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diordrysdale · 2 years ago

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after dark ⋆ andy barber (part 3)

dark!neighbor!andy barber x camgirl!reader, ft. devin peters x camgirl!reader

word count ⋆ 2.1k

warnings ⋆ smut! minors dni, cheating (laurie is cheating on andy, andy is implied to be cheating/will cheat) reader sends a video where she’s giving devin head, fingering, degradation, squirting, daddy kink, implied murder oop— ft. devin peters: oral sex (m receiving), slight degradation.

authors note ⋆ I HAD TO SWITCH ANDY FROM SOFT!DARK TO JUST DARK!ANDY YALL IN FOR A RIDE I WAS JUST WRITING THIS AND I WENT DOWN A DARK PATH SO HERE IT IS FINALLY PART 3

+ reminder of who devin peters is, he’s chris evans’ character in the movie don’t look up!

don’t forget to give me some love, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

previous part

shit, shit, shit!

as soon as andy scurried back into his home, he peeled through the curtain of the window near laurie’s favorite sofa— the one she was currently on.

“I need a ride to my yoga class, andy.” she spoke as she typed away on her phone, laughing at the texts she was receiving from a friend.

yoga class, sure.

he watched as you stood in place, dumbfounded before the movie star tugged you back towards the house, practically pawing at your breasts for attention.

you giggled as he kissed and sucked at your neck, shoving him away to play hard to get, took one last glance at mr. barber’s house, and sighed, convincing yourself it was most definitely a coincidence.

andy, on the other hand, was losing his mind.

so, you were living next door, what could he do about it? go up to the door and give a polite hello, make small talk and confess how he’s been touching himself to you for the past 4 months?

maybe how he’s dreamt constantly of pounding you into his mattress as you drool on his sheets, neither of you knowing whether you’re begging him to stop or keep ruining your hole.

“…andy! here’s fine!” andy hit the breaks, the wheel’s screech pulling him from his thoughts as laurie opens the door without a simple thank you or goodbye, running up to her friends.

he began to drive off, reaching for his phone, unlocking it and grinning for what he was challenging himself to do.

“hey, SIRI, uh, sex shops near me.”

NEXT DAY

tears had dried on your cheeks as you caught your breath, letting your boyfriend tease your lips with the tip of his cock.

“look at you, all hungry for this dick.” he hummed, his free hand holding up your phone, filming your every move.

you said you’d airdrop it to him later, but you had other plans for this home video.

“fuckin’ slut..” you shut your eyes to avoid rolling them, the degradation just didn’t come naturally with him, oh, but with mr. barber.

if your neighbor was indeed your favorite subscriber, he was in for a treat.

“why’s a mr. barber texting you on your site?I thought you didn’t entertain those freaks on your live chat?” devin pulled you from your thoughts when a notification pinged on the top of your screen.

wrapping your lips around his veiny cock, you sucked harshly, distracting him from the text message as he gasped out, hand forcing your head down as he began to fuck your throat in a sloppy manner.

the wet gagging noises sent him over the edge, overflowing your mouth with his sticky load— wasn’t the best taste. although, it still made your mind stray to how mr. barber—

“let me see it.” he groaned, cupping your cheek with a softness you hated.

you couldn’t make up your mind about this guy, no matter how many millions of dollars laid on his dollars

sure, he was an admired actor, celebrity crush to many, and you had him at your beck and call.

but you were insatiable.

you had daydreamed of becoming his girl, riding him in his luxurious cars, and being the pretty little thing on his arm at movie premieres, red carpets, you name it.

but hollywood was ruthless to girl with a job like yours.

maybe starring on the big screen and having paparazzi shadow you wasn’t your thing, but being loved after dark was, and you were okay with that.

opening your mouth, you revealed his load before you swallowed it, glancing up at him for some sort of praise but he just exhaled, sinking into the sofa as he put his softening penis away.

you snatched your forgotten phone from the couch and saved the video before reading the text message, feeling your heart drop to your stomach.

barber543

hello neighbor.

andy hid the newly purchased box of sex toy items under the bed, his chest swelled with pride when he imagined how ruined he’d leave you by the end of the night, have you begging for him to stay, to touch your sweet pussy again, and again, til you couldn’t bare another orgasm.

official-kitten

there’s no way it’s you

he chuckled, he could just picture your cute expression of brows furrowed together, biting at your inner cheek.

barber543

come over and find out.

andy was always the type to take charge of a situation, but he was positive you’d be his tonight. and every night after that.

swallowing hard at mr. barber’s recent message, you slid your back down against the bathroom wall, thumbs dancing across the screen.

official-kitten

I’m busy daddy

🎥 0:45

your heart pounded in your ears as you linked the video devin filmed of you, and sent it— it was a russian roulette, you had absolutely no clue what he’d say—

barber543

not even a minute?

did he return the favor? or are you just a cocksleeve.

bet he didn’t even touch you

his punctuation made you giggle, but your hand began to slither down beneath your panties, ghosting over your clit.

official-kitten

he didn’t even make me wet :(

barber543

I’m not surprised.

I’m guessing you’re all needy. and pathetic.

official-kitten

don’t be mean :(

your middle finger and ring finger began to rapid circle on your clit, the sight of your hand moving beneath your underwear made your heart race.

barber543

you don’t know half of it, princess.

come over, or I’ll fuck you stupid in front of your friend.

removing your fingers before you came, you breathed heavily, smiling at the texts as you stood up with a rush, exiting the bathroom as you called out for devin who had made himself busy in the kitchen.

“what’s up, babe?” he chewed on a simple ham sandwich, scrolling through his twitter feed, mostly raising his ego with all the complements and praise thrown his way.

“you need to leave, now.” you shoved his beanie into his chest as he frowned, scoffing.

“i need to do my skin-care routine, do my mani-pedi, you know,” you rambled nervously, but he came to be truly understanding, kissing your forehead.

“fine, fine! send me the video, dollface.” he walked out the door, inhaling the fresh boston air, looking around the calm neighborhood til he made eye contact with the man they’d encountered earlier.

andy waved at the celebrity with full intent of fucking you into his mattress, the bedroom floor, the kitchen counter, and laurie’s pitiful garden in the front yard.

“hey, y/n,” devin called over his shoulder, still narrowing his eyes at the floofy haired man, as you waltzed over to him, glancing up at him, “don’t go on stream tonight. got a feeling there’s gonna be some creeps on the live.”

“sure thing, devy,” you stepped on your tippy toes to lay a kiss on the corner of his mouth, “I’ve got other plans.”

you applied your gloss, extremely giddy to finally meet the man who had been paying for quite literally everything you could dream of.

you wondered what he did for a living, how he stumbled upon your live stream and if he thought about you daily.

what if he was a psychopath? you had lost count of how many people you had blocked due to their obsession with you, driving you to the point to being constantly paranoid, always glancing over your shoulder and double checking your door at night.

fuck it.

shutting your door on your way out, you fiddled with your fingers, cracking your knuckles which had been a nervous habit of yours.

til someone pulled up to the driveway.

it was a woman, brunette, with a disconsolate look on her face.

of course, he had a wife. why weren’t you surprised? most of the good ones were taken.

“oh! hello..” the woman wiped her drippy nose on her wrist, hugging herself as she stood in front of you, waiting for you to present yourself.

“i’m [y/n], lila’s friend. I’m house-sitting and i just- I can’t seem to, uh…“

“get the washing machine to start? cindy always has that problem, but luckily, my husband andy helps her out. it happens at least every week.” your jaw clenched at the information, feeling yourself turn green with envy, but your heart stopped when the man of the hour stepped out to the driveway, locking eyes with you.

“honey, lila’s friend here needs help with the washer, go.” she sniffled, causing andy to cup her cheek and angle her face up, allowing him to see her bloodshot eyes.

“what happened? where’s jacob, is he okay?” laurie nodded her head, clearing his anxiety a bit til he caught her left hand— ring finger, completely bare.

“we need to talk.” laurie muttered as andy wrinkled his nose at the scent of another man’s cologne on her.

“I’ll just-“

“no!” you and laurie whipped your heads at him, making him breath out a laugh as he reached for your hand— time froze, not just for you.

“I’ll help you first, I just need to get some tools. give her something to drink, laurie.” before you knew it, you began following him and his wife into his home, wondering what scheme he had planned.

he gently closed the door behind you, not missing the chance to place his hand on your lower back, leading you into the kitchen, pouring you a glass of deep red wine, ignoring how his wife had excused herself to the upstairs bathroom.

alas, the two of you were alone.

slowly with a hint of intimidating, he began to corner you against the counter as you look down at your feet with natural submission, making him chuckle and hold your chin between his pointer and thumb.

“wait for me upstairs, second room on the right.” you glanced up at him with a parted jaw, “I want you playing with your pussy, legs spread, only wearing this shirt. go.” his command made you raise an eyebrow.

“you can’t tell me what to do.” your bratty response made him scoff as his hand slipped beneath your pajama shorts, cupping your mound as his middle finger dragged against your clothed slit, making you shiver.

“no? you sure about that?” he smirks at the wet spot on your panties, watching you squirm, in person? fuck, you couldn’t let you go. ever.

“tell daddy what you’re gonna do for him,” he whispers, his pulse accelerating when your trembling hand rose to caress his beard.

“I’m gonna play with my pussy and wait for him. and then, I’m gonna let him do whatever he wants to me,” you whimpered when he pinched at your clit, “let daddy use me and my holes.”

you were a damn menace with your words.

“you’ll be daddy’s cumrag?” he suggested as his hard-on grew against his slacks, compelling him to grind desperately against your stomach.

“yes, please,” you dragged out as looked up at him with lust filled eyes, leaning against him, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“and let me shove my cock in this little pussy when I feel like it?“ pushing aside your panties, his fingers began pistoning past your velvet walls, adoring the immediate debauched look on your face before he kissed your soft lips for the first time.

“anything you want— fuck!”

“beg for your daddy, kitten, beg for daddy to taste your pussy,” the squelching noises, his alluring voice, it was too much.

“fuck! daddy- m’ gonna squirt, ah! pleaseplease-“ he was quick to keep you from falling to your knees, grunting when your legs violently shook, your cunt spurting your juices on his cupped hand.

“my kitten, all mine,” he growled, his pink lips attacking your bare neck, sucking and nipping at your skin as you attempted to even your breath, but you still felt unsatisfied.

you needed to be fucked.

“want your dick, please, please,” you babbled out, your hands moved with a mind of their own, desperately wanting to touch him but he laughed, continuing to rub your slit.

“you’re a little slut, my wife’s in the house! what if she heard you?” he asked with a grin, removing his wet hand and beginning to lead to you out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“hurts! I need to feel you inside me,” you pawed at his belt, making him sigh in content before he clutches your cheeks in his hand, it smelled of your scent.

“then fucking wait for me upstairs. second room on the left.” he demanded through gritted teeth, watching you scamper what was left of the staircase.

he rushes to the kitchen, grabbing the first knife he could get his hands on and heads back upstairs with an emotionless façade.

he couldn’t have anymore distractions tonight.

his job was to fuck you as many times you begged him to, and claim you as him.

“laurie, I’m ready to talk!” he calls out to his wife for the last time, gripping at what was to become a murder weapon.

well, only if the police found out.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

a/n; oh y/n, now he’ll never let you go.

#kali writes !#andy barber #andy barber angst #andy barber smut #andy barber fluff #andy barber x reader smut #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #dark!andy barber #dark!andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x female reader

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whltlock · 3 years ago

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CHAPTER TEN / MASTERLIST / Subscribe on AO3

Pairing: Jason Todd/Non-binary!Reader

Summary: 'What makes a home?' and other questions to debate while there's a cute someone in your bed.

Word Count: 8454.

“Y’have a lot of visitors in this bed?”

His thoughts fell quiet. As his silence dragged on, he saw regret begin to chip away at you for asking such a brazen question.

“Just the bed bugs,” came his eventual answer. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He felt like anything else would be giving too much information away. He felt exposed enough.

But Jason couldn’t stop the mechanical laugh that burst past his lips as you kicked him from beneath the covers. The pleasing sound continued when he caught sight of your miffed smile. You tried to hide amongst the pillows but he couldn’t miss it. It was because of him, after all.

He knew that under the mask a faint blush darkened his skin further. The space between his ribs ached, but for once, it felt good. Electric goosebumps danced across his skin, making him feel the most alive he had in a while.

A/N: Things Are Happening, I Guess.

Sniffing, Jason found that the twang of corndogs and must hung in the air, even an hour after you showed up. There were worse smells, he supposed.

Peering at you, Jason traced the dark circles under your eyes. He was sure he was a mirror image. The two of you always seemed to find your way to the couch, late enough at night that the twinkling stars began to fade. You would watch a movie to avoid the things that lurked in the dark. The company wasn’t half-bad. He’d only admit it under duress, though.

“You can take the bed, you know.”

Your eyes barely skimmed him as you shrugged, lapsing back into your drowsy state. You thought that if he wanted to sit in his costume all night, you could be just as stubborn.

The chime of your phone caused you both to a flinch. A daunting wave rolled over him as he speculated the sender.

A second and third noise projected into the quiet buzz of the room. At that, you huffed in exasperation and flipped the phone to take a peek.

“Who is it?” he asked, testing your reaction.

“No one,” you muttered and let it drop into the cushions.

He noted the tell-tale brightness that meant the screen was unlocked. Jason debated his options while he chewed on his lip. It wouldn’t be wise to breach your trust and privacy. It’d be downright sacrilegious, really, but—

Oops. He scooped it up before he could help himself.

“‘Dickhead,’ huh?” Jason mused as he read over the changed contact name. You hadn’t even noticed what he’d done until he said that name.

You whipped around, eyes wide. Immediately, you lurched towards him to snatch the phone. “Hey!”

He blocked your insistent pawing, holding it to the side so he could scroll through the recent texts. It was a lot of begging. Dick’s pathetic attempts at getting you to respond made him snicker.

He laid the bait. “Bad break-up?”

“No,” you grunted, not yet giving up your attempt to retrieve the device. “Give it back.”

Jason’s eyes shifted to your face, appraising your posture and expression. “Why’s Dickhead down so bad?”

You kicked his shin, to which he did not even wince. “Because he’s a dickhead, obviously.” When he still didn’t hand the phone back, you huffed and sunk into the couch. You would play his stupid game for now. Brooding, you asked, “Any other dumb questions?”

He made a thoughtful noise. “He hurt you?”

“Not physically,” you muttered into your shoulder.

Jason thought that was typical of Dick. Always the heartbreaker.

You leaned forward, unfurling. He didn’t like how your mouth curved upwards in a haughty smile as you did so. “Are you worried, Red?” you asked in a wry tone.

The smile blossomed into something poisonous when he didn’t reply. He was impassive under the mask, not wanting to betray his own feelings.

Even turned, your smile etched away at him.

You pat the empty space between you two then. Your voice was milder this time. “I come home to you, don’t I?”

Your casual use of home and you in the same sentence made his cheeks burn. His skin singed under the insinuation that you found any amount of comfort in him. The fact that you could consider any of this—him, or the apartment—home, was beyond astounding.

Remembering that you enjoyed saying things like that to get under his skin, he bit out, “He should clearly be worried about me.”

It sounded like you mumbled, “He is,” under your breath, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Impassiveness faltered into doubt.

You were tired as you said, “We’re not together.”

The hot, clawing streaks of emotion petered out. “Didn’t think you'd fall for such drivel, anyway.”

“‘Drivel’? God, you are an old man.”

He laughed at that.

An idea seemed to sprout in your mind as you refocused your fiendish eyes on him. He wanted to shrink under the gaze, in case you said something worse than you already had, or tried to pry more out of him.

“What?” he asked shortly, nervous gaze dragging across your face.

“Well... I don’t have any way of contacting you,” you said. “What if I’m in trouble?”

“Then it’d serve you right,” he drawled. “You might start listening to me.”

Jason watched as your lips formed a pout, trying to persuade him. “If and when I get lost?”

“You have a phone. With a map,” he said with a snort.

You threw your head against the couch with a sullen whine. Your tired gaze remained on the ceiling. It must have been patched up recently because it looked pristine compared to the rest of the building. How long had Red been hanging out here, all alone?

Head lolling against your shoulder, you fixed him with curious eyes. It transformed into deviousness as you thought of a way to better tease a response from him. “What if I want to talk to you?”

He fell into the shine of those eyes as your hopeful forcefulness didn’t waver.

“You can wait,” he muttered, trying to ignore the lump your words had bare-handedly shoved down his throat. Calloused knuckles might as well have been wringing him out like wet clothes that needed to be hung dry. Your pleads grated against brain matter as he repeated them, scanning each syllable for sincerity. His mournful longing for companionship—or even just mindless conversation—tasted acrid as it tried to skitter past his defences.

As you continued to stare at him, he considered submitting to your request. Seeing as it was Gotham, you would run into trouble sooner or later, but he was more concerned with the likely scenario that you hurt yourself again. He had no doubt you could outdo yourself given the time and space.

You had Dick’s number, he reasoned, but that sat distressingly heavy in his gut.

Jason’s thoughts devolved into frustration: at himself for both how feeble he was being, and his justification of said actions.

With a huff, he added his contact to your phone. He finally passed the device back. “Emergencies only,” he said, tone sharp.

He was met with an enthusiastic nod, although he didn’t trust one bit of it. There was a dull flicker in his chest as he took in the elated display, unconsciously filing the memory for later analysis.

With work finished before the sun set for once, you plodded into Red’s apartment with a pip in your step. You had borrowed a thousand-piece puzzle to keep you busy for the weekend and itched to start it.

As soon as you entered, you tossed your bag and shoes on the floor. Next on the agenda was a snack, of course. On your stroll from the library, you’d grabbed a fresh bread loaf, still surprised to see a sunny little bakery in Gotham. The smell of toast had pulled you in with the reminder of home; of the yeast and sweetness of the corner street shop with the exceptionally friendly staff.

Scrounging around the kitchen cabinets, you found a knife sharp enough to cut the bread. You sliced enough for a sandwich and twisted the bag closed. You added some cheese. You’d learned that Americans loved the plasticky kind, but you could admit it melted quick. With a hot pan, it only took a couple of minutes to crisp to your liking. You pulled it off the stove and set it aside to cool.

Suddenly distracted, you made your way back to the puzzle you’d left on the coffee table. You flopped onto the floor, already laying the pieces of the puzzle out into identifiable piles.

It only occurred to you when you heard a thump against the bedroom wall that Red might be home. At the shock of the sound, your head spun around to locate it. A flash of a tanned wrist caused your eyes to drop. Sock-clad feet inched out of the doorway.

Jason let out a startled noise when he remembered that he wasn’t alone. He scrambled backwards.

“Wait!” you called, keeping your eyes low out of decency. You heard him pause, midway to slamming the door shut.

“There’s a grilled cheese in the kitchen,” you said. “You like them, right?” The sandwich was yours, but he needed his worries quashed. You could always make another, you figured. “I won’t look,” you said as you continued the puzzle in an act of goodwill.

It took some time, but he shuffled out of the room and into the kitchen. Ceramic scratching against the counter let you know he’d taken you up on the offer.

“Thank you,” came the husky, muffled tone. It sounded apologetic in its sleepy delivery. Disappointed, you recognised the reverb of his helmet. The mystery of the person who owned that voice crawled along your spine. He disappeared back into his room with the soft click of his door.

About ten minutes later, he exited again. This time, he made his way to the kitchen. You didn’t bother to look, engrossed by the task at hand. You’d outlined the border of the puzzle.

However, the waft of burning cheese in your nose served as a momentary distraction. Hungry boy, you thought funnily, not bothering to investigate further.

But when a plate with a new sandwich was hoisted over your shoulder, your heart fluttered. Even though you were put-out to see he had his helmet on. You tried not to pout, but accepted the hot food readily.

“Thanks, Red,” you forced a smile.

He nodded, gaze shifting from you to the table. “You like puzzles, huh?” Jason asked.

Your face fell, giving way to dull humiliation. You’d faced this kind of taunting enough times to know what came next. “Yeah,” you sighed, poking at your grilled cheese, disinterested with the rest of the conversation.

Your belittling thoughts paused, though, when he said, “Me too.”

Your jaw almost cracked as it snapped to meet his helmet. You sputtered out, “You do?”

He nodded. He took the few steps around the lounge so he was near the table. Picking up the box cover, he hummed as he inspected the image on front. It was an older style puzzle; a colourful still life of fruit and flowers. Not like the Gotham Library had many options with its pitiful funding.

You watched him eye up the puzzle again, imagining the burly man in his vigilante costume sitting down to do a peaceful puzzle, of all things. It was annoyingly intriguing to learn a little more about his vulnerable side every day.

Ready to get back to it, you were keen as you asked, “Do you want to help?”

Jason made another noncommittal sound but sat down on the couch. He maintained a calculated distance from you.

You delved into silence willingly, sucked into the game that was finishing a puzzle. Even with two people, you doubted you could before you grew too tired. But you would try, feeding off your silly addiction.

Occasionally, he would point out a piece you were looking for but blind to. After shooting him an enlivened smile, you popped it into place. Each time he would give a begrudged nod and straighten up his form like he hadn’t been slouching with eagerness. He would repeat the same pattern with every piece.

His abrupt croak splintered the quiet and pulled you from your fussing. “Thanks.” You turned to him, confused. “For not looking,” he said through his hesitancy.

You shrugged. He trusted you enough to practically live together, but he didn’t trust you that much. You may have sounded snootier than you meant to when you said, “You don’t trust me like that.”

He froze, most likely uneasy with your verbalisation of the truth. You wondered if he would argue to his detriment. Although, often his own thoughts seemed to churn and get stuck in the cogs before he could voice them.

You waved the conversation away with a nonchalant hand. “It’s fine.”

He relaxed at that, releasing a breath that rolled over his tense body. Both of you knew it was most definitely not fine, but was the alternative much better?

You heard him start to say something, but it quickly died on his tongue.

“Are you going out tonight?” you asked instead, noting the time.

Jason nodded. “Are you?”

You looked pointedly to the puzzle. “I’m busy.”

He made another noise, but this time it sounded like a snort. Your mouth lifted into a small smile at it.

Eventually, he slid to the floor. You glanced at him, watching how he scrunched his knees to fit in the small space. It looked uncomfortable. Guilt gnawed at you: you were invading his space, forcing him to stay costumed. He couldn’t wake up without needing to hide underneath the bulky disguise. Your brain drifted into those thoughts.

Unexpectedly, he leaned over the table and began to sort through loose puzzle pieces. He placed a number of them into their respective places.

Eventually, Jason stopped moving, his eyes glued to your form. Nudging the piece out of your hand that you’d been playing with for ages, he pushed it into the correct position. “Something wrong?” came his mechanical concern.

“No,” you lied, picking up another piece to play with. Swiftly, he flicked it out of your grasp. You turned to glare at him, only to find he had already fixed you with a questioning look.

You gave a cut-off sigh, falling back against the couch. “You can kick me out whenever, you know?”

“What?” He was taken aback by the proclamation. You were freshly self-deprecating today.

Once Jason had parsed over your words, he spoke again, “You want to leave?” Then, with a cough as he realised how pathetic he sounded, he amended, “Do you have somewhere to go?”

You let out an amused cluck. “No.”

His throat constricted. Unpleasant tendrils of panic crept up his limbs, ready to tear into his heart with sharpened, bloodthirsty fangs. He tried to lighten his own mood with, “Is it my cooking?”

You huffed out another laugh. “No,” you sobered, “I’m imposing. You can’t even walk around without the suit.”

His head tilted as he attempted to even out his breathing once more. “I brought you here,” Jason countered. He accepted that his discomfort was of his own volition.

“I know, but...” A resigned puff escaped past your lips. “That’s not the same as wanting me here.”

You could never accept a half-assed explanation. He felt the roots of his hair tingle, begging to be ripped out. His fingers flexed, itching to calm the sensation. This conversation brought on a strange kind of suffocation as he tread unfamiliar waters. His brain felt fried as he tried to string together a coherent sentence.

“I want you to be safe,” Jason admitted, voice sheepish as his gaze dropped to the gloves in his lap. Because that was the same thing, wasn’t it?

The words washed over you in a warm wave, but you weren’t sure it was quite enough to smother your growing guilt. Your nimble fingertips poked at the edge of the table as you considered what he’d confessed.

You looked him over. Jason felt the heat of those attentive eyes, dragging over his crouched form, inspecting every one of his bad habits.

“Neither of us are good at that, huh?” you murmured. He made a noise of humoured agreement.

Silence followed for a few beats. It felt charged to you, cluttered with a whirlwind of confusion and shame and maybe a little of something better left unsaid.

You turned your attention back to the puzzle. You fumbled through some more pieces as did he.

He cleared his throat. Anticipating his next thoughts, you peered out of the corner of your eye, allowing him a modicum of space to think. The black fabric of his knee brushed against the wooden table leg.

“I...” Jason started, failing miserably. I don’t mind you being here.

An alert flashed across his helmet then. It was Roy, asking him to swing by the youth centre. With it being late, he was immediately put on edge. He straightened, muscles stiff as he slipped into action mode.

He glanced at you. “Show me when you finish it, yeah?”

Despite your nod, his gaze remained level on you for a minute longer. You grew antsy under his scrutiny. Jason stared back, deliberating what he felt beneath the strange request. Was his interest truly about the finished puzzle? Could he not just piece it back together and enjoy that more?

Without giving himself any further chances to mull, he parted with what felt like a throwaway line—but was more thoughtful than his tone suggested: “There’s fruit in the kitchen.”

Then he disappeared off the balcony.

Humid air blew over you in a welcoming breeze as you pushed through the old door of the diner. The little bell above you sang but it caught no one’s attention. You let the door close behind you with a smack. Eyes roaming over the room, you sought out the young waitress from last time. You wrung the straps of your bag as you realised she might not be in tonight. Shit.

However, if the misfortune was true, it did mean you could come back again. You’d grown fond of the greasy food served with a side of attitude. Red might get upset if you skipped too many of your two and five a day, though.

A man shoved past you with gruff mutterings as he attempted to exit, barely sparing you a glare. You felt the door hit your elbows on his way out. Your eyes trailed after his disappearing form, narrowed at his impatience.

“Darl, you better eat a few more burgers before you pick a fight with someone like that,” came a voice from your front. You dragged your eyes towards the counter. Francine rested on her elbows against the scuffed metal. A necklace dangled over her collarbones as she leaned forward. You felt her beady gaze sizing you up hungrily as you stood there.

A nonchalant smile slipped onto your face as you took the few steps to meet her from the other side. As you came closer, you noticed the greying hairs mixed in with her natural colour.

Her eyes flicked from your form to the door, before settling back on you. “Roy meeting you here?”

You shook your head.

“What’re you after then?” Fran asked, ready to pluck her pen and notepad from her apron.

“Nothing yet,” you said. “Is Fern here?”

She paused, looking you over again to scrutinise you. “You better be careful around that one. Invites all sorts with that trouble mouth of hers.”

You almost laughed at her description.

Francine tsked, glancing at her wrist watch. “She went for a smoke a while ago. Should’a been back by now,” she continued with a roll of her eyes.

As if summoned by Francine’s lambasting, you heard the heavy thud of the back door. Two voices mingled in the kitchen before you finally caught sight of the person you were looking for.

Francine spoke up as you both saw the flash of red hair. “That’s her now,” she said flatly. Without another word, she moved out from behind the counter to attend to a customer that waved her over.

Fern entered the front area, head lowered as she focused on retying her apron. When she looked up once more, her eyes widened. “You’re alive,” she stated, coming closer, tone disbelieving.

You shot her a smile. “Yeah.”

Fern side-stepped the counter to scan your full body. She surveyed you from head to toe, searching for any sign of harm. Squinting, she met your eyes again. An unintelligible sound escaped her before she eventually asked, “Do ya want a seat?”

You nodded.

“Be my guest,” she shrugged, arms regaling over all the empty spaces. You decided to sit at the counter so you could talk to her. She had her pen ready by the time you’d gotten comfortable.

“What’re you in the mood for?”

You paused, unsure. You hadn’t actually thought about it. “Can you surprise me?” you requested, lost for ideas.

“Sure.” She jotted down something you couldn’t see. “Drink?”

“Soda, please.”

“You want some dessert, too?”

“Do you have pie?”

Fern nodded. With ease, she listed, “Blueberry, cherry, chocolate cream...”

“Chocolate, please.”

She smiled, tickled by your choice.

You swallowed your uncertainty, matching her expression. “Do you want something, too? As a thanks.”

She stared at you like you’d said something funny for a moment, but then she shrugged. “Sure. Sandwich and soda fine?” she confirmed. You agreed.

“Give me a minute,” she muttered. She tore off the paper slip and left for the kitchen. You heard her talk to the cook before she returned.

To your surprise, she hopped into the seat beside you. Fern fixed you with a steady look. She was quick to start her interrogation. “He hurt ya?”

“No. Just took me home.”

Her doubt was obvious. “Didn’t even touch you or anything?”

“It was all above board,” you soothed. “I’m completely fine.”

“Some of them are good, but I don’t trust them much, ya know?” she said. “Gotta look out for the newbies.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate it.”

“I really was gonna file a report,” she huffed, though her mouth curved upwards. You laughed.

“Yeah, I figured it was a real threat.”

Her chin jerked in satisfaction.

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as a bell alerted her to your prepared meal. She retrieved it and set down both of your respective plates, going back once more for cutlery and cups.

“Thanks,” you smiled graciously. You unwrapped the utensils and placed the napkin aside. The surprise plate was a mix of bland hues, but it looked appetising.

“Biscuits and sausage gravy,” she announced, “with a side of mash for fun.” She waited on your reaction.

You grinned. “This is great.”

“I know,” she agreed haughtily, pleased with herself. She began to nibble at her toasted sandwich.

You dove into your comfort dinner. Or was it considered secondsies if you’d had a meal before coming here?

“So, what brought you to Gotham?” Fern asked after she’d taken a sip of her drink.

You debated your phrasing, but by now you had some idea of what to say. “I wanted something new.”

“And you chose Gotham?” Incredulity was poorly masked from her tone and her forehead furrowed in tandem. “Most people can’t wait to escape.”

You were stiff as you shifted. “It wasn't much safer where I came from,” you murmured in vague explanation. Her gaze was contemplative as she looked you over again, hawing at her own thoughts. You wondered, briefly, if she’d seen any of your scars. It felt like you’d been hiding them less as of late.

Looking up at her, you chose a less stressful topic. “Do you study? I heard there’s a college around here.”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve been working to save up... Hoping I can start soon.”

Your face brightened. “What are you going to study?”

“Something science-y, I think.” That speck of pride flitted over her face once more. You liked seeing it there; hoped Gotham wouldn’t tear it away.

“Oh, you’re smart?” you teased in a light tone. “Francine doesn’t seem to agree.”

She rolled her eyes. “The old bat’s just jealous I’m taking her tips these days.”

You took note of the diner’s crowd again. It had emptied after the dinner rush, most patrons having shuffled out. You were sure it would fill up again soon with the more bothersome people. “If you sit down with every customer, I can see why she’s mad,” you said with a wry smile.

She matched your expression. “She does just fine with the creepy lot.”

You hummed. “I bet. The second time I ever talked to her she told me I could end up floating down the river.”

Fern snickered. “See what I mean?”

Having noticed that you’d stopped munching on your food, she offered to grab your pie. You thanked her.

This time, she took longer as she had to serve it up for you instead of having the back of house do it. You watched, entranced, as she pulled the chocolate cream pie from the fridge. She was careful as she used a large knife to cut a neat piece. She topped it with some extra whipped cream in a magazine-ready swirl. She finished it off with a handful of chocolate flakes. Fern slid it across the counter.

“Huh, maybe you should consider something in culinary,” you joked. She gave a playful roll of her eyes. “Do you want a bite?” you asked.

Her face lit up, a grin taking its place. “I’m glad ya not one of the weird geezers,” she said, grabbing you fresh forks.

“Does anyone give you trouble?”

“Here and there.” She shrugged. “I can handle it usually. Sometimes one of the guys steps in,” she said, a finger pointed towards the kitchen.

You took turns to scoop up your next mouthful.

“So, you sweet talk them then?” you asked through the cream coating your mouth.

“No way in hell,” she said as her face scrunched up. “I tell it to them straight. I think they like being told ‘no’ for once in their life.”

With a laugh, you nodded, thinking that her assumption was probably accurate. When you thought you had all the power in the world, a waitress telling you off was likely some kind of new thrill.

Once you finished the pie, you wiped your lips clean on your sleeve. Fern shook her head at you.

“Shouldn’t ya be heading off before another vigilante swoops in?” she asked as she glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t that late—just gone nine—but walking through Gotham after dark was a sin. A sin that Red was going to chew you out for if he was still at his apartment.

“Yeah...” you sighed. Your eyes moved from her to the empty soda glass. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you parsed through your thoughts. All would be forgiven in exchange for food, right?

“Actually,” you piped up, “can I put in an order for takeout?”

Fern stifled a laugh into her fist. “You that hungry?” Her expression schooled into high eyebrows and pertinent interest then. “Or you got someone at home to feed?”

You caught the request for more details, but you didn’t think she’d be too pleased to hear who it was for in actuality. With feigned nonchalance, one of your shoulders lifted and dropped. “Midnight snack.”

“Uhuh,” she vocalised. Nonetheless, she retrieved her notepad from her pocket. She nudged your leftovers. “You want that packed up too?”

You nodded eagerly, excited at the prospect of saving some for tomorrow.

The nib of the pen tapped as she prompted, “And the order?”

Immediately, you pictured how Red was built like an armoured tank. “A double cheeseburger combo with a cola float, please.”

She paused, taking you in for a moment. “Sounds beefy,” she said with a steadfast smirk.

You huffed, deflecting. “I’m anaemic.”

She tutted as she passed the paper through the kitchen window. Fern moved towards the till. She punched in your long order. You watched her nails click against the old-style keys expertly.

You were struck by your own worry in the moment. The last time you’d been here, she’d been working around three or four in the morning. “When do you finish?”

“At ten thirty,” she answered, eying you above the register. She held out her hand for the money, to which you obliged. Her nails were neatly painted a mesmerising plant green.

“Are you going to be safe getting home?”

“Yeah. My designated hunk superhero is coming.” Her words dissipated into giggles. You made a noise of distress and crossed your arms.

“I’m serious!”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “My pa’ll pick me up.”

You nodded. “Good,” you mumbled under your breath. Fern turned around to collect your meal. She slid the bag across the counter with a leer, hand poised on top of it.

“Your ‘midnight snack’ coming?”

Your head dropped against your collarbones out of defeat. “No,” you whined. “Cab.”

“Alright,” she gave a cheery smile, “until next time.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled, snatching your food from her claws. “See you.”

The taxi driver was reluctant as he pulled around the back of the apartment lot. Since turning the corner, he had driven slowly, perhaps dreading that this next stop was some kind of robbery set-up. You didn’t blame him as you regarded all the buildings with boarded up entrances and the few smashed lamps along the street. It was, by all appearances, the perfect hideout for nefarious business.

However, when he stopped where you asked, he was relieved to find no one waiting in the shadows. Several times more he’d peered outside the window before catching your eye in the mirror, uttering, “You sure?”

He confirmed again before accepting the cash you tried to force into his palm.

As you stepped out the car, lap still warm from the bag clutched to your chest, you felt his eyes follow you. You made it to the stairs before you stopped to give the driver a big smile and wave, assuring him of your choice.

He drove off then, disappearing in the direction of the main streets. He likely expected to hear about your body on the news by the next day. You snorted.

Walking away from the rickety stairs, you instead headed towards the garage. A sliver of light escaped from under the door that had been left partially open. You tapped the heavy steel with the toe of your boot a couple of times, announcing your presence. “Are you decent?”

You heard movement inside before there was a muffled, “Yeah.” You saw Red’s shoes first as the door lifted just enough for you to duck under. He shut it behind you, snuffing out the rogue light.

You straightened, coming to face him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he took you in.

Your greeting was a plain, “Hey.”

His head tilted in acknowledgement. “Where’ve you been?”

You rolled your eyes. “At least start with ‘hello.’”

He pulled away from his spot, taking a step closer. His arms fell as he moved, sticking to his sides. You turned your nose up to meet his annoyed gaze.

“Hello,” Jason ground out. “Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”

Both of you froze as you caught his unmistakable choice of words. A smile threatened to wiggle onto your face, so you looked away, mumbling incoherently under your breath. He tucked his head sheepishly, attempting to hide the flustered sensation that burned along the skin of his neck and up to his ears.

As your eyes roamed over the garage, you thought he must’ve been working on his bike. Oil drippings stained the cement and there were a few tools scattered underneath the metal frame. Your eyes narrowed when you spotted bullet casings tossed aside.

You realised then that he must not have been wearing his helmet up until you showed up. Otherwise, he might have suffocated in this little space. The thoughts cleared as you remembered the bag you held. You shoved it into his chest, wincing as you squashed the food inside.

Jason looked down, confused. “What’s this?”

“I got you dinner,” you said, looking up at the metallic shine that glittered in the harsh lights. He still seemed hesitant to accept the bag, gloved hands unmoving.

“You didn’t go out just for this, did you?” he exhaled, though he’d be lying if he didn’t appreciate the gesture.

“No,” you smiled thinly. “I talked to the waitress you scared.”

His eyes remained level on yours, not sure of who you referred to. Jason racked his brain. Understanding finally clicked as he stopped on the young woman who’d all but threatened him.

“Right,” he snorted as the red-headed, suspicious waitress appeared in his mind's retracing. If he was honest, she was a blur in the memory of that night. He had been consumed by his own self-pity more than anything else. But he recalled your firm touch and reassuring words, pressed into his side. Jason wiped his palms against his clothes.

Slowly, he took hold of the bag from your outstretched hands. “Uh, thanks.”

You gave a dismissive shrug. Brushing past him, you leapt up onto the counter that housed the weird tablet. He followed, setting the food down beside you. However, instead of digging in, he went back to kneeling on the floor by his bike.

He needed to do something with his hands rather than focusing on that memory.

A tool scraped against the smooth gravel.

“It’s going to get cold,” you pointed out.

Jason spared you a glance. “Uhuh,” he hummed, amused.

You stared at him, wondering if you could somehow dare him to remove the helmet again. Unfortunately, he chose now to ignore your intense gaze, merely swapping one tool for another as he worked.

“Your ice cream float is going to melt,” you said, tone unhappy.

A scrambled snicker came from him. “I’m not eating while you’re here.”

You sighed, leaning backwards until you rested against brick in a position that would set off even the toughest of doctors. The texture scratched against your elbows. You were quickly lost to your thoughts, sight unfocused.

“Are you ever worried you might lose control?”

It was like your brain had lagged, mouth running ahead of your nervous system. You hadn’t realised it was you who had spoken until his head lifted, eyes landing on you. His movements paused, but he didn't say anything as he assessed you.

You were stuck on your previous conversation with Roy. Even when he’d asked if you were a threat, he seemed to have total conviction that you weren’t. And yet, at Donna’s party, you’d ached to tear them to shreds. He didn't know how volatile your anger had really been, like icy hot tendrils wanting to pounce; waiting for just one more wrong thing to be said.

You felt hot under Red’s gaze, a little embarrassed by your outburst. You faced the wall and hoped he couldn’t read you from that angle.

Jason saw you dodge his eyes and fidget but he didn’t waver. Of course he was worried about losing control. With recent events, he was pretty sure his mind was careening downhill, ready to belly-flop straight into the Lazarus Pit for another round. He wondered what worse things he could concoct this time around?

His jaw ticked as he tried to refocus. This wasn’t really about him, was it?

Slowly, he was able to voice some kind of an answer, “Yeah, sometimes.” He swallowed then, concern rising. “Did you... do something?”

Your eyes flashed back to his, and he was sure there was an ounce of hurt behind them. It calmed after a moment as you sunk back into your lopsided position.

“No,” you said, voice sullen.

He didn’t move, allowing you to keep the moment to yourself. He watched the muscles in your face twitch as you considered your next action.

“The night you found me...” you started, but the words died on your tongue. Hatred for your own thoughts burned in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to say it aloud: you’d wanted to hurt your friends.

“Yeah?” Jason prompted, quiet, when you didn’t continue. Your face screwed up.

“I was so angry. I almost did,” you said. You couldn’t look at him. “I wanted to destroy.”

He caught the low reverb of your ragged breaths; saw how your nails pressed into your scars. He wondered if Dick had almost faced your wrath.

“But you didn’t,” he stated. Your eyes flicked to his. They blazed now, upset at his willingness to dismiss your bloodlust. His fingers flexed in agitation, but he stayed poised.

“I wanted to. I could feel it, like something took over,” you rambled, almost incoherently. “They rewired my brain to be a weapon.”

He enunciated your name, stern and clear, in an effort to break your trance. “I know what you’re talking about,” he said, thinking back to his own mania. “But you had a choice, and you chose not to hurt them.” He interrupted your incoming rebuttal, “Even when you saved me, you never killed anyone.”

You both paused to look at each other.

“It’s not the same,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it.”

He tried to rub his chin. If you killed someone, would he be responsible?

His mind shifted to Raven and Gar and their battle to control themselves. “If you want...” he said, jaw hung low. “I know someone who might be able to help train you.”

“Why can’t you help me?” You sounded disappointed as you asked.

The corner of his lip quirked under the helmet. “I don’t have powers like you.”

He didn’t think he could help you even if he did.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but I’m not someone who can help.” His tone was definitive.

You let out a disgruntled noise.

“Just...” he sighed. “Offer’s on the table, yeah? No pressure.”

You grumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

You watched him pick up a wrench and fiddle with the wheel of his motorcycle again. You glanced at the bag, knowing his food was long cold. A frown twisted your features.

Out of boredom, you begun to swing your legs. You picked up the tablet, letting the neon glow cast over your face. You tapped at the screen, hoping to make something happen. Obnoxiously, you asked, “You got games on this?”

However, when you looked up, a shadow loomed over your face. He was much closer than you had anticipated. When in the hell had he even stood up?

An abrupt wave of anxiety came over you as his pants pressed into your knees. You felt the soft cotton of his hooded jumper and the empty holsters against your calves. His gloves landed on top of yours, pulling the tablet from your grasp.

“No,” he grunted, placing it back in its holder. He remained there, staring down at you.

You wanted to kick him, but having already tried it before, you knew it would do nothing to him. You looked away instead.

“Hey,” he muttered, hand coming to grip your knee. “How ‘bout you sleep instead of sulking down here?”

“No.”

His eyebrow raised. “Yes.”

“Why?” you persisted, finally meeting his gaze.

“Because—”

“—If you say ‘because I said so,’ I will cut your bike in half,” you threatened.

Jason laughed. “How ‘bout because you look tired as shit, then?” he said, tone softer.

“I don’t.”

“Right,” he snorted. He began to nudge some kind of slow, practiced pattern into the skin above your knee. “Can you please sleep in the bed, for once?”

“But that’s yours,” you whispered, taken aback by his distracted fingers, but you still tried to focus on him.

He shrugged. “I’m going out.”

You looked down at the glove touching you, then at how close his body was.

“Fine,” you said, watching his ministrations with annoyed curiosity. Unconsciously, your hand crawled closer, itching to figure out the pattern.

But as soon as you brushed against his glove, he dropped his arm as he realised he’d been caught. He pulled away without another word. A distinct coldness swept over you as you wondered if he had done that on purpose—to get you to agree.

“Put the leftovers in the fridge,” you scowled as you pushed yourself from the work bench and headed for the elevator.

God, Jason was fucking pissed he needed to fix his bike only hours after having done so. Stupid fucking goons and their stupid fucking guns. He wished he’d snapped the guy’s other leg, too.

He toppled into his computer chair, anger making him careless to the fact that you were in the apartment. The clatter of his jacket and Kevlar disrupted the hush of the safehouse.

His entire body was fraught with the pains that came from a bad night. His muscles were aggrieved—no longer simply burning. Instead, they’d settled into a deeply uncomfortable ache that pinched at his back and knees. It felt like he was being hung by a steel pipe from between his shoulder blades. No amount of fidgeting would take the pressure off for long. He’d learned that a long time ago, and yet he couldn’t help but shift every few seconds, relieving a fraction of the searing pain.

In a feat motivated by sheer desperation, Jason took a couple of painkillers before sagging into the chair at his desk. He tore off the helmet, dropping it to the floor with a thump. He briefly acknowledged that it was unlike him to not withstand the pain. But a human—even a supernaturally enhanced one—could only take so much, couldn’t they?

He let out another dissatisfied groan, rubbing at the tender skin of his arms. It just made it hurt more. He dreaded the random firings of his nerves that couldn’t be far off.

Jason tried to focus on drawing deep breaths in and out. As he absently attempted to massage his shoulder, he fell into the rhythm of your steady exhales from the bedroom. He realised then that it had been a week since he’d last been in this exact spot while you slept, safe and sound.

It was definitely risky, sprawled out like this for you to see if you spontaneously woke up. But he couldn’t will himself to move as he was glued to the position, however uncomfortable.

Once more, the sound of you sleeping lulled him, at least emotionally. It hardly affected the ache in his bones. Mindfulness was full of shit, but something was better than nothing, he supposed bitterly. He stared out the window, unblinking.

Jason hadn’t expected to fall asleep, although he should’ve known by now that he couldn’t resist rest in the confines of your space, when you eased the distress from his haggard mind.

Jason also didn’t expect a screech to rip him from his slumber. He whipped the gun out from under the desk in record time, pointing it in the direction of the noise. He rose swiftly in search of the source. He pulled on his helmet as he went. Jason assessed the apartment with watchful eyes and careful steps, looking for a break in.

He nudged the door of his bedroom open with the tip of the gun, striding over the threshold.

Jason found you sat up straight in the bed, your eyes wide and unseeing. Your fingers were curled into the bedsheets. He was reminded of the many times he’d woken up in the same position, seeking an anchor to the real world.

After another sweep over the room, Jason holstered the gun. He stepped closer. He paused to say your name. Your only response was to pull the quilt up higher, to your chin.

He gravitated towards the foot of the bed in cautious, slow movements. Jason sat down gradually, trying to establish eye contact. You didn’t meet his concerned gaze. He kept himself in your line of sight.

Knowingly, he asked, “Nightmare?” His voice was quiet, apprehensive, but still present in the dark. Only the faint light from outside the bedroom filtered in. A slice of it fell across your face. He noticed you flinch. He felt a fleeting hopelessness as he tried to figure out how to get you to talk.

Jason turned to his fumbling hands as his cruel brain churned over memories of his captor, and of how those dreams plagued him remorselessly. “I get them too,” he admitted. Your throat bobbed, hesitant to take in his confession.

You supposed no one was immune from nightmares, even when they were probably handing them out to the people who had the unfortunate experience of crossing their path.

You ignored his words, instead asking in a hoarse tone, “Why are you here so late?”

“This is my safehouse,” he mused. Jason gave a shy shrug then, exposing a fraction more of his vulnerability. “Fell asleep.”

He didn’t mention how it had been the sounds of your slumber that dragged him into a dreamless sleep of his own; that he was slowly and unknowingly becoming addicted to it.

“Oh,” you whispered, sounding numb even to him. You eyed his body, noting how his jacket and bat symbol were missing. He wore a simple black shirt that thinned with every small move of his limbs. You were brought back to the thought of how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in his uniform. Your chin tucked into your shoulder. You croaked out, “With the helmet on?”

He tilted his head in amusement. “Don’t get any ideas.”

A rueful ghost of a smile flitted across your expression. “I won’t.”

You two sat in wordlessness, listening to your breaths as they returned to a normal baseline. You realised then that being in silence was perhaps a favourite past time between you both. You thought about how people would kill for a dynamic where they felt comfortable enough that they didn’t have to speak to be in understanding of each other.

You scratched at the sheets nervously, considering your next words. Jason’s eyes were intense, seeing restless thoughts swirl in your brain.

“Can you... stay?” you requested, volume wavering as you kept your eyes on the bed. “Just until I fall asleep again,” you said, and it was someplace between pleading and falsely-dismissive. You still remembered how he’d pulled away from you at the slightest touch. You didn’t want to scare him off right now when you needed the company.

“Yeah,” he replied, words just as soft, surprising himself.

You felt better in his presence? Personally, he didn’t think he could sleep under the watchful eye of a freak in a Party City costume. Nonetheless, he situated himself more leisurely on the bed, leaning back on his palms.

“Go ahead then.” He raised an arm expectantly, unable to sit still in the weirdly intimate warmth of the moment. You rolled your eyes.

“What? You need a bed time story?” he quipped. His eyes remained situated on you, fascinated by the strange experience he was enrapt in.

You slipped beneath the covers, disregarding his comment. Nuzzling your nose into the pillows, you tried to make yourself comfortable in a stranger’s bed. You could convince yourself that this was like staying at a hotel. Not that you’d ever really done that—but you could treat yourself to a sleep somewhere safe—properly safe, not like your stay at the motel. You figured this was one of the safest places in Gotham, as a relatively unknown person stowed away in a vigilante’s hideout.

It was strange to take note of how the cosy fabric smelled of him. With slight, tentative movements—as if not to disturb the peace—you tugged the sheets closer to your face. You hoped the anti-hero wouldn’t notice you inhaling a big whiff like a weirdo, but you couldn’t put super-hearing past him either.

The cotton smelt like laundry detergent, most prominently. At least he was adamant about hygiene. But beyond that, when you zeroed in on the other scents, you sniffed something more. Dark green pine needles, you thought; a distinct woodsy scratchiness that matched the texture of the fabric. You wondered how he’d managed to pick up that smell in a dingy city.

Beyond that, there was the lingering smoke of a firecracker, or in Gotham’s case, normal, not-at-all-special gun powder and smoke. That made the most sense.

There was another faint scent that you couldn’t quite place; something muskier and homely, that you thought might be closer to his natural pheromones.

Okay, you were definitely being weird. But the vigilante was giving up some of his anonymity for your sake and comfort. Denoting you with a tiny piece of his soul that you clutched at with pesky hands—or rather—snout.

Jason watched as you nudged the pillowy cushions with a hidden smile. He thought you might have been mouthing something, too.

Who else could say they knew the Red Hood like this?

The urge to blurt out your suspicions couldn’t be held back in your sleepy but frightened state. “Hey, Red?” Your words were distorted by the linen.

“You call this trying to sleep?” he shot back, though his tone was airy and unruffled. He couldn’t keep his curious gaze off you. There was a living person in his bed instead of the usual clown or corpse. You weren’t there to haunt him. You were just existing, taking in the comfortable sheets and his presence.

You hummed, brushing him off. “Y’have a lot of visitors in this bed?”

His thoughts fell quiet. As his silence dragged on, he saw regret begin to chip away at you for asking such a brazen question.

“Just the bed bugs,” came his eventual answer. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He felt like anything else would be giving too much information away. He felt exposed enough.

But the smile tumbled off his face when the familiar burn of his scar strained tightly against his cheek. His chin fell. It was a pitiful reminder that none of this could ever be more. Normalcy was reserved for him only as a blurry fantasy. That ideal world died in the same cold, dim place he did.

Jason waited for you to fall asleep while facing the blank, knobbly wall. His ears pricked each time you shifted the quilt, but he couldn’t bear to look at you now. The pure delight of badgering each other would have to stay between him and Roy.

“Sweet dreams,” he said as he listened to your faint, rhythmic breaths and the pulse that echoed beneath his fingertips.

A/N: Yeah, maybe you have a community-appointed hot vigilante slash room mate. What about it?

#jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #tchogc*#dc #dc comics

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angelsdevils · 3 years ago

Text

Mereoleona x Reader

Title: I choose you A/N: This is one of those that will have fairy tail references and characters

Title: I Choose You

A/N: This is one of those that will have fairy tail references and characters

You ran your hands through your (h/l) locks as you were walking down the street. You had caught the eye of every man and woman in your town because you were so beautiful. It didn't help that you were one of the sweetest royals around, so it made people fall in love with you. The magic knights were currently in your hometown, you didn't know why but you didn't pay attention either.

Mereoleona watched as you were walking towards them, she felt her heart increase in speed, her face turned red and she couldn't take her eyes off of you. Her two brothers glanced at her since she had stopped walking. Their eyes followed their sister's and that's when it clicked in their minds what was happening.

"She is so beautiful," Mereoleona said, the boys were in shock. But they couldn't deny it was kinda cute to see someone like Mereoleona act like this for another girl. They didn't say anything because they knew how short her temper was, you began walking past them, and Mereoleona wanted to say something to you. Mereoleona's words got stuck in her throat, so she just stayed quiet watching you. It was so out of character for the brothers to see their sister like this. Just then you stopped standing beside them and Mereoleona tried to get the courage to say something to you.

Your senses were more heightened than the average human since you were raised by a dragon. Your parents thought it would be best to train you as a dragon-slaying mage than an average mage. You whipped your head to the side narrowing your eyes behind you, you let a sigh escape past your lips before looking to your left to see someone on top of the building. The Vermillion siblings were confused and Mereoleona went to ask if you were okay, but her hands dropped to her side when you began to speak.

"I wouldn't do it, if you do you are bound to get hurt. You guys fail every time." You said.

"Is she talking to us?" Leopold ask, and the two shrugged their shoulders. You looked to the three shaking your head before going to the store owner and bowing deeply.

"P-Princess, what are you doing?"

"I am so sorry, send any bills to the (L/N) estate, and we will handle any damage. It's..."

"Oh...I see, okay it's okay boys will be boys," He said shaking his head knowing what was going on. You took a deep breath as your two younger siblings went to attack you, your fists gather water around them and you punched both of them in their stomachs.

"Water Dragon Roar~!" You took a deep breath before water came out of your mouth destroying half of the store. You flinched seeing the damage.

"Oops, sorry~!" You said waving your hands hoping you didn't hurt your siblings, but they got up going to attack you with light and shadow magic, you dodged them with ease before knocking them out completely. When you were done, you saw the damage and you frowned, and narrowed your eyes at the two troublemakers who tried to best you at fighting.

"She is strong and beautiful, I think I am love," Mereoleona said out loud, not realizing how loud she said it. You looked at Mereoleona with a blush hearing what she said, her eyes widen and she looked away with a blush. Leopold snickered at that and Mereoleona grabbed his head with her Lion's Paw made of fire and tossed him behind her. She turned towards Fugoleon and he sweat dropped grabbing his head and tossing him before he could say or do anything.

"What did I even do?" He said managing to break his fall with his flames, while Leopold fell on his head.

"You would have done something, I don't know what."

"You can't just plan the future."

"The hell I can't." She mumbled, you let a laugh out covering it with your hand.

"Judging by the lion paw, you must be Mereoleona, Fugoleon, and Leopold of the Vermillion family. I am glad you guys got here safely." You said picking your brother's up so you can take them home with you.

"You know us?" Leopold asked hopping up.

"Yes, my name is (Y/N) (L/N), the princess of (L/N) estate." You said with a warm smile, Mereoleona's eyes widen at the news and she then realized one of her brothers was going to be the one marrying you. She began to mentally sulk, you motioned them to follow you to your home.

"That was awesome, you use water magic? I didn't know people could breathe out the elements out their mouth." Leopold said.

"Yeah, I and my brothers are .... dragon slayer mages. I am a water dragon slayer, these two idiots are light and shadow dragon slayers," You said, Leopold tilted his head to the side confused.

"Pretty much we were trained by dragons at young ages before they all disappeared." You said with a warm smile. Leopold was surprised and intrigued at the same time.

"I would totally want to be a fire dragon slayer!"

"Sorry, that spot is taken." A voice said behind you, you all turned around to see the biggest idiot of them all.

"Natsu~"

"Master Makrov is not gonna be happy with us."

"Why? I destroyed half the town on the other side and you destroyed this side."

",,,, NATSU YOU IDIOT!" You punched him sending him flying through a wall.

"Oops, sorry send it to estate~!" You yelled waving freaking out.

"That's not fair Makrov is gonna kill me not you because you are having your family pay for your damage," Natsu said huffing and remembering the punishments the master give and shuddered.

"Exactly, my parent's punishments I can deal with, I can't with master Makrov try not to die~," You said waving as he began to get dragged by a sudden Erza.

"Good to see you Erza." You said waving as Natsu was begging for you to save him and Erza waved smiling back at you.

"Good seeing you too." You focused on the back smiling.

"Sorry about that." You said with a bright smile, that smile made Mereoleona blush looking down and to wave it off.

"It's fine."

"You guys must be tired let's get going." You said walking with them back to your home. The walk back was quick and filled with laughter and conversation, mainly Leopold getting thrown by Mereoleona every time she blushed. Once you both arrived the King and Queen greeted them with warm smiles and the three bowed deeply in respect. You secretly glanced at Mereoleona with a small smile on your face, your parents noticed this of you and they knew who you had your eyes on. They didn't mind if you liked both boys or girls or just girls, as long as their little girl was happy that's all that mattered. You would still make a wonderful queen, and they were sure whoever you decided to marry would make a wonderful queen or king of their home.

"No need for such formality, come in. You guys look tired, dinner is being prepared. I am sure (Y/N) wouldn't mind showing you guys to your room." Your father said, you shook your head before showing your brothers.

"These idiots were at it again... I am sorry I got carried away."

"It's not your fault, we will make sure we handle them when they wake up." Your mother said as your father took them from you. You began to show the boys their rooms, it wasn't far from yours so if anyone had any questions they could easily reach you.

"My room is right here, Mereoleona your room is beside mine to the left, Leopold your's is to the right of mine, and Fugoleon that is your room across from Leopold. If you guys have any questions or concerns don't hesitate to come and get me okay?" You said, and they nodded before going into their rooms. You went into your room and got out of your clothes and dressed in something more casual for around the house. You guys weren't like other royal families, comfort came before anything else, especially in your own home.

"Oh shoot, I forgot to tell them they don't have to dress so formally." You said running out in sweatpants and a tank top. You knocked on Leopold's door and Fugoleon's door at the same time, they came out and they were shocked at your sudden appearance.

"I forgot to say, for dinner just dress in something comfortable, you don't have to be all fancy. mother and father don't mind, so if you want to wear jeans or your usual attire you can do that..." You said.

"Oh thank goodness, I don't like suits at all," Leopold said and Fugoleon hit his head. You laughed before waving them off as they began to get ready, you quickly ran to Mereoleona's room, but just as you were about to knock on her door, she swung it open and she froze. You both blinked at each other, she was wearing a really pretty dress and her hair was less wild than usual.

"Princess..."

"Just call me (Y/N) and I was going to say you didn't have to change if you didn't want to dress up. Mother and Father don't mind not having a fancy dinner, they prefer more casual dinners than fancy." You said, Mereoleona looked at her clothes and blushed slightly before looking at you.

"I see, thank you so much for telling me." You nodded your head with a smile.

"You look really pretty in that dress by the way." You said, Mereoleona blushed and smiled rubbing her neck.

"Thank you, you look adorable in the clothes, though aren't they a big on you?" She asked and you looked down.

"Yeah, but I was going to head in the shower but...I realized I didn't tell you about dinner so I wanted to tell you that before I forgot." You stated rubbing your neck embarrassed, Mereoleona couldn't help but smile at your cuteness before gently pinching your cheeks.

"Well, you still look adorable." She stated and you smiled widely at her before waving off.

"Well I should hop in the shower, I stink from sweat. See you at dinner Mereoleona..." You said waving off and going into your room. Mereoleona waved before closing her door to change back into normal attire. She leaned against her door holding her chest, she didn't know how to handle the fact she was in love. She placed her hand on her chest before composing herself and changing into her everyday attire. Mereoleona looked at herself in the mirror and smiled slightly before knowing that you would choose one of her brothers to marry, even though you heard her saying she was in love with you.

You were standing in the shower, and you couldn't take your mind off of Mereoleona, she was really pretty and you heard what she said when you guys first met outside. You shook your head wondering if your parents would let you marry another woman, it was clear to you that Mereoleona was wanting to be with you. You washed your hair and body before wrapping a towel around you and going into your bedroom, to see your mom sitting on the bed.

"Mom..."

"Go ahead and get dressed honey, I just wanted to talk to you before dinner." Your mom said, you put some undergarments on and a pair of pants before putting on one of your favorite shirts, she pats the bed next to her and you sat down.

"What is it, Mom? Is it serious?"

"Yes... I and your father want you as happy as you can be. That is why we were going to let you choose someone in the Vermillion family."

"I know, I haven't decided though..." You said looking at your lap.

"I think you have but you are too nervous to admit it." You met her eyes and you knew what she meant.

"Do you mean..."

"Your father and I both saw how you looked at her, if you want to be with her go ahead. Everyone here in the kingdom will support you, you are the sweetest girl and will make a wonderful queen one day." Your mother said, you blushed heavily before smiling and hugging her.

"Thank you, mom..."

"I have a feeling she wants to be with you too."

"Well...she did say she was in love out loud without realizing it until her brother started laughing and she threw him." You said laughing softly, your mother laughed as well.

"Sounds like someone I know." You blushed looking away.

"Then I guess it's settled I don't have anything to worry about." You said with a wide smile and your mother shook her head slightly. She kissed your cheek and got up before letting you know that dinner was going to be done in about ten minutes. You nodded your head going to get the Vermillion siblings.

"I can walk you guys to the kitchen since it is easy to get lost." You said.

"Thank you," Fugoleon said with a kind smile, you smiled back before seeing Mereoleona walk beside you, you looked up at her and she looked down with that shy smile.

"I think the princess likes big sis too," Leopold whispered to Fugoleon and he nodded.

"They would be cute together. I wonder if they would adopt a child or not have a child at all." Fugoleon said, Leopold blushed at the thought shaking his head and clearing his head.

"Do you think they would do /that/?" Leopold said and Fugoleon went to hit his head but you beat Fugoleon to it sending Leopold through multiple walls. You had a deep blush covering your cheeks and you hid your face in your hands.

"I heard every word you just said. Shut your mouth or I will kill you."

"Whatever they said I would kill them for you so you don't have to dirty your hands (Y/N)," Mereoleona said voice dripping in venom.

"They are scary together," Leopold said whining, "it was a compliment, I swear," Leopold said.

"What did they say?" Mereoleona said to you.

"They said...." You blushed before shaking your head.

"They said we would be cute together, and Leopold said..." You trailed off as Leopold begged you not to tell her. You couldn't even tell her, it was too embarrassing but Mereoleona rubbed your back slightly.

"Come on tell me."

"He said he wondered if we would do that sort of thing." You said emphasizing the last part, Mereoleona realized what you were trying to say and she sent Leopold through another set of walls.

"What is going on?" Your brothers asked.

"Nothing..." All of you said and they looked at each other confused before going to dinner. You sat beside Mereoleona, and your brother while your other brother sat beside Fugoleon and Leopold. Your parents sat on the opposite side of you guys.

The food was served and it was quiet as you guys began to eat and your father stood up to look at you with a smile.

"So, I am sure you all know it's time for (Y/N) to decide who she wants to marry." You looked down hiding your cheeks and Mereoleona sighed softly as she thought you two wouldn't end up together.

"Is it okay, if we offer someone and she says yes or no?" Fugoleon asked, and her father nodded knowing what he was going to say.

"We think Princess (Y/N) should marry our Mereoleona, we understand it's not normal but I am sure those two would be good for each other," Fuegoleon said. Mereoleona's eyes widen and looked at your parents with some hope, they looked at each other before looking at you.

"That is up to (Y/N) though we already know who she chose. "

"Really who?" Leopold asked, and your blush darkened before glancing at Mereoleona.

"M-Mereoleona... I was already going to choose her after Mom reassured me it was okay right before dinner." Mereoleona's eyes widen in shock and Leopold and your brothers all high-fived each other. Fuegoleon had a small smile on his face, glad everything worked out.

"Well it's settled they will be Wedded, and when the time comes these two will be our new Queens." Your father said, Mereoleona held your hand gently and you looked up at her.

"Just kiss her already, we can tell you want to.." Your brother Sting said.

"Sting~ not at the dinner table." You said hitting his head.

"It's not like it's going to be a make-out session. I say you seal it with a kiss." Leopold said causing Mereoleona to send him to a wall.

"Come on you two... It's okay just go ahead and share a kiss and finish eating so you two can talk alone." Your mother said. You and Mereoleona looked at your mother and father as they waited for you two. You glanced at each other and Mereoleona leaned her head close to yours pecking your lips gently before parting. You closed your eyes enjoying the way her lips felt against yours and you opened your eyes before looking down and going back to eating shyly.

Soon dessert was served, and everyone was laughing and conversing with each other. You and Mereoleona were in your conversation which no one minded. Once everyone was done eating Mereoleona took your hand and you led her out to the garden so you both had some privacy with each other. It was quiet and the wind blew through both of your hair, Mereoleona was the first to break the silence.

"I am so happy you chose me over my brothers and that your parents approve of us. I promise I will never hurt you, I will only want to make you happy." She said.

"I know, I am happy too. I am not going to lie, I was conflicted I had a weird feeling in my stomach when I met you and I knew what it was but I was scared my parents wouldn't approve." You said looking down, Mereoleona held your waist before pulling you into a hug. You let a sigh out, and she smiled. You took in her warmth and you smiled softly to yourself when you heard the words she stated.

"I love you, my princess."

"I love you too my lioness~"

#mereoleona vermillion #black clover mereoleona #mereoleona x reader #mereoleona #romance #lesbian #gxg #blackclover #CloverKingdom #MagicKnights #CrimsonLions

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howlingday · 3 years ago

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nora the arc au) jaune teaches weiss that empathy is a practiced trait and you have to train to be a good person.

nora discovers she has a fetish for jaune's big strong hands and accidently give ruby the same fetish while discribing them to her. she also tells ruby that no matter what happens her and jaune would be there to help her out so she doesn't need to be perfect. she just needs to be ruby rose and let her friends pick up the slack

so now nora and jaune are attracting entire bloodlines apparently

Big! Meaty! Paws!

"Now, close your eyes, Weiss." Jaune instructed, sitting across from her.

"Okay." Weiss held his hands as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

For the past three weeks, since Jaune's correction of Weiss' behavior, the two have been conducting empathy training for the heiress. He would present her a scenario, and she would attempt to emotionally connect with the person in that scenario.

"You're working in a shop." Weiss pictured herself in a building, products lining the walls, and she was wearing an apron with her name tag. Weiss nodded for Jaune to continue. "You're working behind the counter for your best friend's shift on what was supposed to be your day off," Weiss scowled deeply, "so she can visit her sick mother, who is in the hospital awaiting surgery," Weiss' scowl shifted to a sad frown, "and you're currently serving a customer who is accusing you of being incompetent," Weiss scowled again, "and her baby is crying while her toddler is throwing things off the shelf," Weiss scowled even deeper than before, "and now imagine the customer is you."

Weiss opened her eyes. She felt tears in her eyes and blinked. "Oh my... I didn't realize I was so horrible."

"Well, maybe not that bad, but you have to remember that other people are living their lives, just as you're living your own." Jaune explained. "Empathy is just feeling how someone else does, so you can better understand them." Jaune's alarm on his scroll buzzed. "Oop! That's our time. I feel like we really had some growth today." Jaune stood up, helping Weiss off the floor.

"Same time next week?" Weiss asked.

"If it isn't, I'll let you know." Jaune guided her out of his room. "I'll see you tomorrow in class."

"Right!" Weiss nodded. She happily waved as she shouted, "Good-bye!" Once the door shut, she sighed happily. She really regretted not meeting him sooner. She opened the door to her room and found Ruby and Nora playing a video game together. "Hello, Ruby, Nora," she greeted, "how are you today?"

"Huh?" Ruby asked. "Oh, hey, Weiss! Nora and I were just playing some Ninja Death Fighter Adventures. You want to play next level?"

"Did you finish today's homework?" Weiss asked.

"Uh, no? It's the weekend, Weiss! They're not made for working; they're made for slacking off!" Ruby moved the controller up to make her jump higher.

"What if you get a job where you have to work weekends?"

"Ugh! That would suck!" She button-mashed as a tough enemy tried to corner her.

"And do you know how to best avoid that, Ruby?"

"What?" Ruby kept her eyes glued to the screen.

"Doing your homework and not getting kicked out of Beacon!"

"Fine, I'll do it after this level!"

Weiss rolled her eyes. "Whatever." she pulled out her notebook from the desk and put in her earbuds to listen to her music. But before she hit play, she heard Ruby and Nora talking.

"Is she gone?" Ruby asked.

"Hang on." Nora said, a few moments later, she began calling to her. "Weiss? Hey, Weiss?" Weiss remained silent. "I guess she can't hear me."

"She's probably listening to her dumb opera music." Weiss scowled at Ruby's statement. Opera wasn't dumb. It was classy, unlike her annoying rock.

"She's probably dreaming about how to smooch my man." Nora said with a scoff. Weiss froze. She had no idea Nora was the one Jaune fell for. "They've been hanging out the past three fridays, y'know? I'm starting to worry she's not picking up the hint."

"How did you and Jaune get together, anyways?" Ruby asked. Weiss carefully glanced over her shoulder, hoping she wouldn't be caught. "I mean, how do you go from being brother and sister to being engaged?"

Weiss turned forward and had to hold back the urge to dry heave at the statement. "We're not brother and sister, Ruby." Nora corrected, to which Weiss silently sighed in relief. "We just grew up in the same family." Weiss grew even more confused. "Dad rescued me from some Grimm and brought me home to be his daughter, but I chose to be Jaune's wife."

"So when did you get married?"

"We're not married," Weiss sighed in relief again, "yet. We got officially engaged before coming to Beacon. He popped the question right after I unlocked his aura."

Weiss was starting to see why Jaune and Nora not only got together, but why they belonged together. Jaune was the knight in shining armor in training, focused, idealistic, eager to step forward in the face of danger. Nora was the wild child with no filter, excitable, bold, and attacking each day with vigor, seizing it by the throat. It only made sense these opposites attracted. Weiss sighed as her heart broke, but she knew she'd recover, in due time. After all, it's not like Jaune was the only man on Remnant, despite how she felt.

"So, uh, Nora?" Ruby sounded nervous. "If... If you don't mind me asking, what, uh, what's it like holding Jaune's hands?"

The sound of their game pausing echoed in the room. There was silence. Weiss turned her head and saw Nora and Ruby, both tomato red-faced and staring at each other.

Nora coughed into her fist away from Ruby. "W-Well, if you must know, Jaune and I have held hands a f-few times."

Ruby gulped and nodded, signaling her friend to continue.

"Well, his hands feel... safe. They're, uh, b-big."

"How... How big?"

Nora held up her hands together, thumb-to-thumb, then slid them to overlap each other by three fingers. Ruby held up her hand to it and gasped. They outsized her almost five times! Her face grew more and more red.

Nora shot up. "W-Well, this has been fun, but I'm gonna go now! Bye!" She left without allowing her friend to speak.

Ruby stared at her han, then held it to her chest. She sighed dreamily. "Why are the big-handed ones always taken?"

"Tell me about it." Weiss said, causing Ruby to jump.

#rwby #jaune arc #nora’s arc #nora the arc au #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #weiss schnee

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enterprisetrampstamp · 4 years ago

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General #42 t'pura plssss <3

I have written so many "bustling marketplaces" lately. I think it's projection; deep in my subconscious my ideal self is at a weird little booth on King St in Charleston poking through sterling silver jewelry and touching the pavement every thirty seconds to make sure the dogs' paws are okay.

(AO3 Link)

***

The market was bustling and vibrant, a cacophony of sounds and sights and scents as vendors hawked their wares and the savvy populace argued back. The streets were wider and less claustrophobic than Nyota was used to, the sky above lit brightly by pale binary suns instead of the singular pulse of Sol, but it still put her in mind of the market her family had frequented when she was younger. For their everyday needs, her parents had shopped at the usual grocery stores and department stores and corner markets among the glittering skyscrapers and bustling streets of Nairobi, but once a month her mother would pack Nyota and her sisters into the car and take them down to the open air market that sprawled across several city blocks on the outskirts of the city, where fresher produce and more unique items could be found.

Besides, it was fun.

Nyota and her sisters would buy fruity popsicles and play tag; as they grew older, they might haggle over jewelry and scarves and that perfect trinket for their father's birthday or a sister's graduation. Her fascination with language could be traced back to those afternoons in the market as much as anything else, listening to hundreds of voices arguing in nearly as many dialects-- Swahili, English, and Standard, of course, but Dholuo and Kamba and Somali and the voices of all of Kenya's other indigenous peoples, too. Hundreds of voices, loud and unapologetic and alive as they pushed and shoved their way through life. Nyota had had her first date at that market, with a boy who lived down the hall-- and, later, she'd shared her first kiss there... with his older sister.

Oops.

Nyota grinned at the memory, hitching her bag higher into the crook of her elbow, and trailed her hand through a selection of beautifully intricate scarves hanging from a delicate display made of thin, curving pieces of brass. Janice's birthday was coming up, she noted thoughtfully. The bright purple one was very much the yeoman's speed, embroidered with silver thread in a dizzying geometric pattern. She pulled it from the rack, running it thoughtfully between her fingers as the sun-- the suns, she corrected herself with a snort-- beat down on the back of her neck.

"This one will better highlight the undertones of your skin," a woman said, her voice light and warm and catching on the soft Standard consonants.

It was the accent that caught Nyota's attention; that unmistakable curl of a native Vulcan speaker in the way she pronounced the thorn at the start of "this." She looked up as the woman draped a scarf-- silky and deep red, decorated in a delicate swirl of tiny golden beads-- about Nyota's neck and trailed one end back over her shoulder, her long, gloved fingers carefully avoiding the brush of bare skin.

(Somehow, that half-centimeter's implication of a touch was more sensual than if she'd truly trailed her fingertips along the line of Nyota's shoulder.)

"It's beautiful," Nyota agreed honestly, because it was. She raked her gaze over her new friend, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. The Vulcan woman was tall, dressed in a romper with loose, flowing pants that tapered back to her ankles to tuck into simple leather (faux, presumably) boots and a stiff vest that shimmered subtly beneath the sunlight, reaching high up her throat but leaving her lightly freckled shoulders bare. All of it, from head to toe and including her gloves, was rendered in a deep, eyecatching purple. Her hair was braided simply and fell heavily over her right shoulder, thick and so darkly black that the sunlight turned it faintly blue. The leather tie at its end was that same, vibrant purple.

(A cosmopolitan Vulcan woman, Nyota supposed. It was a far cry from the robes and elaborate hairstyles Nyota was used to seeing, but then she usually saw the diplomats and the Council members-- women dressed formally and in pointed representation of their culture.)

"But," Nyota added, placing a delicate emphasis on the word as she unwound the scarf and returned it to its place on the rack, "I'm not shopping for myself."

"Pity," the woman said, her dark eyes likewise sweeping over Nyota. (She, for the record, was dressed comparatively simply in a blue dress and ankle boots.) "It did look good on you."

Nyota leaned towards her as if confessing a secret, a smile pulling teasingly at one corner of her lips. "Everything looks good on me." One slanted eyebrow twitched high on the Vulcan's forehead, and Nyota laughed, straightening, and lifted her hand in the ta'al. "Dif-tor heh smusma, my new friend."

"Peace and long life," the woman returned in Standard, flashing her own-- purple gloved-- ta'al and lifting her other eyebrow to join the first. "Your accent is very good."

"Well, if it wasn't I'd probably be out of a job," Nyota replied easily. She watched the Vulcan in her periphery as she decided against the purple scarf for Janice-- the yeoman could be finicky about clothing and would probably rather Nyota pick her up some tourist-y magnet that would be wildly embarrassing to have to purchase-- and debated an emerald green for Christine instead. (Her birthday wasn't coming up, but it never hurt to be thinking ahead.)

"You are employed as a translator?" the Vulcan guessed, picking at the scarves herself. The motion seemed less like she was interested in them, and more as if it was an excuse to keep talking to Nyota.

"Sometimes." Chris would love it, she decided. She half-turned towards the vendor, lifting the scarf, and had started to ask "How much--?" when she caught a glimpse of the scarf that had been hidden underneath it. With a laugh, she traded the green scarf for the new one and turned back to the Vulcan, holding it up consideringly.

"It's your favorite color," she said, too many teeth in her grin.

"Having a preference for a particular color would be illogical," the Vulcan returned archly, but there was something in her voice, some teasing irreverence hiding beneath the lack of inflection, as she plucked the scarf from Nyota's hand and held it against her chest to compare the shades of purple.

"Too red," she said, her gaze flicking up to meet Nyota's as she raised an eyebrow.

Nyota scoffed. "Oh, please."

A tiny, almost imperceptible corner of the woman's mouth twitched in a smirk. "Your disbelief will not change the fact that the scarf is too red."

"Those Vulcan eyes of yours must be missing some rods and cones. It's a perfect match," Nyota insisted, reaching out to drape the scarf about the woman's shoulders-- the motion pulled them close, each of her hands wrapped loosely in silky fabric, and she smirked up at the Vulcan as she took another, deliberate step forward.

"Are you flirting with me?" the Vulcan asked, amusement smoldering in her dark eyes. They stood so near that, had they each taken a deep breath in, Nyota's hands would be trapped between them.

"You started it," Nyota pointed out, teasing, as she unwound her hands from the scarf. "And I'm feeling nostalgic this morning," she declared, fondness curving her lips into a smile, "for a different dark haired beauty I flirted with in a market not so different from this one, once upon a time."

"Vulcans do not flirt."

Nyota's grin spread wider. "Now that I know from experience is a lie."

"Vulcans do not lie either," the woman said, and there was that self-aware edge of irony once again-- Nyota didn't even feel like she was insulting her when she tipped her head back and laughed.

"Oh, sure," she said, flashing a few credits at the vendor and receiving a word of confirmation as she plucked the green scarf back off of the rack. "Vulcans don't lie, as a generality." She handed the credits to the vendor, glancing over her shoulder to add, tartly, "That doesn't mean they can't, or that Vulcans in the individual won't."

There was that little twitch of a smirk again.

"A wise woman," the Vulcan observed, falling into step next to her as she tucked Christine's present into her bag and walked away from the booth. "I hope, when you are not engaged as a translator, that you make use of your skills as a counselor-- or perhaps a bartender."

Nyota barked another laugh, shooting her a grin. "I do mix a mean martini," she agreed.

"Metaphors," the Vulcan sighed. She spread her hands in a shrug, the movement loose and fluid. "I have never understood what qualifies a drink as 'mean.'"

"Usually it's because it insulted your mother," Nyota told her, straight-faced, and was rewarded with a rise and fall of the Vulcan's chest that she chose to interpret as a silent sigh of exasperation.

"So what do you do?" Nyota asked, as she paused to peer at a display of sterling silver jewelry, bedazzled with a variety of inexpensive-- but beautiful-- gemstones, most of them imported from the other side of the galaxy. Spock probably could have told her exactly where with a single glance, and the thought made a smile tug at the corner of her lips. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, falling in a soft brown wave, and she reached up to brush it back as she looked.

The Vulcan spun a rack of earrings, sharp enough to make it rattle, and the artisan behind the booth barked out a remonstration in her own native tongue. Then, she repeated it under her breath in Vulcan-- pointedly, loud enough for both Nyota and the Vulcan to hear it-- as she returned to her soldering.

With a slow blink, like a cat reaching out to shove a mug off of a coffee table, the Vulcan spun the rack a second time. "I am employed as a record keeper aboard a small civilian spacecraft," she said, staring down the scowling artisan.

Nyota looked up, her interest piqued. "You mean you live out here in the black?" she asked, surprise sharpening her tone. So few Vulcans lived or even worked away from New Vulcan for any extensive period these days, in deference to their ongoing efforts of cultural revival.

She hadn't realized quite how open the woman's expression was-- for a Vulcan-- until it shuttered. "I do," she said, neither her tone nor her body language inviting further questions.

Nyota thought of the way Spock still, all these years later, could not think of New Vulcan as anything more than a pale imitation of a home he would never replace, and she gently eased off. It had been an intrusive line of questioning, anyway.

"What do you think?" she asked instead, pointing to a necklace with a delicate silver charm with a soft pink stone at its center.

The Vulcan leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against Nyota's, warm and solidly muscled. Her hair smelled faintly of orange blossoms and incense, and there was a hint of that prior teasing tone in her voice as she observed, "I have been told that everything looks good on you."

Nyota smiled, turning to look at her. "And how," she agreed. "But I told you, I'm not shopping for me."

"Of course." The Vulcan looked over as well, her dark eyes studying her with a heady intensity and the strong curve of her nose nearly brushing Nyota's. "May I?" she asked, and the slight tilt of her head, the imperceptible lean forward indicated the meaning of the question.

The artisan made an inarticulate noise of fury, but they both ignored her.

"I don't even know your name," Nyota teased, even as she closed the distance between them to press a featherlight kiss to the other woman's lips.

(Oh, don't look at her like that; like you wouldn't kiss the mysterious, clever stranger who's been flirting with you all morning. There was something a little fun and a little daring about it, and in a few hours she'd say goodbye and head back to the ship. Maybe they'd exchange comm frequencies; maybe not. They call them whirlwind romances for a reason, you know.)

"T'Pring," the Vulcan murmured, their lips still brushing.

"Nyota." She returned to the array of jewelry, a crooked grin turning up one corner of her lips. "Dated humans before, have you? That was no first kiss, darling."

"Well, there are just so many of you," T'Pring returned, with that remarkable Vulcan ability to both maintain perfect stoicism and also come across dryly sarcastic. "And you have dated a Vulcan before, have you not? Your ability to maintain a mental shield against touch telepathy is impressive for a human." A beat. "'Darling.'"

Nyota barked a laugh. "Yes, I have." She patted T'Pring's cheek, winking. "Don't worry; you're prettier than he is."

T'Pring raised one slanted eyebrow, conveying amusement without ostensibly altering her expression. "I find myself much assured."

Nyota caught her wrist-- careful to stay below the edge of her glove, avoiding skin-to-skin contact so she wouldn't need to maintain that mental shield-- to tug her back into motion. "Lunch," she suggested.

T'Pring allowed herself to be pulled along in Nyota's wake without complaint. "One of my crewmates tells me there is a bakery with excellent savory pastries on the next street over."

"Mm, I heard about that place, too." Her smile was pleased as she looked over her shoulder at T'Pring. One of Hikaru's husband's friends had raved about it; the whole bridge crew had been looking forward to it for weeks.

"A satisfactory choice, then?" T'Pring asked, with a raised eyebrow, and Nyota laughed.

"Most satisfactory," she agreed, tone teasing.

Once their pastries were in hand-- a spicy, aromatic beef filling in Nyota's, and a potato and vegetable one in T'Pring's-- they ignored the tables arranged outside of the bakery in favor of tucking themselves into a semi-private alcove. Nyota hopped up onto the low stone wall separating an earthy, plant-filled garden space from the rest of the market, and T'Pring propped her hip against it. She removed one of her gloves, tucking it into a pocket of her pants, and picked thoughtfully at the pastry with dark-eyed curiosity.

"Reminds me of an empanada," Nyota said, inhaling the fragrant steam rising off of her choice, and T'Pring huffed, ever so slightly.

"'The closest you will get to decent food in this corner of the galaxy,'" she said, pitching her voice to a deeper octave in a way which implied it was an impression. "My crewmate hails from Chile," she added, as an explanation. "As the pilot of our ship, I do not believe he intended to allow us to skip this planet once our path turned us in this direction, regardless of our captain's acquiescence."

Nyota laughed, tipping her head back. She didn't miss T'Pring's thoughtful, appreciative glance. "A man after my own heart," she declared. "Food is a unifying experience. There's nothing quite like it--" she gestured, a piece of pastry in hand, between herself and T'Pring. "It says, 'I care about you,' and it says, 'I want you to survive,' and it says, 'I want you to enjoy it, too. Share this with me.'"

"The exchange of fruit is an inherently romantic gesture within Vulcan culture," T'Pring agreed. "And the act of sharing a meal has proven an invaluable ritual in building a rapport with my human crewmates."

"Is that what we're doing?" Nyota asked. She set one hand on the stone between them, leaning towards T'Pring as she is watched by dark eyes that glitter with the barest hint of amusement. "'Building a rapport?'"

"How would you describe it?" T'Pring challenged in turn.

A smile spread, slowly, across Nyota's face. "A date," she said.

"And how would you describe what happens between two people on a date?" T'Pring raised an eyebrow.

"Which part of the date are we talking about?" Nyota asked, her smile impish, and T'Pring's other eyebrow raised in turn.

"That was an innuendo," she observed.

"And not a subtle one." Nyota patted her cheek, forgoing any attempt at mental shielding in favor of letting T'Pring feel the full brunt of her amusement. She sensed more than felt the moment that T'Pring tensed, attempting to subjugate whatever emotional response-- laughter, lust-- she was experiencing, and she backed off politely, both physically and conversationally.

They lapsed into a companionable silence as they finished their meal. The spices were certainly alien, unfamiliar and sharp but not at all unpleasant, and there was a buttery quality to the bread itself that was-- in a word-- heavenly. Nyota crumpled the waxy paper her pastry had been wrapped in, sighing with satisfaction, and accepted the napkin that T'Pring passed her to wipe off her fingers.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, glancing up from the slick buttery feeling between her fingers, and promptly rolled her eyes at the tiny smirk T'Pring had turned in her direction. "Yes, I am aware I have just asked one. Spare me."

"As long as you are aware," T'Pring said.

"Spare me."

After a moment in which she somehow broadcast her amusement in just the slightest smirk and the tightness of the muscles at the corners of her eyes, T'Pring requested, "Make your inquiry, by all means." She pulled her glove back on, her own fingers wiped clean, and then turned to face Nyota more directly. Her expression was polite, inquisitive.

"Why did you approach me in the first place?" Nyota asked. She dropped her legs from their folded position, sliding down to stand beside T'Pring and brushing off the back of her skirt. This put her a head lower, once more, but she didn't mind the way she had to tip her head back to meet the Vulcan's heavy lidded eyes. "You don't need to tell me that it's unusual for one of your people to make such an overt overture."

T'Pring tipped her head lightly to the side in acknowledgement of the point. "I wanted to. You are beautiful," she said, and the simple, matter-of-fact manner of the statement was more flattering than any purple prose. Nyota ghosted her fingertips down the inside of T'Pring's forearm, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and T'Pring's dark eyes flicked, briefly down to her lips. "I saw no need to deprive myself of the opportunity to speak with you; it is not as if I seek a sustained liaison. My ship departs later this afternoon."

"Mine, too," Nyota agreed.

T'Pring blinked. She had probably assumed Nyota was employed on-planet, as few ships bothered to employ a living translator, when universal translation technology is so ubiquitous. Only diplomatic ships-- seeking to impress and flatter-- or Starfleet exploratory vessels-- likely to come across unknown species-- had enough need for a xenolinguist. But she evidently decided to file the information for later discussion, blinking again and then returning to their current topic.

"That I stayed to talk further is a factor of your intelligence and humor," she said. "You are... intriguing."

"Some have said, 'Fascinating,'" Nyota said, with no small hint of irony, and then she offered, "You are a distinctly interesting woman yourself, T'Pring of Vulcan."

T'Pring inclined her head in a nod. "High praise."

"For a deserving specimen," Nyota quipped, reaching out to tap her index finger against the tip of T'Pring's nose-- and promptly threw her head back, laughing, at the disgruntled expression of shock which the action earns her.

"Most illogical," T'Pring said, obviously fumbling for a response as she took a hasty step backwards, and Nyota gathered their trash to dump in a nearby wastebin as she hooked her bag up onto her shoulder.

"Well, I am a human, after all." She shot T'Pring a look over her shoulder, grinning. "Are you coming?"

"One moment--"

T'Pring caught her wrist, pulling her back into the relative privacy behind the corner of the building. When Nyota shifted to face her, T'Pring's fingertips-- the leather of her gloves supple and warm-- tipped her chin back and leaned down to kiss her again. This one was deeper, longer; Nyota hooked her elbow about T'Pring's neck for leverage and pushed herself onto her toes.

"Wow," she said, dazed, as T'Pring drew away.

"Mm." There was self-satisfied amusement in those dark eyes. One of T'Pring's hands had found its way to Nyota's hips, and it was warm and strong.

"You're a weird Vulcan," Nyota told her, still slightly breathless, and T'Pring shrugged. Somehow, that simple motion carried a great deal of the unspoken.

"I consider myself a singularly driven individual," she said, dry like desert sands.

"You see what you want; you go after it."

"It can be difficult not to gain a certain perspective." It wasn't a complete thought, though T'Pring voiced it as if it was.

Unfortunately, Nyota could fill in the rest. Trauma changed things; the trauma of losing nearly your entire people could change a lot of things. (Not to mention, she'd clearly spent much of the intervening years processing that trauma amongst humans.) She brushed a thumb over T'Pring's cheek, fighting down the sympathetic words that she could tell the Vulcan didn't want to hear, and settled down off of her toes. "Coming?" she asked, again.

T'Pring tucked her hands into her pockets, posture loose and casual as she fell into step next to her. "Where do you wish to go?"

"I-- Oh!" Nyota caught a glimpse of blonde through the crowd, taking a winding path towards the bakery, and quickly waved a hand. "Jim!" she called.

He spotted her, too, and his face broke out in a wide smile. He held up a finger, turning to smack the arm of a dark-haired man next to him, and Nyota may not have been able to hear Dr. McCoy's response, but she could guess at it by the scowl he turned towards their captain, gesturing to the stain of water down his jeans where Jim's attempt to get his attention had made him nearly drop his water bottle.

"Friends of mine," Nyota told T'Pring as she pushed through the crowd towards her crewmates and Jim led the way to meet her in the middle.

"Nyota!" Jim cried, throwing his arms wide.

"Oh," Leonard said, "finally, some sanity on this damn shore leave--"

"What, is Spock not enough for you?" Nyota demanded, as she let Jim sweep her up and spin her around in a hug-- thereby missing the way T'Pring snapped straight, her eyes widening.

"Spock?" she repeated, loudly, and the man in question looked up from a booth of antique astronomical devices which had previously held his attention.

"T'Pring," he said, with similar wide-eyed shock, nearly fumbling the astrolabe in his hands.

"You know each other?" Nyota asked, her eyebrows shooting high as she takes in the uncharacteristic uncertainty in Spock's movements, and she exchanges a look with Leonard.

The Vulcans both ignored her--or, perhaps more accurately, neither of them heard her.

T'Pring recovered first. "You look well," she said, somehow awkward with her impossibly straight posture.

"As do you," Spock said, something indefinable in his tone, "considering I was under the impression you were dead."

Leonard choked on an ill-timed sip of water, and Nyota had a sudden, horrible thought about the childhood friend turned betrothed who Spock had broken his Bond with just prior to absconding to Starfleet. "Oh, god," she said, covering her eyes with one hand.

T'Pring considered Spock's statement for a moment. "My apologies," she said, finally, and Spock's stoic expression broke in favor of something murderous.

He took several stiff-legged steps towards her, catching her elbow and drawing her off to the side so that they could engage in a hushed, incredibly blank-faced argument. Jim watched with bright, delighted eyes, and Leonard squinted over towards Nyota.

"You know who she is?" he asked, gesturing towards them with the hand holding his water bottle.

"I have a guess," Nyota hedged. She folded one arm over her chest, tucking one hand into her elbow as she pressed her mouth against the knuckles of the other. "He never mentioned her name, so it's difficult to say."

"Exes," Jim said. He tilted his head towards them, clearly trying to catch what they were saying beneath the din of the marketplace. "Gotta be exes."

Leonard was still giving her that side-eye. "Nyota," he said, slowly, studying the expression on her face as she watched Spock say something that made T'Pring close her eyes and reach up to rest her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "Were you on a date with your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend?"

She breathed in. She breathed out. "Worse," she told him, grimly. "I'm pretty sure I'm on a date with my ex-boyfriend's ex-wife."

"Spock was married?!" Jim yelped, as Leonard did an actual, literal spit take.

Spock and T'Pring both snapped up to look over at them; Spock looked pained and T'Pring simply raised her eyebrows. She looked back at Spock. "You did not tell them?"

"I told Nyota," he said, voice tight.

"A name would have been great, though," Nyota muttered, and T'Pring looked back and forth between them.

"I see," she said, clearly making a swift, accurate leap of logic. "Your taste in women remains impeccable."

Nyota burst into hysterical laughter, for lack of anything better to say. She buried her face into her hands and felt Jim's shoulders shaking with his own sublimated laughter as he slung his arm over her shoulders. "Now, his taste in men," he said, joking, and Leonard snorted.

"Speak for yourself," he declared. He laid the Southern charm on thick as he stepped towards T'Pring, extending his hand for her to shake. "Leonard McCoy, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet an old friend of Spock's."

"Experience with humans tells me you're simply hoping for embarrassing stories from our youth," T'Pring observed, but she shook his hand with the slightest hint of a smile hiding in the corners of her eyes.

"Who wouldn't?" Leonard countered, grinning, as Spock looked at him, drawing an air of exasperation about himself with just a twitch of his mouth.

"Perhaps another time," T'Pring said, with impeccable grace. She glanced, briefly, towards Spock, but after a moment of hesitation she stepped away and turned her attention towards Jim. "And you are..."

"James Tiberius Kirk," he declared. He extended a hand, but when T'Pring reached out to shake it like she had Leonard's, he switched his grip and dipped into a bow to brush his lips against her gloved knuckles.

T'Pring looked at Spock, who shrugged.

"Ignore him," Leonard said, dryly.

"I intended to," T'Pring informed him, and Leonard barked a laugh as Jim staggered with faux insult.

"Why do Vulcans always dislike me when we first meet?" he complained, throwing himself against Spock's side and draping an arm over his eyes dramatically.

Spock clearly made the decision to let the theatrics break the tension of the moment the way Jim had calculated them to. "Your personality," he said, quite frankly.

"It's why most humans dislike you, too," Leonard added, and he caught both Jim and Spock by the elbow, jerking his head towards the bakery. "C'mon, morons; lunch. Let's let the ladies get on with things, shall we?" He winked at Nyota as he nudged his partners into motion.

T'Pring watched them, quiet with her hands folded tightly behind her back, and Nyota drifted back towards her. "I can give you the necessary information to contact him later," she offered softly. "I'm sure you didn't cover everything in just a couple of minutes."

"That would be..." T'Pring breathed out. "Appreciated."

"Sure," Nyota said. She cleared her throat, glancing aside. "I could also give you the necessary information to contact me."

T'Pring looked at her, her eyes dark and thoughtful. "That would also be appreciated," she said.

"Yeah?" Nyota asked, a smirk curving her lips as she tipped her chin back to meet those heavy-lidded eyes. "Intriguing enough to speak with again, am I?"

"Perhaps I am just hoping for more recent embarrassing stories of Spock."

Nyota laughed, ducking her head. "Well, I certainly have plenty of those," she said, dryly, and caught T'Pring's wrist once more. "Want to keep developing our rapport?" she asked, with a twitch of her lips.

T'Pring hummed. "I believe there is a booth nearby selling citrus fruit," she said thoughtfully.

"The inherent romanticism of sharing an orange," Nyota agreed, letting herself be drawn into motion, and T'Pring smirked but did not disagree.

#a tramp stamp original #nyota uhura #t'pring #t'pura #femslash #I wrote this #and less importantly:#spock #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #this is like. an au meeting for them from a longfic I'm working on #but I think I've done enough to make it accessible and explain my thoughts about AOS t'pring regardless #and I have. a lot of thoughts about t'pring in general and aos t'pring in specific.#I really really like the idea of her and spock having also been friends as kids #anyway she gets back to her ship and her captain is just like ''what trouble did you get into this time :/''#''made out with my ex-husband's ex-girlfriend.''#''..........well at least nobody almost died for once''#yes I couldn't resist throwing in some background mcspirk

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needtherapy · 4 years ago

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Mao’er Makes A Friend

Wasn’t it enough that Wei Wuxian got his brother a puppy? Now Jiang Cheng wants him to LIKE her, like he likes all the other dogs. Wait. What other dogs? Lan Zhan? What does he mean “other dogs”?

Part 2 of JiuJiu Gets A Puppy

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

His eyes narrowed at Mao’er. He hadn’t seen her move, but he suspected she was plotting.

“Wei. Wuxian. Are you paying attention?” He looked up at Jiang Cheng, offended. “Of course I am. You were talking about irrigation. Do I need to give you input on irrigation?”

He looked back at Mao’er. This time, she had definitely moved. Still sitting, but sitting...closer.

“First of all, I didn’t ask for your opinion on irrigation.” Jiang Cheng sounded dangerously calm. “Second of all, that was ten minutes ago. Lan-zongzhu asked for your report on how the Yunmeng Jiang juniors are progressing.”

Oh. Oops.

Wei Wuxian dragged his attention back to the meeting he had been forced to attend at Cloud Recesses. Well, “forced” might not be wholly accurate. He had been very nicely and very firmly asked to attend by Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan and finally, da-baizi, with full Zewu-Jun formality. And everyone else was there, so he suspected it would have been considered rude if he had declined. Although, he thought, it was very unfair that Nie Huaisang seemed to be dozing behind a fan in the corner.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to be there. He liked talking about the different training curriculums, and he was the only person who regularly taught in both Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses. But these days, being around Jiang Cheng meant being around Mao’er. And Mao’er was—complicated.

Wei Wuxian was perfectly aware that giving Jiang Cheng a puppy had been his idea. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and he had worked very hard to accept that dogs did not have to be the terrifying beasts of his nightmares. Mao’er had been one of Jin Ling’s prized husky puppies, so Wei Wuxian had been able to spend the first four months of her life petting her soft baby fur, feeding her pieces of meat from his fingers, and trying not to flinch when her tiny teeth playfully nipped his fingers. His heart had melted a little more every time she had rolled on her back, legs curled up for a belly rub. Jin Ling had even made Wei Wuxian teach her to sit and stay, explaining that it would help Wei Wuxian bond with her.

And oh, it had been worth it. There had been the smallest twinge of apprehension when he’d slid her into a basket to give to Jiang Cheng. But the look of hopeful love on Jiang Cheng’s face when he’d seen Mao’er for the first time had dissolved whatever trepidation Wei Wuxian harbored. It was one of the best moments of Wei Wuxian’s life, and not just because Jiang Cheng had cried.

Somehow, though, over the last year, puppy Mao’er had turned into adult Mao’er, and it worried him. No, she wasn’t big. She didn’t bite or snarl or try to steal his food. In fact, she was very well behaved, always glued to Jiang Cheng’s heel, moving when he moved, sitting when he stopped. But she was smart. Eerily smart.

For one thing, she could sword fly. Not on her own, of course, but in a moment of weakness, Wei Wuxian had made a flat platform that expanded like a fan and hooked to Sandu’s hilt. He never thought it would actually work, but of course, Mao’er turned out to be adept at balancing. Jiang Cheng took her everywhere with him, her nose always turning up to sniff the wind as they flew. It was unnatural.

And for another, she would carefully hold anything Jiang Cheng handed her until he asked for it back. He even let her carry Sandu once, glaring at Wei Wuxian when his mouth had dropped open in shock.

Most unnervingly, Wei Wuxian was sure she watched him when he wasn’t looking.

Today, she was inching closer to him, and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d only caught her doing it once, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that every time he looked away, she did this odd sitting scoot that moved her closer to him without ever standing up.

“Stop looking at my dog like that,” Jiang Cheng snapped, and Wei Wuxian blinked up at him, surprised by the sharp tone. It had been a long time since Jiang Cheng had seemed this upset with him.

“She’s moving toward me,” Wei Wuxian tried to explain, but it sounded ridiculous even to him.

“Of course she is.” Jin Ling smoothly interrupted Jiang Cheng’s growing annoyance, patient as always when it came to dogs. “She adores you.”

“But why?” Wei Wuxian asked, trying not to whine and failing. Next to him, he felt Lan Zhan’s tiny sigh.

Jiang Cheng was less subtle. “I can’t imagine,” he snorted. “But she’s trying to win you over. She did it with Huaisang too.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced, thinking Mao’er might have been more successful with Nie Huaisang if she hadn’t eaten so many fans when she was teething.

Jiang Cheng misinterpreted the expression and splotchy red indignation bloomed across his face. He stormed across the room, followed by Mao’er, to stand in front of Wei Wuxian, hands on his hips.

“How can you still be afraid of her? You picked her out! You trained her! You even got to name her! And you were never afraid of anyone else’s dogs until Fairy. Why is it just mine?”

The room got very, very quiet. Again, Wei Wuxian sensed Lan Zhan’s reaction, tension this time.

“What other dogs?” Wei Wuxian asked, confusion knitting his brows together.

Jiang Cheng exploded, shifting into outrage in the blink of an eye. “What do you mean, what other dogs? You live in Cloud Recesses with the country’s most famous dogs, and I have never once heard you complain about them!”

It did not seem possible, but the room got even quieter. Wei Wuxian felt the blood drain from his face as he turned to look at his beloved husband who would never, ever lie to him.

“Lan Zhan? What dogs?” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracked, and he could not believe the guilty look on Lan Zhan’s face. It was not possible.

“Wei Ying, I did not know you were afraid of dogs before...” Lan Zhan trailed off, a flush creeping up his neck. “Before you came back. You were here numerous times and did not seem bothered by them. But once I knew, we made sure you never had to be around them.”

The tone in Lan Zhan’s voice was almost like pleading.

“Laodie, the pekes live all the way over in Mengshi,” Jingyi added unhelpfully, as if Wei Wuxian had any idea what Mengshi was. “In the last four years, they’ve never caused you any trouble, so what difference does it make?”

Wei Wuxian shot out of his chair. “Show me. Now.”

Lan Zhan clearly did not want to, so in the end, da-baizi sighed and beckoned for Wei Wuxian to follow him down a twisting path toward the edge of the great forest. They ended up at the gate of a house he’d only ever seen from a distance and had always thought was empty. There were half a dozen golden, furry logs galloping around inside a fenced courtyard, their flat black noses snorting with enthusiasm. It wasn’t a particularly graceful or elegant run like Mao’er’s, more of a rolling waddle, and Wei Wuxian had a hard time believing these were dogs.

A Lan disciple was sitting in the yard with them, throwing a small wooden ball and ruffling the long hair of the animals whenever they got close to him. Wei Wuxian knew that disciple.

“A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian didn’t yell, but he didn’t have to.

Sizhui glanced up and froze.

“Adie,” he started, jumping to his feet.

Wei Wuxian pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ‘adie’ me! You knew? This whole time? I thought pets weren’t allowed in Cloud Recesses!”

Sizhui paled and looked around nervously, waving his hands at the yard.

“Wei-qianbei, don't say that. These are not pets. These are Lan-laoshi’s award-winning Pekingese. Lans have bred Pekingese for so many generations, they are considered members of the family. Lan-laoshi has been teaching me the art of bloodlines and traits for breeding.”

Sizhui smiled fondly at one of the ridiculous things that had come over to pant on his feet. Wei Wuxian surrendered immediately, swayed by Sizhui’s obvious pride and affection.

“How did I miss this?” he asked, turning to Lan Zhan for some kind of answer. But when he was immediately distracted by the dark pools of Lan Zhan’s eyes, the slope of his nose, and the faint curve of his lips, he remembered that perhaps he didn’t spend quite as much time observing his surroundings as watching his husband’s face.

Jingyi patted his shoulder consolingly. “So now you know. Who cares?” He muttered under his breath, “They’re barely dogs anyway. Not like the Nie mastiffs.” “Yeah!” Jiang Cheng was annoyed again, and Wei Wuxian was confused again. “You aren’t afraid of the Nie dogs either, and I know you see them all the time!”

“Nie Huaisang doesn’t have dogs?” He heard the question in his own voice.

Everyone turned to stare at him except Jiang Cheng, who grabbed his arm and dragged him over three decorative bridges, around one large koi pond, and down the hill to the Gusu Lan stables.

“I thought those were small horses,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, peering at the shaggy animals Jiang Cheng pointed at.

Granted, he’d never looked at them that closely, but now that he thought about it, it was very strange for horses to be rolling around on the ground. And those did look more like paws than hooves.

But no.

Wait.

No.

“They have saddles. I’ve seen the saddles. I’ve seen your son ride them,” he accused Jiang Cheng, who did not look even remotely repentant.

“You didn’t think it was weird that Chifeng-Zun had miniature horses in his war room?” Jiang Cheng thundered, and Wei Wuxian looked at him blankly.

“No. Not really.” Everyone knew the former Nie zongzhu was crazy about horses.

They all paused for a moment until da-baizi laughed, the light music of his voice breaking the silence.

“That is exactly something Mingjue would have done,” he agreed with a wry smile.

Something occurred to Wei Wuxian, and he slumped heavily to the ground.

“Jin Zixuan’s dog statues? Those were real dogs, too?”

He didn’t even bother to look up at their reactions. Of course they were. Those fragile-looking sculptures with the silky crested ears that sat on decorative pillows had been alive, and he’d just never noticed. He shuddered. Thank the gods he’d never tried to touch one.

To his surprise, Jiang Cheng sat down next to him, bumping his shoulder.

“You really didn’t know? This whole time, all these years, I thought…” Jiang Cheng swallowed audibly, and Wei Wuxian looked at the damp corners of his brother’s eyes with dawning horror.

“I thought it was just me. That you just didn’t like dogs and you made a fuss because you didn’t want to live with them.” Jiang Cheng’s voice was low and hoarse. “I mean, it was fine because you were more…”

Wei Wuxian cut him off so he wouldn’t say something that would make them both cry in front of everyone they knew. “I really didn’t know.”

He felt something cold and wet under his hand and he moved his fingers, absently scratching a soft nose and velvety ears, thinking about all the stupid misunderstandings of the past. Would he ever stop finding things he needed to apologize for?

He looked back at Jiang Cheng, ready to say he was sorry. But Jiang Cheng was looking past him, a soft smile on his face. Wei Wuxian followed his gaze to his own hand resting on Mao’er’s head, a wide-open doggie grin on her face.

As soon as his eyes met hers, she licked his face and laid her head on his lap. He had to laugh. He had to. She had finally won.

He looked up into Lan Zhan’s face, overwhelmed by the love he always found there.

“Lan Zhan, I think we’re going to need to get a dog.”

Notes:

As always, thanks to @wangxianbunnydoodles for always having the best names and for the very good beta read.

猫儿 Māo'ér means kitten 猛室 Měngshì means fierce house. 大伯子 dà-bǎizi means husband’s elder brother 老爹 lǎodiē is a respectful way of saying grandfather, but as this is Jingyi, it is a little less respectful.

I did not call this “Crouching Mastiff, Hidden Pekingese” although I was very tempted

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dragons-bones · 4 years ago

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FFXIV: A Moment of Ordinary

Wolmeric Week #3: Casual/Modern

A/N: Uh. I worldbuilt again. Oops. But hey, the shippy stuff is still there! Just, uh, took a bit to get to, this time. XD

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 2353 WARNINGS: None! Cross-posted to AO3

“One hundred forty gil.”

“Fifty gil.”

“Fifty? That’s obscene, these artichokes are the first of the harvest! One thirty!”

“Don’t you dare pull that shite with me, Arenlona, I know for a fact the Bismarck has first purchase rights on the first harvest of damn near everything the Stead grows. Sixty.”

The first market day of spring at Red Rooster Stead was always a boisterous affair: makeshift stalls lined most of the paths through the main compound and spilled out beyond the walls, manned by botanists and farmers selling a wide variety of produce and other goods. Spring asparagus and lettuce and broccoli and parsnips; oranges from the vast Cedarwood orchards; pineapples and kiwi from the Stead’s offshoot plantation in Raincatcher Gully; honey and beeswax; mutton and pork and buffalo in various cuts; even fish, fresh caught that morning. There were food stalls selling bread and fruit juices and roasted meats and vegetables to the hungry shoppers; even stalls where the Stead residents and other local farmers were selling yarn and knit garments, assorted leathers goods, embroidery, bead and shell jewelry, whittled decorations. A pop-up smithy was at the edge of the makeshift market repairing farming and gardening tools.

The press of people along the Stead’s paths was enormous; most were either other farmers or home owners from around Lower La Noscea, or the residents of Mist come to do their weekly shopping without having to trek to Limsa Lominsa. Some Lominsans, too, came here; Synnove had seen Melkoko haggling over buffalo tenderloin, two of her sister Sirens dutifully carrying the crates of vegetables she had purchased earlier, and a trio of baby arcanists sharing a bag of roasted walnuts who had excitedly waved to her.

Aymeric was…somewhere, in the scrum. They’d gone in different directions to get as much shopping done as possible before the crowds swelled to suffocatingly large at noon.

Synnove finally wound down her own haggling—one hundred gil for a small crate of artichokes, plus another hundred or so spent on fennel and rutabagas—and waved to Arenlona as she joined the throngs walking through the Stead. Ivar and Galette trotted over from the nearby snack stall, and she bent down to accept the gil-pouch from Ivar. Thankfully, carbuncles who understood exchanging gil for goods and services were a familiar sight to the Stead’s farmhands, so that was one less thing to worry about on market day.

“Do you know where your sibs and Aymeric went?” she said as she stuffed the pouch in her pocket and stood upright, carefully balancing the crates of vegetables in her arms. The carbuncles had all gone with Aymeric, at first, before her emerald and ruby came meandering along to find both her and a treat.

The girls wanted to see the sheep, Ivar chittered. He managed to get his matching harmonic to sound bland.

Galette giggled.

Synnove groaned. “Oh, no.”

Galette giggled again, and Ivar joined her.

Sighing, she strode briskly through the crowd, her carbuncles on her heels, until she’d left the main compound and the crush of people wasn’t quite so great. She headed first for the hitches where many of the visitors had left their chocobos, herself included. Trifle eyed her when she approached, but the draught chocobo knelt without prompting, and Synnove quickly stored the purchases away in her saddlebags and panniers, idly noting Aymeric must have been by at some point at seeing a few crates of fruits, two jars of honey, and a carefully wrapped package upon which an ice crystal sat that was likely either meat or fish.

Once she was finished, she gave Trifle a pat on the neck, and the chocobo loomed upright once more, shaking her feathers back into place. Synnove glanced down at the carbuncles, but before she could say anything, both Galette and Ivar did that pre-jump wiggle of their tails and then leaped into the air and onto the draught chocobo’s saddle. Trifle warked, unimpressed, and turned her head around to give the pair a gimlet stare. Galette reached up and gently patted her beak with a paw.

Synnove laughed. “Well, I suppose that answers my question if you wanted to see the sheep, too.”

The siblings chirruped at her and loafed onto the saddle, ears flicking, while Trifle huffed and resettled herself. With another laugh and a scritch for each of them, Synnove headed in the direction of the sheep pens.

Most of the flocks in La Noscea grazed the pastures north of Cedarwood and up to the southern shores of Bronze Lake; the Red Rooster shepherds only kept a small flock at the Stead, primarily to make crossbreeding for specific traits easier to track before introducing those traits more widely into the larger flocks. But the flock at the Stead was wildly popular with many of the local children (and no few adults), and the shepherds usually allowed visitors to pet or brush some of the calmer ewes…in exchange for educational lectures on animal husbandry or the La Noscean wool industry.

Synnove smiled ruefully as she trudged up the short hill to where the sheep were kept. There was already a small crowd of excited children pressed up against the fencing, some parents standing aside and talking amongst themselves while keep an eye on their charges. Now, where was—ahah!

She slowed down, hooking her thumbs into her belts as she strolled closer.

Aymeric wore a soft cotton shirt of deep blue with black wool breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots; with neither Naegling on his hip nor a bow slung on his shoulder, he looked like just another farmer or homesteader gazing out across the pen. Something about seeing him dressed down always left her fond and pleased. Perhaps it was the way the tension bled out of him, the way it only rarely did in Ishgard when he needed to be on alert for a sudden emergency requiring either the Lord Commander or the Lord Speaker. His shoulders loosened and his spine was no longer quite so rigid, an aura of content softness draping around him instead.

He turned as she came up next to him, and he grinned, bright and happy, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Synnove smiled back, helpless to do anything except push herself to her toes to kiss his cheek and bask in his presence.

“Hello, dearheart,” she said as she dropped back to her feet, leaning into his side when his raised his arm to make room for her. She slid her own arm around his waist as his settled on her shoulders. “Did you manage to keep from raising Chartain’s blood pressure today?”

Aymeric kissed the top of her head and nuzzled against her hair before he responded. “It’s too easy to rile that man up,” he said, mischief coloring his voice. “He takes the barely-existing rivalry between La Noscea and Coerthas shepherds far too seriously.”

“Oh, don’t be mean!” Synnove swatted at his chest, but Aymeric merely caught her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. She firmed her expression, refusing to let his affection distract her, tempting as it was.

“Mean would be managing to get Estinien to stay in place long enough to drop him on Chartain’s doorstep and watch the two get into a row about wool quality,” he said primly, then pressed another kiss to her knuckles at her reluctant laugh. “And for the record, no, I did not. I believe one of the other shepherds saw me on the way with the girls and wrangled him away elsewhere.”

She laughed louder, shaking her head, and finally glanced out at the pen properly.

Tyr was in a staring contest with one of the rams, ears canted at the ninety-degree angle that for him generally conveyed his lack of impressment. The ram trotted in place, snorting and acting like he would charge at any moment, but sitting upright as he was, Tyr had to look down at him. The ram was intelligent enough to realize that Tyr likely belonged in the “thing that herds me” category rather than the “thing that will steal my ladies from me” or “thing that will eat me” categories, but not quite enough to know he should back down before Tyr bowled him over.

And the twins were being themselves, and bouncing atop the thick wooly backs of the ewes, leaping from sheep to sheep and giggling while the onlooking children cheered them on. Roksana especially was making a game of it, deliberately aiming for targets a distance away to make a challenge for herself, while Amandina was more sedately hopping along with no discernible pattern but rather the fun of it. The shepherd on watch was keeping an eye on them, but was leaning up against the fence without worry; the girls being silly was a common enough sight to most resident of Lower La Noscea.

Synnove watched them fondly for a moment, before she finally called out, “Girls! Tyr! Time to head home!”

The girls and the watching children all went awwww, but Amandina and Roksana obediently changed course and hopped from the other side of the paddock to where their mama and papa stood. Tyr, meanwhile, reached out with a paw and bopped the ram right between the ears; the ram’s eyes crossed and he bleated unhappily, but the distraction was enough for her big topaz carbuncle to leave without incident, trotting towards the fence and leaping over it easily to sit at her feet and headbutt her stomach.

Hi, Mama, Tyr chittered happily.

“Hello, boyo,” she said, freeing her hand from Aymeric—he made sad eyes at her, which she ignored for now—to reach down and scritch behind his ears.

The twins, meanwhile, finally made it to the fence, and leaped from there onto her shoulder (Amandina) and head (Roksana).

Hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy, the girls chorused excitedly, as if they hadn’t seen her in days rather than a bell or two.

“Hello, kiddos,” Synnove said, patting first one twin and then the other. “Have you been good?”

YEAH!

We helped Papa get oranges!

And pears!

And FISH! Yummy yummy fish!

Honey, too, Tyr added helpfully, ears twitching in delight. Can we bake honey spice bread with it?

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Synnove said, to triple cheers.

Aymeric chuckled, though she felt it more than heard it with how closely they were still pressed together. “They helped me pick out a little gift for you, too,” he said brightly.

The only reason she didn’t whip her head up to stare at him was because of Roksana hopping up and down on her hair. Instead, she carefully picked up both twins and set them on Tyr’s back as the topaz carbuncle stood upright on all fours; then she whipped her head around to stare at her beloved. “Aymeric, you didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to,” he said softly, smiling at her. He leaned down to kiss her nose. “And I like to.”

With a flourish, he presented her with a small leather pouch he pulled from his belt. She sighed, only a little exasperated, but held out her hand obediently, and into her palm he poured a pair of earrings: a gold ring suspended from simple hooks, and from the rings hung gold chain links of varying lengths with pink and cowries dangling at the ends.

Synnove couldn’t help the awed ooooooh that escaped her. “Oh, they’re lovely! Thank you!” She hadn’t put in any earrings this morning before they’d left for the market, so she reached up to hook them into her left, then her right.

Aymeric absolutely did not play fair in any aspect of his life: love, war, and gift-giving. Earrings were her favorite type of jewelry, and she had bought herself more than one pair from the jewelry stall here in the market before. She shook her head, both in defeat and to hear the pretty clinking of the shells against each other, and beamed up at her knight. “Thank you,” she said again.

“You are, as always, most welcome,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My beautiful Synnove.”

Warmth suffused her and a blush bloomed on her cheeks and she beamed even more; she loved his endearments for her, but she loved best how her name rolled of his tongue, how much affection with which he infused it. She took a long moment to revel in all the joy he brought her before she quietly sighed. “Let’s go home, hm?”

“Mmm,” Aymeric hummed with one last nuzzle, before they began walking arm in arm down the hill and towards the chocobo hitch. Tyr followed, his baby sisters looking around excitedly from his back. “We have some honey spice spread to make.”

“And artichoke dip,” Synnove added.

Tyr boofed excitedly. You bought artichokes?! He pushed his head against her knees, shoving, and pulling a surprised yelp from her as she stumbled momentarily, kept upright only by an also laughing Aymeric. He ran in front of them, boofing happily, Come on come on let’s go home already! before he raced on ahead.

An absolutely wicked thought came to mind, sending a bolt of heat through her that settled low in her belly, and Synnove decided to indulge it. She glanced around, noting no one was nearby, and so, as she walked, she leaned up to murmur in Aymeric’s ear while a sly grin pulled at her lips, “And then after lunch, we can send the carbuncles down to the beach, and I can wear absolutely nothing but these earrings.”

Aymeric’s eyes went wide, pupils dilating to swallow up the beautiful icy blue as he nearly stumbled himself now. He stared at her askance—and then hot, feral greed briefly overtook his expression and he swept her up into his arms, to her shrieking laugh of surprise.

“No time to waste, then,” he playfully growled as he picked up his pace to a light jog, and Synnove ending up laughing nearly the whole way home.

#wolmeric week #wolmeric #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing

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ibelongtowrath · 4 years ago

Text

Come Find Me - Mammon x Reader

reuploading cause of tags lol let’s hope they work this time, also sorry i forgot to put the “read more” oop

Tags/Warnings: angst, lots of angst & mild cursing Word Count: 3.9k Notes: I tried switching perspectives, which are indicated by the dashed lines. I hope it doesn't make it too confusing! I was listening to “Give You Up” by Asking Alexandria, like really listening to the lyrics when I was smacked in the face struck by inspiration for some angsty Mammon. So, as I do, I dreamed up a scenario. This took me so long to write, and holy crap. Hope you love it!

Lyrics taken from 'Give You Up' by Asking Alexandria.

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11 months later.

“I wasted so much time on wasting time Made a million excuses, told myself I'm above it Now there's symphony where there used to be Nothing but silence, and I'm never gonna give you up”

Pulling open the closet door to find that one shirt you remember buying, but can’t for the life of you remember where it is, you wince. Clothes and shoes are strewn everywhere, organization severely neglected as of late. You hadn’t really been inspired to straighten out your mess, not since--

No. You shake your head, suppressing the memories. Not now, not for a long time...until it stops feeling like a hot knife is carving your heart in half whenever his name flashes across your mind.

Your eyes scan and assess the mess, landing on a black duffel bag shoved into the corner, emblazoned with an all-too-familiar gold badge. Your eyes close briefly, letting the familiar icy pain wash over you, as if you’ve been walking into the winter ocean until your entire body is submerged. You stare at the bag until your vision blurs, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you come back to reality.

You told yourself you wouldn’t leave the Devildom with any regrets, but you did.

“Okay. Well. We’re just going to deal with this now, and bury it,” you tell yourself, needing to hear yourself say it out loud as your own affirmation.

It was finally time to face the anguish head on, instead of compartmentalizing it, telling yourself you would process it eventually. Picking up the bag, you slowly back out of the closet, a torrent of emotions beginning to well up inside you, threatening to wreak havoc. You close your eyes. Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Step back, and lean against the wall, subdue the onslaught.

Tossing the bag onto your bed, you sit beside it, hand reaching slowly to grasp the zipper. Once undone, you reach inside and pull out your R.A.D uniform, skimming the small buttons embedded in the stitching. You smile softly as you remember Asmo pouting every time you complained about how ill-fitting it was. Your hand moves to the golden R.A.D. medallion, your fingers dancing over the hard, intricately grooved surface.

Folding the uniform and setting it aside, you reach into the bag once more, fingers brushing something hard and flat. Confused, you lift your hand, finding yourself grasping your D.D.D.. Your eyes study the yellow smart phone, remembering how he insisted...Fuck. The memories begin to crash into the forefront of your mind.

“Wait, Lucifer, ya gotta give her a yellow one! She’s gotta match with me! N-not that it’s all that important or anything...” Mammon blushed, looking down towards the floor.

“I-I just think...yellow’s a good color to have. That’s all. Symbolizes a lot ‘a different good things. Luck, lotsa Grimm...thank me later.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was the start of your undoing.

You came to the Devildom harboring resentment. Why the hell did you have to get uprooted from your life to serve someone else’s agenda? And not only that, but you had to live with seven fallen demon brothers, many of whom barely hesitated as they considered killing you. But...then there was Mammon.

It was always him, even when you refused to acknowledge it. The first demon you made a pact with. You slide your shirt down your arm, glancing at your now-bare shoulder, remembering the slight jolt of electricity as the sigil was emblazoned into your skin. You smile softly as you remember his persistent boasting, nearly on a daily basis:

“I’m Y/N’s first man! So get your paws off her!”

Mammon. Always so stand-offish about his feelings, but so were you. That resentment you bore dug deep into your core. Your heart was indifferent. You challenged Lucifer and the other demons without inhibition, consistently getting yourself nearly killed. You disobeyed the rules and expectations designated to you as one of the representatives of the human world. You did it all with no qualms about the potential consequences, even if it could have resulted in your death. You had given up. You didn’t give a fuck anymore, so bring it on.

They all gave a fuck about you, though, even if it was mostly because Lord Diavolo forbade the killing of the human students. But Mammon…

It was more than that for him. He grabbed your hand in the face of danger, thinking he could protect you. Despite his constant denial of how he felt for you, you could see it. Not only that, your feelings mirrored his; but you were so stubborn, you were headstrong. You were not going to let yourself fall, especially not for the Avatar of Greed. You had convinced yourself that he would be a selfish lover, always putting himself first. All he would do is take from you. After all, the demon was in love with his goddamn credit card.

You were so wrong.

Turning the phone over and over in your hands aimlessly, you remember it all. How easy it was for you to keep falling back into the darkness within you, the anger and resentment you bore deep in your heart. It was easy, it was familiar. Until...

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Mammon remembers that night. He’s replayed so many times in his head, there isn’t a single detail he can’t remember.

As usual, his brothers teased him relentlessly; this time, they had gone too far.

“Oh! Y/N, I dropped my fork by your foot, would you mind being a dear and grabbing it for me?” Asmo asked, innocently enough.

Mammon had looked up upon hearing your name. He watched as you bent down and struggled to pick up the dropped fork, too far away to grab from your seat. His gaze remained on you as you stood, bending behind you to pick it up; then, Asmo lifting his hand to give you a playful slap on the ass. Then back to you, your beautiful lips upturned in a playful, flirty smile as you laughed and handed Asmo the fork.

Mammon’s anger blazed, his vision tinged red. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, the movements required no thought. He stood from his chair, nearly kicking it in, half-eaten plate of food abandoned. Wordlessly, he took his leave, the torrent of emotions welled up inside threatening to erupt. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to react, that it was only going to add more fuel to the fire for their teasing.

But he didn’t care. They took it too far, touching his human like that. He had laid his claim for you thousands of times, spelled it out, and everyone knew. Yet, it didn’t stop them. Mammon was forever the brother ridiculed and mocked most, despite being the second-oldest; his brothers’ contempt for him was never-ending. The constant jeers and derision about himself and his sin, he had put up with for millennia; but their taunting and blatant disregard of his feelings for you?

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Mammon was on autopilot, barely feeling the movements as he walked swiftly throughout the halls of the House of Lamentation. He doesn’t even recall if he took a single breath on his journey back to his bedroom. He gripped the doorknob of his room, knuckles turning white as he nearly ripped it out while turning it. He stepped inside, slamming the door with a residual bang!, so loud that surely even Lord Diavolo could hear it in his castle.

His feet moved him to his bed, where he sat on the edge, head in his hands. He clenched his jaw, hard, in an attempt to subdue the anger pulsing within him. It wasn’t only anger, however, that was welled up inside. There was humiliation, resentment, and feelings of hopelessness; all directed at himself. Mammon clenched harder, hands beginning to shake as the emotions swelled furiously.

No matter what he did, he felt like he failed. He felt an overwhelming desire to protect what was his, and he had even failed at that. Mammon isn’t sure how long he stayed that way, caught in the middle of the emotional thunderstorm, staring at his hands but not actually seeing.

In his trance, he barely heard the knock on his door; three light taps, then one loud one. Your signature knock. It didn’t even register in his mind. He wishes he looked up to see you when you walked across his room to his bed. He only noticed when you grabbed his arm, gently, in that way your touch always was. He lifted his head slowly, the feelings of hopelessness finally starting to ebb when his melancholy gaze met your serene one.

There you stood, in all your beautiful glory. Your hair hung in glossy rivulets down your back, a stray piece hanging in front of your face; Mammon wanted nothing more than to reach up and tuck it behind your ear. Your face, your beautiful face, wore an expression that simultaneously made his heart race and feel peaceful.

“Mammon.”

You spoke his name, and in those two syllables, and he knew. He knew your soul shined so brightly in the darkness of the Devildom. He knew you were the light to all of his darkness within.

He knew he was irrevocably in love with you.

Mammon felt your grip tighten on his arm, ever so slightly. He stood before you, realizing your close proximity, and immediately felt the heat rush to his cheeks, tinting them with a rosy blush.

“Y-yeah? What do ya want, Y/N?” he asked, looking off to the side. He reached his arm up, rubbing the back of his head. “Sheesh, you didn’t even tell me you were comin’. A little advanced notice would be nice, ya know.”

You didn’t even answer. Before he could react, you had pulled Mammon into a hug, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Wha-?!” Mammon yelped. “Just what do you think you’re doin’, human?!”

He recoiled at first, arms hanging down at his sides, unfamiliar with the feeling of such affection...such love. Rarely was he ever shown such things, especially from his brothers. He hesitantly reached his arms up, wrapping them around your body, the soft texture of your hair under his fingers.

He leaned his head down, his cheek resting on the top of your head while he stroked your hair.

And then, you said it. You spoke the words that made him come undone completely.

“I love you, Mammon.”

Mammon’s body stilled for a moment. It felt as though his heart had stopped completely. The words caught in his throat, unable to speak, fingers threaded into your hair. He felt you squeeze him harder, turning your head to look up at him. His eyes met yours.

You had come here to the Devildom, and at first, Mammon was indifferent. He would have gladly sold your possessions for some extra cash with no hesitation. He insulted you, he acted like an arrogant fool. You did risky things, you talked back. And yet, you somehow were able to make your way into his ice-cold, tsundere heart.

He sunk back down to the edge of the bed, pulling you towards him. You sat upon his lap, legs on either side of his waist. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush to him, fingers splayed across your back. He pushed your hair to the side, burying his head into your neck, lips against your soft skin. All he wanted in that moment was to breathe you in. He swallowed, pressing a kiss into your neck, hoping, praying that you wouldn’t react negatively.

It’s hard to remember the exact sequence that followed. The only thing Mammon knows is your lips pressed against his in a deep kiss, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. He pulled away, grinning, then kissed you again, and again, and again, his hands roaming under your shirt, across your back.

“Shit, Y/N. I guess you have me feeling some type-a way, too,” he whispered, kissing and biting the delicate skin of your neck, an overwhelming desire to leave his mark on you.

It hadn’t gone any further that night, and Mammon had been okay with it. He had walked you back to your room, grabbing you and kissing you deeply before you went in. He was sure the grin hadn’t left his face the entire rest of the night.

It was essentially the way you and Mammon had spent your final weeks in the Devildom. Stolen kisses here and there. Grabbing your hand in the hallways of R.A.D., lacing his fingers through yours. Spending the entire night together, not sleeping, watching movies on his projector or him teaching you how to play poker. Buying you little gifts using Goldie, much to Lucifer’s chagrin. He wanted to give you all that he could, to provide for you.

He held you close whenever he got the opportunity, stroking your hair, ingraining every feeling of your touch into his memory so he would never forget. He knew he was running out of time to be yours, to give you all of him. Mammon had never been so happy.

Then, that fateful day arrived. The day you were going back to the human world.

Mammon could hardly look at you when the time came, too afraid his emotions would well to the surface and tip over. He finally lifted his gaze to yours, thousands of unspoken words etched into the space between you, visible only to you and he. You had never spoken of a plan for the future, too painful to think about. He regretted all the time wasted, kicking himself for not telling you his feelings sooner.

Maybe then, you wouldn’t have left at all.

Mammon didn’t embrace you before the ceremony to transport you back began, knowing that once he did, he would never be able to let you go. He watched the light flash, as bright as your beautiful soul, taking you away with it, leaving nothing in its wake. The pain of losing you was like a knife plunged deep into his heart, twisting back and forth.

And then, you were gone.

Gone.

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Gone.

And then, Mammon was gone.

“Mammon.”

You speak his name out loud, for the first time since you had arrived back. You still for a second, the unfamiliar syllables passing over your lips. You hope he’ll appear suddenly, as if summoned. But of course, he doesn’t.

And he never will, not again.

The tears fall freely now, a gut-wrenching sob wracking your body. The anguish crashes over you as all the emotions and pent-up grief finally break through the dam you had built deep inside. You fall to the side of your bed, gripping the D.D.D. tightly, knuckles turning white from the effort, as if the phone holds the power to bring Mammon back to you.

You’re unsure of how much time passes before the tears finally begin to subside, opening your eyes once more, adjusting to the sudden brightness; the feeling of it unwelcome, as you had learned to cherish the dark in the Devildom. The false sense of comforting dark you felt when you closed your eyes was erased each morning with the unrelenting rise of the sun.

You lift your hand, the yellow phone still gripped tightly within. And in a moment of hopefulness, or desperation (perhaps both), you press a button, gasping as the phone lights up. Though you shouldn’t be surprised; you remember Mammon telling you he put a spell on it so that it would hold a charge long after you took it off the charger, essentially always staying on.

So you could talk to him whenever you needed it.

Fingers moving faster than your brain can compute, you open your messages with Mammon, feeling the knife twist in your gut once more as you scroll through them. You shake your head furiously, willing yourself to stop, and focus. Your fingers dance across the digital keyboard as you compose a new message.

I love you, Mammon. Come find me.

Send. You hear the all-too-familiar whoosh sound of the message sending, watching it pop up onto the screen.You stare at the phone for God knows how long, willing a notification to sound off, unsure of why you’re feeling so hopeful.

The reply never comes.

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Mammon stares at his phone in disbelief. He reads the message, then stands, beginning to pace around the room. He has to be seeing things. He has to be. He’s convinced.

There is no way he just received a message from you, in the human world. Especially not one telling him that you love him and to come find you.

His fingers fly across the screen, furiously typing a reply to you, pressing send.

Error! Retry?

“What?!” Mammon exclaims, pressing “retry” over and over and over again.

Error! Retry?

“This piece ‘a junk!” he yells, furious. The feeling of anguish washes over him as he realizes you won’t get a reply from him, picturing you sad yet hopeful, staring at your screen. He finds himself leaving his room, legs moving automatically as they bring him to the large double doors of the last place he ever wants to be.

“Oi! Lucifer! Open up right now! It’s an emergency!” Mammon yells, pounding on the door.

Hearing an exasperated sigh on the other side of the doors, Mammon continues to pound relentlessly.

“Lucifer! Open up-” Mammon’s words are cut off as Lucifer opens the door, a pained expression on his face.

“How can I help you, Mammon?” Lucifer asks, oozing contempt.

Mammon storms past him into the office, beginning to open up drawers, sorting through files of papers.

“Lucifer! Where the heck’s Y/N’s info? I need it. Where is it?!”

“Mammon,” Lucifer replies cooly, “what is this all about?”

“It’s Y/N! She texted me! She texted me from the human world. Can ya believe it?! She told me to come find her. I have to go to her, Lucifer, I have to!”

“Mammon, calm down. Explain everything to me.”

Mammon shoves the phone in Lucifer’s face, panic etched into his voice as he recounts the story, impatience creeping in to his demeanor. He has to get to you, and he has to get to you now.

Lucifer nods, holding his gloved hand under his chin as he thinks aloud.

“Mammon, you will have to be patient. I will speak to Diavolo, and see if he will grant you permission to leave the Devildom for a few days. Unfortunately, we do not have an exact location for Y/N. I can only give you the general area of where she lives. You will have to hope that she has remained living there, or close to the area.”

“What?! What are ya tryin’ to say, that I won’t be able to find her?!” Mammon yells in disbelief. “Of course I’ll find her. She told me to! And I can’t wait, I gotta get to her now! I can’t text her back, can’t let her know I got it…”

“I know how important she is to you, Mammon,” Lucifer says, nodding his head.

“Like hell ya do! Have you ever loved anyone that much? Or anything?”

“Mammon. I will speak to Diavolo immediately, and he will set everything in motion. It is still likely you will have to wait until at least tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning…,” Mammon repeats, trailing off. “Y/N, I’m comin’ to ya. Just hang on one more day. Please, babe…”

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

You find yourself at your favorite mall the next day, hardly remembering the drive there, as if you were on autopilot.

As you enter, you stand still for a moment, closing your eyes and inhaling briefly, taking in the sounds: the tinny music filtering through the speakers, other shoppers exclaiming to one another over a new collection in a store, somebody sipping their iced coffee noisily.

You had told Mammon about coming here quite often during those last few weeks. One night in particular, the two of you had lain on his bed, holding one another close, telling each other everything. You hadn’t cared if it was trivial, you wanted to know everything there was to know. Often, you had imagined coming with him here; holding hands, dragging him into all your favorite stores, trying on clothes.

Now, that will never happen.

You shake the negative thought from your mind, fighting as you feel the corners of your lips begin to tug downwards. Turning yourself to the right, you decide to head to your favorite bubble tea stand, smiling softly to yourself. Another memory you had shared with Mammon. Rounding the corner, a figure hunched over on the soft bench near the bubble tea stand stops you dead in your tracks.

Tousled white hair, orange-tinted lenses in his glasses. A brown leather jacket, striped with white across and at the collar, a fitted black t-shirt underneath.

No. No way. Your mind is playing tricks on you, Y/N, you think to yourself.

You walk hesitantly up to him, stopping a few feet away, watching as he notices your shoes, then moves his head up to meet your gaze, that adorable lopsided grin tugging at his lips as he stands.

“Knew I’d find ya here, Y/N. Lucifer didn’t believe me, that jerk,” he drawls.

“M-...Mammon?!” you exclaim, not caring who hears. You barely feel the movements as you throw yourself into his embrace. “H-how?!”

“Ya told me to come find ya. So I found ya.”

Gripping the collar of his jacket tightly, you lay your head on his chest, tears streaming furiously down your face. Mammon lifts your head, cupping your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey. No tears ruinin’ that pretty face. Unless they’re happy tears. In which case, cry away, I guess. But your makeups’ runnin’ down your face,” Mammon tells you, and you grin through them.

“How did you know to find me here?” you ask him as you pull away, brushing more tears away as you swallow.

“I remembered you tellin’ me about it. How you liked to come here when you weren’t feelin’ all that great,” he answers, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I tried to answer ya back, but my stupid D.D.D. wouldn’t let me. I thought ya might be sad, so I figured I’d try ya here.”

You laugh, grin growing wider.

“I love you, Mammon.”

He pulls you into another tight embrace, pressing you flush to him, lips crashing against yours in a deep kiss. You close your eyes, savoring every second of it before pulling away, eyes wide. You laugh once more as he pulls you close to him again, gasping a bit in surprise as his tongue darts out to dance with yours.

“Mammon, we’re in public!” you hiss, though you’re smiling against his lips.

“Don’t care,” Mammon retorts, kissing you again. “I have ya here with me now. And I ain’t ever gonna give you up. Never again.”

“In my darkest of days I've got a light now to show me the way It's like I've found my place And the world doesn't feel the same”

#obey me mammon #mammon obey me #obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me! mammon #obey me fanfic #obey me fandom #mammon avatar of greed #obey me swd #swd obey me #mammon #mammon swd #swd mammon

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hoodoo12 · 4 years ago

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Roses and Rot

This is based of a loose prompt: “Jealous and possessive Keatlejuice where the boy goes feral”. My pals @vicunaburger (Last Train Home)and @clairjohnson (Night Out) also wrote for this prompt; go check them and their fine stories out!

NSFW. Possessiveness, extreme violence and gore, smut, minor bondage, dub-con. This is a darkfic.

There hadn’t been any sound. No warning, and that was the scariest thing of all. There was some asshole douchebag who’d been catcalling you and who jogged after you down the sidewalk, even though you’d made it plainly clear you wanted nothing to do with him. The guy had the balls to grab your shoulder, and that was the end.

He’d been torn away from you so abruptly you’d been jerked back too, stumbling and losing your balance. You shouted, because you’d first thought the guy had done it himself, but when you gathered your wits your shout died in your throat at the sight that met your eyes. The douchebag was on his back and screaming, although his voice also went the way of yours. For a different reason, however: it was hard to scream when there was no breath capable of being drawn after the hand shoved in his gut ruptured his diaphragm and was now elbow deep into his chest. “Heart’s still beatin’. Pity,” Beetlejuice laughed. “Not for long though, buddy.” Straddling the man’s legs like they were wrestling or they were lovers, he extracted his hand slowly, like that would be a kindness to make it hurt less. When just his hand was still inside, he cocked his head. “I think that’s your liver. Spleen feels a little less smooth, an’ if I’d gone through it--whoa! You’d have bleed out way too soon! Oops, looks like my damn ring is caught on something--”

With a more violent jerk than maybe needed to happen, he yanked his hand out of the guy with the thickest wet sound you’d ever heard. You retched involuntarily as Beetlejuice examined what looked like a rope of intestine in his hand. Your gag caught his attention. Quick as a snake, he looked up and caught your eyes. Typically pale blue, his eyes were blown dark with what you would have classified as arousal, except he was drenched in blood and was pawing through a person’s innards like picking up candy from a destroyed pinata. Beetlejuice grinned ferally at you, licking his teeth. He seemed to realize he’d gotten some blood sprayed onto his chin, because he licked further down to remove it. You weren’t sure what to think. Or say. Or do. You felt frozen, a rabbit, pinned by a predator’s gaze. Your choices were to not move and maybe he’d ignore you, or run and hope he was having too much fun with the soon-to-be corpse under him. “What’s the matter baby?” he said with much too much amusement in his voice. “I did this for you.” You could barely wrap your head around that, and you shook your head slightly because of it. The amusement on his face melted to a scowl, and you flinched. Luckily, Beetlejuice seemed to believe it was due to the man twitching and still trying to draw breath underneath him. He turned ferociously back to him. “You fuckin’ cocksucker--you apologize to the lady!” he spit, literally, in the dying man’s face.

It was unfathomable to you the amount of pain and shock the guy must be in, with his guts systematically being pulled from the hole Beetlejuice put in him. When he didn’t respond to the order that had been given to him, the specter snarled and used his unoccupied hand to grab the guy’s chin to twist his head up and over awkwardly to look at you. “Fucking apologize,” he demanded again. He held on with so much force his nails cut into the man’s cheeks. The guy who may or may not have assaulted you given the chance, whose only ‘crime’ was being a prick in public and daring to lay a hand on you, managed to raise his eyes enough to meet yours. He was crying, but still no real noise came from him; collapsed lungs didn’t provide enough air to pass through vocal cords. He wheezed, a little.

Beetlejuice cranked his head back to a more proper position. “That’s much better,” he said brightly, like a teacher praising a pupil that finally understood something complex. “I’m sure you’ll never do anything like that again, will you?” The guy wheezed again, and you could see that his tears made clean tracks through the blood on his face. “WILL YOU?!” Beetlejuice screamed suddenly, dropping his face within inches of the man.

The guy still had enough strength to flinch. That made Beetlejuice laugh again, and he planted an opened-mouth kiss to the man’s mouth. It prevented you from seeing what his hands were doing, but you didn’t miss the specter sucking in like he was stealing the last of his victim’s breath. When he sat back up, a string of bloody saliva bridged between the two men’s lips. With one hand on the man’s chest and the other still running intestines through his fingers like fine silk, Beetlejuice cocked his head. “Heart’s giving out, buddy. Maybe, if I’m quick--” And again, with no warning, he torn into the man’s torso with a frenzy. You’d never known how strong he was; you’d never considered how strong he was, but skin and muscle split and ribs were cracked, and before you even had the chance to look away, Beetlejuice had his prize: exposure of the guy’s heart, still in his ruin of his chest, beating erratically from blood loss and rapidly dropping blood pressure. Beetlejuice looked up at you, gave you a wink, and gave the heart a vicious flick. Luckily the guy didn’t feel it; he was obviously dead. Hawking something up from the back of his throat, the specter spit a gob of mucus directly into the dead man’s open chest. You’d never seen someone die before. You’d never seen such frenzied carnage. If you could have torn your eyes away from the show of wanton destruction, you would have. You felt numb and shocky yourself, like you wanted to vomit and curl into a fetal position all at the same time. All your limbs were cold. The fact that it was done so casually, that Beetlejuice looked just as he’d always looked--grimy, moldy, the corners of his mouth always just about to turn up like he was always one step ahead of anyone else around--he didn’t look monstrous at all except that his favorite suit was now that start of a joke--what’s black and white and red all over--

--your thoughts felt fractured, a skipping record, and a giggle slipped out of you, less for amusement or approval and more because you had no reference on how to respond to any of this.

Beetlejuice took your giggle the wrong way, of course. In a flash, between one blink and the next, he was at your side, arms around your waist to hold you upright and against him. The blood soaked into his suit felt clammy and left smears on you. There was still a feral light in his eyes, and pressed this close, it wasn’t any secret he was aroused. “Nobody gets to touch you but me, baby,” he informed you. Just as he leaned down for a kiss that you dared not refuse him, he continued, “You’re mine.”

His mouth covered yours and you held your breath. The taste of him, damp soil with base notes of roses and rot, was familiar; the new flavor of iron from the residual blood on his face was not and you did not care for it much. Naturally, he didn’t care. While you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to act too put off in case that made him angry, an odd pressure surrounded you and when he released you and you opened your eyes, you were back in your bedroom. You didn’t dare point out that if he could just remove you from the situation on the street he didn’t have to tear that guy apart.

Wiping his thumb along his lower lip as he stared over you with hungry eyes, he repeated in a low voice, “You’re fucking mine,” as if you’d argued.

He still seemed to think there was some disagreement, however, maybe because you were still shocky from the events and you weren’t as responsive as typical to his advances. He lifted his lips in what you thought was supposed to be a smile but came off more as a snarl. “Men. Always sniffin’ around, always thinkin’ they can touch whatever they want without consequences. Never thinkin’ that what they’re touchin’ might belong to someone else!” he ranted. This was not the time to try and educate him on the fact that the word “belong” was offensive and demeaned you into being property.

He took a breath that you know was for show because he didn’t actually breathe any longer, and focused on you again. “I know you didn’t flirt with that guy, baby. I know you didn’t ask for him to follow you and touch you. He was just a prick who got his just reward. But I gotta say . . . seeing him try and get your attention . . . it got me a little possessive.” Once again you held your tongue, although that was damn obvious. You weren’t against possessiveness, per se, and had occasionally breathed into his ear that you only wanted him, you were his, those sentiments and the like slipping from your lips as he fucked himself into you, but this was a little more than typical. The standard thrill of his aggressive behavior was there, even if your pulse also pounded out of fear. Beetlejuice gave you a much softer smile, and it almost made you relax. When he stepped up to you again, however, the smile slipped and a rock settled in your gut because your subconscious better recognized the not so sweet intent behind him coming close again. He grabbed the back of your head, his ragged nails catching in your hair. That was not uncommon; his hand being tacky from mostly dried blood was. You gasped and automatically pulled your head back in response. That only made him laugh. “Gotta be a way to show assholes like that you’re mine--” he growled half to himself, but loud enough for your ears too. “Gonna show them you’re mine--”

With that, he spun you around. Off balance because you weren’t expecting it, you fell front first onto the mattress. Before you could twist or protest or anything, you found yourself without a stitch of clothing on; one of his ‘parlor tricks’ that sometimes you liked very much. A new element had been added, however: your arms stretched forward and wrists restrained with exactly what, you didn’t know. You didn’t keep any ties or shackles in your bedroom; there’d never been any talk of tying up or restraint--

“--gonna prove it, I know you know you’re mine, baby, but other people, other people need to know--”

His obsessive rambling didn’t calm you. He drew his tacky hands down your back to the swell of your ass, and he kicked open your legs, putting you in a more precarious position without your feet under you. You heard the soft noise of a zipper, even with both his hands still on you, spreading you open so your pussy was exposed.

“--I’ll show ‘em, it’ll be a giant neon sign announcing to the world--”

You had no idea what he meant, but could only imagine it was some sort of other phasmagorical trick he could conjure. Maybe he’d brand you with his name? Maybe he’d claw you till you were bleeding, leaving scars which would give other people pause to even talk to you? His cold fingers dragged themselves through the folds of your pussy and automatically your back dipped to allow him better access. He chuckled through his word vomit and now the head of his cock, wider than his fingers, followed their same trail. You relaxed as best you could against the restraints stretching your arms, knowing what was coming next. With one hand still gripping your hip, when Beetlejuice found where he wanted to be he thrust forward and filled your cunt with one motion. With zero preparation and a slaughtering as foreplay, the friction was immense and you cried out. You’d fucked him often enough that he opened you up easily, and the tight drag and pull lit up your nerve endings anyway. Your cry of surprise that devolved into a moan made him chuckle again. The hand he’d used to hold the base of his cock while he seated himself inside you came up and slapped your ass more sharply than you expected and you jumped and yelped, which only spurred him on more. He did it again, this time spanking you lower on your ass. You felt the extra sting of his ring making heavy contact with the thin skin of your upper thigh.

Through it, he fucked you at a blistering pace.

You cried out with each thrust; you groaned each time he pulled back. You’d have reached behind yourself to grab at him, to hook your fingers into his waist, or slipped a hand under you to finger your own clit, but neither of those were options since he decided he wanted all the control himself. You had no choice but to enjoy the rough ride. Beetlejuice hadn’t stopped talking, although it was now interspersed with his own guttural groans. “--fuck-fuck-fuck, your fuckin’ cunt is the best, baby--it’s mine an’ I’m gonna make sure people fucking know it--”

Going to your tiptoes, even with your legs spread to accommodate him, helped tilt your pelvis so he managed to thrust against the perfect spot inside you, even if he didn’t do that on purpose. Drool made a wet spot under your cheek on the mattress, because he drove such pleasure into you it was difficult to remember to do something like close your mouth or swallow. “--gonna fucking fill you up, fuck! Gonna, gonna--” Beetlejuice leaned over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. He hadn’t shed his clothing, you learned with a start, as the still damp-with-blood fabric of his jacket and shirt chaffed over your back. You wiggled more out of disgust than pleasure at the feeling of it, but he didn’t seem to recognize that subtle difference, or he didn’t care. He moved one hand to entangle itself into your hair again, to steady himself and stretch you back towards him. With his face now against your neck he grunted, “--gonna fill your cunt with come, baby--”

You gasped at those words, and he laughed again. “--oh, you like that? You like the idea of this dead guy’s come up in your pussy, smelling like me, huh? No one’d mess with you then, so full of rot--gonna flood your cunt--”

Was that even possible? Typically he liked to pull out and come on you, and yes it didn’t smell great but it was easily washed away. If he came in you, would the stench linger? The thought terrified you. The thought also excited you. You should be ashamed and alarmed, but just couldn’t be; him positioned on top of you, his cock still hammering into you, throwing sparks of bliss keep into your belly, promising that no one else would want you, you couldn’t do anything but take what he gave you and it was so, so good--

With a howl, you came around his cock, your pussy spasming even as he continued to thrust into you. He was still talking but your ears were ringing, and in another few moments, while you worked to catch your breath, Beetlejuice yanked your hair hard enough to make you cry out, and shoved his hips so hard into you it actually hurt, and groaned during his own release, deep inside you, just as he’d promised.

He didn’t immediately pull out and roll off of you either, as typical. He stayed right where he was, rocking his hips through his orgasm as if actively working his come to where it needed to be to leave your pregnant. After several moments and slowly feeling like you were going to have to struggle to get him off you so you could draw a full breath, he pushed himself up and back. You heard him fiddling with his fly again, and wondered if he even dropped his trousers during at all.

As his cock left you a gush of wet soaked you and the edge of the mattress. Beetlejuice grunted and shoved his fingers up against your pussy as if to push his come back in. You stretched and wiggled against the restraints on your wrists, and suddenly they were gone too.

You rolled over, not caring that whatever bloody mess he’d transferred to you would be on your bedding now. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel.

The specter still looked like he worked in a particularly unsanitary butcher shop. Instead of stripping or anything else remotely politely human, he dropped onto the bed bedside you and spooned into you, like all this had been normal.

“I fucked up, baby,” he whispered, to your amazement.

Oh! Maybe he did see that he went overboard and unnecessary!

He sighed and kissed your shoulder. You felt the imprint of his teeth, but he didn’t bite you. In an even lower voice, he continued, “I should’ve kept that guy alive so he could’ve seen all that we just did there. Then I shoulda fuckin’ offed him.” You kept your mouth shut once again, and just lay with him like he wanted.

fin

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Keatlejuice #Beetlejuice x reader #dark #vicunaburger #clairjohnson #movie Beetlejuice

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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Johnny Snapshots

@onereyofstarlight Okay, let’s face it, I live in the land of the Virg and John is one of the hardest for me to tackle (the other being Alan who I do a disservice to on a regular basis). So I don’t read much John focussed fic. Not that I don’t love the boi, it’s just...oooh, look a bright shiny Virg! :D

So in order to get Johnny fluff for you, I only really have my pile of Virg-focussed fic to play with, though I can recommend reading stuff from @the-lady-razorsharp and @willow-salix cos they claim Johnny as their boi and write lots of stuff focussed on their space noodle :D

While looking for my previous post in my archives, I came across a snippet of John from one of my fics and got the idea of little Johnny Snapshots. So, here from amongst all my Virg fic, have a little Johnny Nutty-style.

Note: Snapshots from all sorts of fic, looking for fluff, spoilers for everything, several AUs, several ships, pretty much potluck and lots of description of the Johnny :D And while I��ve included links to the fics, the fics themselves are likely Virgil focussed and there may not be much more of John in them than is already here. You’ve probably read some of these before, too.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

-o-o-o-

A ghost drifted on the breeze.

White as an angel, pale as the moonlight sculpting his form, his next youngest brother rode the air currents above the island.

The only word to describe John was elegant. Airborne porcelain, he circled. Midnight starlight cascaded through Virgil’s mind. Expressions of sorrow draped in calm, warmed by an amber light, the steady core of his star-loving brother.

Virgil watched mesmerised as his turns became tighter and tighter, closer to the ground. A great arch of white feathers and he landed gently, barely disturbing the sand beneath his bare feet.

He was gleaming in the moonlight from toe to hooded gaze. Ever so pale skin, free to be bare to the elements with the absence of the sun, his only clothing was a cut off pair of jeans so faded they were more white than blue.

Only his hair had colour, flame caught in just the right flash of light.

Decision

-o-o-o-

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

V.T. Green

-o-o-o-

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge…to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Food, Tracy style

-o-o-o-

A sigh. “Um....never have I ever...er...been arrested?” Surely, they hadn’t done that?

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon, glugged down some more drink. “That’s an easy one. Paris. The Louvre.”

What?

Scott raised his hand holding his glass. “Gordon.” As if that explained everything. He swallowed heavily.

Alan snorted, rolled and fell face first onto the carpet.

Gordon laughed. “Hey, bro. Time to take another drink. Remember the teddy bear at the fair?”

“Crap.” Alan grabbed his glass and toasted the air. “Gordon.” Apparently, it did explain everything.

“Gordon.” Kayo said it like a zombie and swallowed some more alcohol. Ridley just stared at her, but was distracted as apparently not-so-asleep John attempted to locate his glass by pawing blindly at the carpet with one hand. His mumbled “Gordon.” Was almost muffled as Ridley tried to grab his arm.

“Lawn flamingo.” Virgil attempted to bring the drink to his mouth, but missed and threw it over his shoulder instead. “Oops.”

Em blinked.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling this game. Off to bed with the lot of you. I have the strongest feeling that I should have taken Grandma’s advice and gone to bed early myself.”

There were many a muttered groan, mostly of ‘Awww’ and her name, but the brothers mostly stumbled to their feet. Kayo had to drag Virgil off of Em. The man was heavy.

Ridley smiled at her as she manhandled her space noodle off into their rooms. John was muttering something about ‘Gordon’s fault...didn’t want to do that in a book store.’ Penny helped Alan to his rooms, all the time shooting glares at Gordon.

“What?” The aquanaut looked non-plussed. “What did I do?”

“Gordon, go look after your brother.” Scott’s voice was firm. He still hadn’t relaxed.

Em sighed, grabbed his arm and, activating her hoverjets, pulled him up. “C’mon, Commander, time for bed.”

“Em.” And suddenly she was in his arms.

“Flyboy, your blood alcohol content can be detected from space.”

“Space!” John’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Not today, spaceman, you’d miss TB5 and end up on Mars.” Ridley was obviously being very patient.

“Not Mars. Wrong trejacktory.” A closing door shut off the rest of the mumbled maths that followed.

Never Have I Ever

-o-o-o-

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas.

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

The House

-o-o-o-

Unfortunately, distracted, he didn’t see brother number three and collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

“Oh, god, sorry…J-“ His hands met soft silk and he looked up, this time truly focussing on his tall brother.

Oh my god.

He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.

“John?”

“Hey, Virgil.”

And yes, that was a smirk on that face.

He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.

But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long enough to reach his chest.

Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”

The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.

Blink. “Wh-who are you?”

“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”

Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a goblin who looked quite like that.

And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”

“She.”

“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A Warm Rain Halloween (wip)

-o-o-o-

It had been three days. His brother was now hooked up to several IVs and other invasive support mechanisms, his unconscious body needing assistance to survive. The usually agile, calm and kind man now lay pale, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes bruised smudges on his lifeless face, hands wrapped in copious bandages.

Virgil reached over and ran his fingers through that blond and red hair, attempting to straighten it out, forcing the flick to behave itself.

“C’mon, John, speak to me.” Virgil’s voice was little above a whisper. “I can’t do this without you.” And the statement was suddenly true. Spoken without thought, Virgil realised that through everything that had happened to him in the last few months, John had been there, even when Virgil was too terrified to see him, John had stood strong while his brother dragged him through the mud. He had done everything in his power, everything, to support Virgil. “God, don’t let a faulty circuit be your epitaph, you are worth so much more than that. So much more.”

He needed his brother’s dry wit. He needed his calm voice. He needed him.

Virgil let his head drop to the bed.

Please.

Father

-o-o-o-

John hated crowds, especially those involving the press. Scott went out of his way to make sure he wasn’t exposed to them, but his brother wasn’t available right now.

Head down, no eye contact. “No comment.”

“No comment.”

They crowded in on him and he grit his teeth.

A sharp crack and a yelp. A squawk and the clattering of plastic on concrete. A scream and a flash of light. John looked up to find holocams falling like rain. One close to him simply stopped and dropped. Another sparked, spun and dove at the nearest reporter. She screamed and ran.

The holocam chased her.

Oh.

The crowd began to disperse in erratic squeals and yelps of fear. John took advantage and dashed through to the doors of the hospital. Behind him, the elevator fired its thrusters, adding to the confusion, and launched towards orbit.

“Eos, you are dangerous.”

“Yes, John, and don’t you forget it.” The amusement in her voice had him smiling.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Dirt

-o-o-o-

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

The Prince Who Would Not be King

-o-o-o-

If the quiet lifestyle is more your thing, you may wish to upgrade to John Tracy. ‘Up’ is the keyword here as he resides twenty-two thousand miles up, in orbit, in fact. Yes, John is the original space Tracy. Fully adapted to the cold and dark beyond our atmosphere, he does indeed adore the quiet life.

However, before we tempt you any further, it should be noted that John is the only Tracy brother who is a parent. A single parent at that. Inadvertent though her existence is, Eos is recognised as John’s daughter and she presents a number of unique challenges, the least of which is what she will do to your bank accounts if you upset her. Yes, if you are looking for bankruptcy, offending Eos is a fantastic way to achieve your goal.

In summary, don’t piss off the kid.

Having said that, should she approve of your existence, Eos is quite capable of enhancing that existence should she so choose. In any case, John’s daughter is a great conversationalist, even if she has locked you in the bathroom.

John himself sports arguably the most stunning eyes of all the five brothers. Alan, please be quite and Scott, sit down.

A unique pair of turquoise irises that contrast exquisitely with his copper hair makes for a stunning date to have on your arm. The only downside is that arm may need to be handcuffed to yours if you intend on going anywhere involving more than six people at a time.

Our space Tracy is not a social being. Despite communication as a profession, John Tracy has been heard to wish to only speak to others from space. This may include you. Please keep your phone charged at all times.

It should also be noted that if your phone battery is dead and John wishes to contact you, he may hack an appliance as mundane as your toaster. Communicating via the temperature controls in the shower has been reported. Virgil was not impressed.

John is one of the taller Tracys. Unlike Scott, however, heels may not be needed as ninety-five percent of the time John is in space, so if you are planning to get to know him, you’re going to be in space too. Just float up to look him in those gorgeous eyes.

A fan of spaceball and Star Trek, John is your traditional loveable geek. Be aware that his neighbour knows this and you may want to lock all the airlocks in case she comes knocking for a cup of sugar.

John is definitely a good investment and comes with a space station to boot. You will be able to spend many hours stargazing both at the universe and those irises.

Plus One Tracy

-o-o-o-

Oh, I do have a couple of John focussed fics. The fluffiest is Bagel.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy

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