#ficbite

[matchstickwords]

You don't know ;) 1/2

Steve has never seen a real smile from Billy. So when it happens, it steals his breath away. Like a physical punch delivered to his sternum leaving him winded.

He says nothing and keeps going through school hours trying to be normal despite the fact that he can't ignore this new revelation.

He's kind of in love with his friend classmatenemy? His- with Billy fucking Hargrove.

They are okay now he really should just call Billy his friend.

Billy lost that dangerous vibe around winter. According to the rumor mill, when is dad lost custody after, maybe, kidnapping him from under his sick mom's nose in California. He now lives with his aunt or something.

Didn't apologize but he gave him this look. All the time. Knowing.

Once said 'you are okay Harrington. I'm the fucked up one, here.' gave him his lighter after being witness to Steve patting every pocket twice, cigarette hanging from his mouth. And never acted like a class act bully since. Spent time getting into Steve's good graces. But like, what lower standards he has because man he needed friends his age besides Nancy and Jonathan.

Maybe Steve's more clumsy and makes a fool of himself often. After that sm- after that day. Receives quizzical looks from Billy and "watch yourself Harrington. Don't wanna mess that pretty face" while he grabs him around the waist.

He swears it's not on purpose. His legs just don't respond properly anymore. But okay, Billy's hands? feel like they linger too long and press into skin too much. Was that necessary to stop Steve from kissing the hard tile? No, it wasn't. Or at practice sweaty skin plastered on Steve. When he knocks lightly his shoulder, naked, when they shower after practice.

He flushes and feels the ghost touch of a big hand on his butt (that was fall #4 at the hallway. The floor was slippery okay).

And Billy touches him all the time. Steve is dying trying not to pop a boner every damn hour. Like he now owns a Billy Hargrove magnet™ Guarantee to get Billy's hands on him 24/7 or we reimburse your money type of deal.

On Monday during lunch. Billy put his thumb on Steve's lower lip saying he had something there and then licked his finger and waggled his tongue after.

Who does that????

And one day. He thinks I can't live like this.

Grabs Billy by the neck and kisses his stupid mouth when they're alone in his house. Decked out near the pool.

Billy backs off making Steve's short life flash before his eyes until he adds "Yeah," smirk in place. Very pleased "was wondering when you'd cave, bitch" then kissing him right back.

[fluffink]

Old KH ficbite

Transferred over from my ooold LJ.

Lyrics from Existentialism on Prom Night by Straylight Run and Set the Fire to the Third Bar by Snow Patrol, respectively.

Summary: Sometimes, Xion needs to hide away in someone. Roxas is willing to be that person.

Word Count: 203

*****

when the sun came up, we were sleeping in sunk inside our blankets and we were dreaming Roxas stirs when he feels his bed depress. Something warm and soft presses against his back. He blearily blinks his eyes open and turns his head. He catches a glimpse of black hair and a small body. "Xion...?" he mumbles. It's too early and he's not a morning person, so that's the best he can do right now. She doesn't say anything in response. She just buries her face in his shoulders and takes a deep breath. She exhales slowly and Roxas thinks he can feel her hands fisted in the back of his shirt. The silence is easy and familiar, like an old song whispering through his mind. She's warm and soft and comfortable against his back. He decides not to question her and lets himself be lulled back to sleep. When he wakes up, he's facing her and they're semi-curled around each other. The knuckles of his hand are brushing against her wrist and he can feel her knee against his calf. She's still sleeping, so he just watches her. After a moment, he moves his forehead forward half an inch so it barely touches hers. He falls asleep again not long after. They sleep most of the day away together. we'd share each other like an island until, exhausted, close our eyelids and, dreaming, pick up from the last place we left off

[fluffink]

I guess I'll start things off by posting some fic

Since I have some really short Fallout ficbites featuring my Courier that I never shared with anyone except, like, two people.

Please excuse the fact that I cannot write Raul to save my life. I'm not even sure how canonically accurate the first paragraph is. I got confused when Raul mentioned a plea for help he made on the radio, but I didn't find any records of any such thing on the Fallout wikia. Then again, maybe the wikia is lying to me. Or maybe Raul was just being sarcastic. S i g h.

Summary: Raul talks with the crazy girl who rescued him.

Word Count: 453

*****

She was exploring out by the Yangtze Memorial when she first picked up the radio signal. Ever-curious, she listened, and the more she listened, the more bewildered and amused she became. What an odd channel, she'd said to herself, and was about to switch back to Mr. New Vegas when it broadcasted another voice. This one made more sense, was more logical than the ramblings of nightkin. This one asked for help. She couldn't resist. There wasn't any way she'd be able to turn away knowing someone needed help, she told him later as they sat by a fire at the foot of Yangtze's cross. That's why she did it. That's a sense of duty you need to dull, he told her. Especially since it's already sent her crawling up the Centaur-infested side of Black Mountain and into a nest of angry super-mutants. Not that he was complaining, don't get him wrong. She countered by asking: Would he dig someone out of a grave if he thought they were still alive? He stared at her, frowning and shifting. He didn't know, boss, he lied. Depended if there were angry super-mutants. She laughed, but there was an odd look in her eyes that wasn't a reflection of the fire-light. Well, she said, she wouldn't even hesitate. Couldn't. She called it paying it forward. He nodded, considering the ugly scars above her left eye. Sure, boss. It's a nice sentiment. But sentiment gets you killed out here. She patted the shotgun lying beside her, then, her smile wry. That's why she had that. She lacked the self-assured attitude he would've expected with a statement like that. She just seemed weary. Paranoid. He considered her scars again. Whatever you say, boss. It wouldn't be the last time she'd go climbing Black Mountain to help someone, metaphorically speaking. She listened to every word a person said, and then she would take their burdens as her own. Everywhere they went, it was the same. God if the Mojave wasn't full of misfortune, and she strove to set right every wrong she came across. He complained all the way, but even he wasn't sure how much of it he meant any more. Didn't matter what he said, she would smile and shake her head, thanking him quietly, genuinely, for his insight. Other times, she'd argue with him, and that's when he knew she was more personally invested in whatever they were fixing. Didn't matter what he said at all, though, because he knew he was sunk. He was in too deep to turn away, and he hated himself for it.

He couldn't afford one more Rafaela, he told himself, but he walked beside her every step of the way.