duke, Duke 2nd POV

You were lucky it was so dark in the spaces between the hall stairs. If it weren’t for that little fact alone, you’d have been screwed.

Well, screwed in a different sense than what was going on right now.

A yelp ripped itself from your throat as your fingers clutched desperately to the man pounding into you, your nails dragging down his loose, unbuttoned shirt while your leg hitched tighter around his hip. The other was tangled loosely with his leg as his pelvis kept you off the ground and against the wall, adding to the friction between your bodies.

You bit your lip as his teeth nipped at your neck, his husky voice panting into your ear, “Careful...ha, we...we don’t wanna get caught, huh...? Ngh~” you clenched around him again, forcing that guttural groan from his throat and the sound made you grin victoriously.

“Ah~ Damien, slow the hell down, I can barely st- stand—“ You tried to speak, your nails digging into him to try and get your point across but he merely snapped his hips into yours and rolled them so that his member hit you right in the sweet spot. His hand reached down to wrap around your penis, gently pumping as he thrust into you, and from the way his gold eyes flashed, it was evident that he wasn’t done yet. Your euphoric shout came out strangled as he smashed his lips to yours, groaning with you, and tears pricked your eyes at how much abuse your body was going through tonight. Pleasurable or not, there was only so much a guy could take… (That was the added plus of the boy band all being together, Damien couldn’t focus all of his energy on you.)

“One more time, just once more and I’ll let you go, alright...” He murmured, moving his lips against your ear but you knew he didn’t mean that. At least about letting you go. He’d let you be done for tonight but he’d be back again tomorrow and the night after.

But it was alright.

He groaned again and hooked both hands beneath your thighs, pulling them up so that you were wrapped around his torso like some whore and honestly, that’s probably what you were right now. Your shirt had been snapped open wide and your chest was glistening with sweat. Your pants were already around your ankles and your poor, flimsy boxers had been ripped apart and discarded to some lonely corner so that Damien could get to you easier. Love bites littered your neck and collar and the tops of your chest and needless to say, it was way more than cover-up could conceal.

Oh well, that was fine by him. He hated it when you covered up his marks anyway.

“Damien, I’m going to come—“ You panted, cut off when he meshed his lips to yours just as a door opened nearby.

Damien slowed his pace to your disappointment but he bit your tongue to silence you, making up for the lack of speed by grinding against you instead. His blood boiled, hating that he’d been stopped from hearing your lovely scream but he would rather be stalled then be caught.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Damien shushed you as he slowed to a near stop when the footsteps reached the stairs. He leaned forward just a bit and glanced down, seeing through the space between the steps that none other than Francisco was halted at the bottom level hall. He was at the top of the steps just one set of stairs away and preoccupied by a text message before the red haired male closed his phone to head down the stairs.

Away, away, the footsteps echoed away before a metal door opened and slammed shut.

He was gone.

Damen smirked and turned back to you, burying his face in your neck and wrapping his arms around your body with a satisfied hum, “Sorry for the wait. Are you ready~? I’m going to be rough.”

You were displeased with the whimper that came out of your mouth but you nodded. “Yeah…c’mon Damien, fuck me.” You looked up at him, your eyes challenging and he caved. Honey eyes softened to a sultry gold as he nodded and kissed you gently once before he finally murmured, “I’ll fuck you, then~”

And his pace became a thundering plunder. You couldn’t even shout as he violated your body at a near painful rate but God did the man know what he was doing as he hit there and-!

“A-Ah~! Damien!” You shouted, finally seeing stars and white and blurs as you climaxed. Your whole body tensed and your head snapped back, banging against the wall with an audible thud. It went unnoticed as Damien moaned, finally releasing into your pliant body. He panted heavily, turning it into deep breaths as he held you up against him. You were not going to move, not on your own. You were far too exhausted and from that teary eyed expression on your face, you were already feeling the effects of such intense intercourse.

Damien chuckled under his breath and pressed his lips to the corner of your eyes, dressing you both up again as decently as he could before helping you to your room where he would stay with you for the night.

“I rented that movie you like so much, it should be fun to watch, ne~?”