#this book is leaving me exactly as the title suggests

[devildomwriter]

They Find Your Oddly Specific Erotic Manga | Others X Reader

GN! Reader x Solomon, Simeon, Raphael, Mephistopheles, Barbatos, Diavolo | Warnings: Suggestive

Solomon

You groaned as Solomon set a heavy pile of books on the table in front of you.

“How many of those do you need me to read?”

“As many as possible.” He chuckled at your gloomy expression. “What, don’t you want to become more powerful?”

You nodded but sighed as you closed the book that actually entertained you, and placed it back on its shelf.

Solomon followed you with his eyes and noticed you’d rearranged your shelf from the last time he saw it.

“Oh, you organized it!” He exclaimed and grinned proudly. “Excellent. Now we can find space to put your new books.”

You blushed and shook your head, you didn’t need this man to find the books you strategically placed out of sight. If he read the title alone he’d never let you live it down.

“Ah, please don’t mess with those,” you pleaded but when he saw your shy expression he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh? What could my sweet apprentice be hiding from me?” He teased. “Don’t you know you should share everything with your master?”

He began looking over the books and even behind them.

You stood up quickly and outstretched your hand, reciting a spell you’d recently learned. “I call upon the earth itself to shackle the one who stands before me. Leave them bound and helpless. I am the sorcerer ___, obey me!”

Solomon looked shocked when shackles appeared from your bedroom floor and wrapped around him.

“Incredible! Job well done, ___.” He smiled but with a snap of his fingers, they dissipated. “Unfortunately I’ve long since mastered that spell, sorry. And now I’m more curious than ever what you could be hiding.”

You groaned and gave up, accepting your fate. You heard his chuckle and assumed he must’ve found the books you’d hidden. His laugh became louder and he wiped tears from his eyes.

“It’s no wonder you hid these!” He exclaimed, “These are oddly specific too, aren’t they?” He noted as you continued to hide your face.

“Virgin Witch,” he listed, “Master Sorcerer Is Obsessed With His Angelic Apprentice! That one’s relatable,” he admitted, making you blush further. “Oh I like the Looks of this one; Fighting Demons With My Handsome Master: I’ll Follow Him to the End of the World and into Bed! Oh, I wonder if you find that one relatable?” He prodded as he looked at your steaming face.

“You’re a jerk…” you mumbled and he laughed, unbothered.

“Ah, maybe I am? But I was going to find out eventually, right?” He shrugged and you finally looked up, brows furrowed angrily.

He shook his head, “Now what’s with that look? You’re the one reading these books.”

“Reading isn’t a crime.”

“Exactly! And that’s what I did just now, no?”

You sighed. There was no use arguing with someone given the title “Witty” by the master of time, Barbatos himself.

“Now that that’s in the open. How relatable do you find these to be?” He unbuttoned the top of his uniform and approached you with a wanton gaze, “…I’m dying to know. You’ll show me…won’t you?”

Simeon

Simeon sat on your bed, reading with you. You tried to meet up and have a relaxing day as often as you could. Given all the chaotic people in your life, it was nice to have company who didn’t need to talk to have fun with you. Simeon was content just being by your side.

He closed his book and sat up, petting your head before he got to his feet to shelve the book he’d just finished.

“Where did this one go again?”

“They’re categorized by genre,” you said, not looking away from your book.

He nodded and scanned the many shelves of books when his eyes crossed a peculiar title and he got a mischievous look in his eyes.

“____,” he questioned with an innocent smile, “what’s this?” He held up what was clearly an angel-based erotic manga.

You sat straight up, “oh shoot!” You exclaimed and he laughed and flipped through it.

“Can Angels Do This?” He read and noticed there were similar titles next to it.

You immediately regretted shelving the books by genre as he listed the other titles with amusement.

“Hell x Heaven…Heavenly Body…Angelic Whispers Bring Demons to Their Knees…Over-Cumming Writers Block…The Fallen Angel is Falling For Me!” He smirked, “that last one looks rather interesting…” he said with a curious gleam in his eyes.

You turned red and looked away, no longer focused on your book.

He walked over to you, book in hand. “I think I’ll read this one next,” he declared and you gave him a baffled look.

“W-What? Right next to me, too?” You stammered.

“Oh, are you embarrassed? Why would you be?” He grinned, knowing full well what he was doing.

He sat next to you on the bed again, closer than before, and began reading the erotica.

You couldn’t focus on your book and kept glancing to see what page he was on. He chuckled, stole your book, and set it aside.

“Wh— hey?” You complained but he laughed and scooted even closer to you.

“Hm? I’m sorry, I assumed you wanted to read this with me…that’s certainly what it looked like.”

You blushed and he continued to tease you, “Or were you staring at me for another reason?”

“No I-uh…um…” You hid your face in your hands and he frowned.

“I’m sorry did I go too far?” He asked with his hand behind his neck and head tilted slightly to appear more innocent.

“Well, it’s hard not to stare at you, to begin with…” you mumbled and it was his turn to blush. “But now you’re reading…that.”

“Well, you read it too didn’t you?”

“Y-yes but that’s different.”

“How is it different? Were you ashamed? Could that be because you bought this oddly specific manga with someone in mind?”

He knew he nailed it when you turned deep red and he pushed the hair out of your overheated face.

“Oh…so that is it, isn’t it?” He mused and when you met his eyes he couldn’t help but ask, “Wouldn’t you prefer a real one to your books?”

Raphael

Raphael was an observant man. Almost too observant because he hadn’t been in your room for long when he noticed part of your bookshelf was hidden by framed pictures of you and your Devildom friends.

He couldn’t focus on the puzzle you’d invited him over for, and kept glancing at the shelf until you noticed his foot was quickly tapping on the floor, giving away his curiosity.

“Raphael? Is everything okay?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t pry any further about the bookshelf.

“The bookshelf.” He stated, and you sighed. He titled his head curiously.

“Oh…those are just books an angel shouldn’t be looking at…” you admitted, hoping that would be the end of it, or he’d stop at a light scolding.

He gave you a look that made it clear he wasn’t just disappointed in your taste in books, but more so that you tried hiding it from him.

“I’m aware humans like that kind of thing. Why did you feel you needed to hide it from me?” He asked with a frown.

“Because I knew you’d give me your disappointed look.”

“Am I that predictable?” He asked and you nodded.

He appeared to be thinking it over and then abruptly stood up to investigate the shelf further. He understood you must mean books with inappropriate material but he wanted to be certain you didn’t mean demon-worshipping books as that was also something angels shouldn’t be reading.

You put your face in your hands and groaned. Nothing would stop Raphael and you weren’t looking forward to the scolding.

As expected there was a stunned silence from him for a minute before he turned to you, brows furrowed and placing a stack of books in front of you.

He sat back down facing you as if he were about to begin an interrogation.

“Cotton Candy My Angel…” he began listing. “Beastly Angel… The Words of an Angel Who Came From Heaven… I Want the Angel to Use His Spear on Me!” He looked puzzled by the last one and mumbled, “That’s oddly specific…”

You blushed and nodded. “Okay…you found the secret stash…let’s continue the puzzle.”

He didn’t drop it, as expected. “You understand angels can’t do this sort of thing with humans?” He questioned and you nodded but then shrugged.

“Well…I’m not technically human, am I?”

A nearly unnoticeable blush crossed his face and he remained silent, deciding how to respond to that. “Angels…don’t really do that with each other either…”

“As far as you know.”

“What?” His confused face made you chuckle. It was almost too cute for words.

“I said what I said.”

“What are you implying? What sort of things are you imagining?” He prodded.

You shrugged again, “I don’t know…what do you think I’m implying, Seraphim Raphael…”

His blush was now very noticeable as he stood up and put the books back on the shelf. He sat back in front of you and quickly began messing with the puzzle pieces.

Every so often you tapped his foot with yours and his blush would increase. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it for much longer.

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles looked around your room curiously. You’d invited him over to talk with you as he’d long been interested in interviewing the exchange student who’d made such a big splash in the Devildom and was particularly close to his idol, Lord Diavolo.

He looked at the tree and the lights you’d hung around it. He looked at the coffin-shaped bookshelf and the books on it when he noticed some were hidden behind the rest.

He glanced at the door to make sure you weren’t about to walk in and quickly walked to the bookshelf.

The books in front were normal, or at least normal for someone who’s just had the existence of demons confirmed to them.

Books like Paradise Lost, The Book of Enough, and the Screwtape Letters made him roll his eyes. He also observed the collection of magic books.

“They’ve gotten pretty far in their studies already…” he mumbled when you walked into the room with the tray of tea, iced water, and a giant pot of sugar for Mephistopheles to sweeten his tea as much as he liked.

He grinned and straightened up.

“Oh! Looking at my books?” You beamed and walked over to show him in more detail.

He nodded, glancing at the ones in the back. As you bent over to show him some on the bottom shelf he noticed the first part of a title and immediately took interest, pulling it out.

“Hm?” He hummed before turning red and trying to hide the book quickly before you noticed but instead, he knocked most of the books over.

He quickly used his body to shield you as the top shelf came out of place and fell.

“Ack!” You gasped in surprise, pinned beneath Mephistopheles who was bright red.

“Thank you!” You said, scooting away from him. “Why are you so red?” You questioned when you noticed your secret book stash all around you.

“I-uh-um—“ Mephistopheles stuttered looking around at the titles.

You blushed but decided to tease him. “What? Like you don’t have anything similar?”

He straightened his collar and began reading the titles since it appeared to him you didn’t mind.

“Reincarnated as the Villain: An Archdemon Fell in Love With Me…The Wealthiest Demon in the Land Bought Me!… The Lustful Whims of the Rich Demon Noble…” he eyed you, both of your faces red. “These are rather specific…though I suppose it means you aren’t afraid of us, which is…” he lost his train of thought, unable to focus as he rightfully assumed you had a thing for rich demons and had invited him to your room.

“Er-um…” he stuttered looking at you.

“Wh-Why don’t we proceed to the interview…the tea is getting cold too…” you suggested, desperate to fill the silence.

He nodded and looked away nervously, “Did you really invite me here…for an interview?” He questioned and you turned an even deeper shade of red.

“If so…then yes, let us proceed. If not…then what exactly did you have in mind? I suppose I could indulge you…as long as it remains a secret.”

Barbatos

“Oh my,” you hear Barbato’s chuckle as he helps tidy your room.

You were bent over a stack of old notebooks you found when you turned around and your eyes widened in horror.

He was looking at your forbidden bookshelf! You forgot he mentioned he was going to dust every surface in the room. Of course, that also meant the books you hid behind the more innocent ones.

Barbatos gave you an amused look and showed you the manga in his hand as you tried to stutter an excuse.

“My, my ___. Is this the sort of thing you like?”

“I-uh—“ Before you could answer him he began to pull each book out and setting them in a small pile on your desk.

“The Sadistic Butler…I Want to Train You and Break You: Black Butler’s Sadistic Service…” You turned redder as he read every title. Barbatos was the last person you needed to see these.

He continued, the amusement in his voice more evident with each title he read, “Lady and the Butler, Would You Care for a Butler?, The Sinful Evening Affair With a Butler…” he smiled at you, chuckling to himself. When he saw how flushed you were he bowed his head apologetically.

“My apologies, ___. I didn’t mean to be invasive,” he paused and tilted his head. “I do wonder though…did you start reading things like this before or after meeting me…?”

You blushed but gave him an honest answer. “uh…I’ve kinda always had a thing for butlers…and demons…”

His smile widened, “Oh?”

“B-But I didn’t start collecting until more recently…I guess?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. You were shocked with yourself you were admitting this and anxious about his reaction.

Barbatos instead finished dusting the shelf and your heart sank. No reaction was worse than anything at all.

“Um…” you said fidgeting, unable to get back to cleaning up.

He glanced your way as he shelved your books again. This team he quickly glimpsed through one and his face turned a dark pink.

“Oh my…no wonder you turned so red?” He surmised and you hid your face.

He put the book back in its place, set down his duster, and approached you as you sat at the end of your bed.

You looked up as he placed his hands on your shoulders. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar to you, a rare look across the demon’s face. His horns grew from his head and his tail from his spine, flicking back and forth.

“I think we’ve cleaned enough for now…how about I reward your hard work? I can take a guess as to what you’d most enjoy.” He said in a low voice, his hot breath against your ear.

You gave a small nod, and with your confirmation, he pushed you back into the bed.

Diavolo

It was bound to come out eventually, you just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Unfortunately for you, Diavolo was a very observant man so the moment he came into your room his eyes were scanning the premises.

“Make yourself at home,” you grinned and he nodded and thanked you.

You went to the kitchen quickly to grab some tea. Barbatos had taught you how to prepare it best for him.

When you recentered your room with tea you saw Diavolo stifling an amused laugh with a book in his hand.

You quickly set the tray of tea down and caught his attention.

“Oh, hehe, thank you,” he chuckled and instead of grabbing his tea, he went back to observing the books on your shelf.

That’s when you realize you made the grave mistake of not hiding the manga you most enjoyed.

“W-What’s so funny?” You asked nervously, knowing full well why he was so entertained.

“Oh, I’m just looking through to see what sort of manga you enjoy…I have to say it’s rather interesting…” he gave you a sly look and went back to laughing to himself.

He shelved the last book and skimmed over the rest.

“These always have such long titles…I honestly thought Levi was just describing the manga for the longest time, but it seems it’s like this in the human world too,” he noted.

He grinned, coming across another interesting title, “Ooh, what’s this one.”

You quickly darted to his side hoping he wouldn’t open up any of them. After all, they’d been wrapped when you bought them for a very good reason.

“Hey, uh-“ you quickly tried grabbing the manga but he held it over his head and laughed as you jumped to try and reach it, just to fall into his large chest.

Diavolo normally didn’t tease you to this degree so you knew he was very invested in this as he began reading aloud some of the titles on the shelf.

“Let’s see…oh here’s another good one! Reincarnated Into A Game World Where The Demon King Who Kidnapped Me Wants To Do Me All Night Long… oh look, this seems interesting too— The Reincarnated Saint Falls for the Demon Lord? When I Reincarnated I Was Doted on by the Demon King… oh look this one is even more to the point! Entwined at Twilight with a Demon: Again… And Again… He Can’t Be Stopped! AHAHAHAHA!” Diavolo’s laughter filled your room as you turned redder than his hair.

“___, I’m curious…you seem to have such a deep fascination with the ones involving Demon Kings in particular…” he grinned mischievously, “is there perhaps a reason for that?”

You blushed but wanted to fill the silence and blurted out what you were thinking before you fully realized what you were asked, “And if there was?”

He looks surprised for a moment but his eyes quickly glazed over with longing. “Then…maybe I’d have to do something about it, wouldn’t I?”

Your heart beat wildly as he set the book down and approached you with heavy steps.

“So, ___? Let’s say we bring one of your fascinating books to life?”

[moonbaby26]

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Pairing: Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (plus a bit of Bellamy)

Warnings: language, non con, oral sex (male receiving), forced exhibitionism, vaginal sex, rough sex, punishment, pain, humiliation, blood, cruel!Doffy playing with his human toys, possessive/toxic/abusive/controlling relationship, reader is at their breaking point, reader has suicidal thoughts but does want to live, Doffy is just being shit

Synopsis: You are Doflamingo’s wife and the queen of Dressrosa. But this status does not absolve you from your husband’s particular brand of discipline or cruelty. After offending the mad king earlier in the day, you now must suffer the repercussions. But as always with him, things are often more complicated than they first appear.

Author’s Note: Oneshot mostly inspired by this single, overly suggestive (in my opinion) Doflamingo statue shared by @physics-of-one-piece . But also the Pink song of the same name here! Terrible, terrible flamingo man… 😅

Fic Masterlist

——————————

Poor Bellamy.

That had been your very first, very useless thought as the so called “Bullet of Dressrosa” had walked into the library grinning.

The smug look and new strut in his step told you that he was playing errand boy for your husband again.

What did Doflamingo want now?

You and your egomaniac spouse had had a rare, very loud, very public argument this morning in front of both his crew and the servants. Stemming from his continued tortures of the citizens in the underground of course.

Horrors you just couldn’t look the other way on any longer, if you ever really had. 

The servants had thought you’d just been angry on behalf of the prisoner gladiators from the colosseum and not the toys which languished all around them though.

You hadn’t given up your husband’s real secrets.

But he’d been so affected by your uncharacteristic defiance regardless. He’d been in a bad mood for days before now too really. Maybe this was just the final straw.

So you’d kept to yourself, drinking wine and reading in the palace library ever since. The king was too busy to have dealt with you immediately earlier.

But you knew that he would.

If you were lucky at all, it’d only be in the form of you begging for mercy tonight, beneath him in your shared bedroom again instead of strung up and screaming in the dungeons below.

Which was exactly what all this wine was for. By the time Joker would retire for the night, finally turning off the snails and coming for you like the savage he really was, you hoped to be as drunk and numb to him as humanly possible.

But that plan was now being derailed as you’d glanced up with tired, narrowed eyes to one of your king’s other biggest fools.

Second in idiocy only to you of course.

Because Bellamy hadn’t been the one to actually marry that monster after all.

Yet the young pirate was so embarrassingly proud as he’d approached you. His smiling face the straight up mimicry of his master’s normal expressions. “Doflamingo requests you at the pool, your highness. Immediately.”

And you didn’t like any of that either of course. Your brain churning with all the awful possibilities that could mean. Only doubly insulting to you with how oblivious Bellamy still seemed in it all.

As if it really were a simple summons and not a potential walk to the gallows.

But you had no choice. 

You never did.

“Fine.” You downed the rest of your wine glass before reluctantly placing your bookmark to leave the book you’d been working through on the table.

You’d straightened your dress as you’d stood, doing your best to ignore Bellamy’s now puffed out chest as he got the privilege of escorting you back through the corridors of your own home.

And soon out into the sunlight and exuberant voices of the courtyard that you were not at all in the mood for.

Most of the busty, string bikini crowd were there in full force, hitting a ball back and forth, splashing one another, and climbing in and out of the rectangular pool like it was their private playground. 

And Doflamingo himself was there as well, seated dead center as if on his throne. Purposefully choosing to be the visual focal point in all that other movement and noise.

Girls in g-string bottoms, who were carrying snacks and alcohol on trays for him, had to step out of your way as you did approach that large couch and Dressrosa’s smirking ruler with your arms crossed over your own body defensively.

It could have been comical for how overdressed you were in comparison to every other female now in this yard.

But you’d also already felt his harsh gaze from behind those sunglasses, roaming you the moment you’d stepped foot outside regardless.

He was always watching you.

Always ready to prey on you in one way or another.

“And where was the queen hiding this time?” Doflamingo questioned Bellamy, stretching his own long arms out across the back of that couch. In a way that spread his already open shirt even further to show off more of his muscular chest.

“She was in the library…sir.” And you heard just that hint of flustered reaction in Bellamy’s voice when more of the king’s tan skin and two pierced nipples had come into view. Those small gold piercings glinted briefly in the Dressrosan sun as they were exposed.

Which was Doflamingo’s attention seeking intent to begin with of course. Bellamy’s obvious obsession with his own captain being just another passing entertainment for this narcissist.

“Predictable.” Your husband scoffed at you and your comparative non reaction to his display however. “Were you pouting, reading your little morality tales then, darling? Did the unlikely hero triumph over the dark hearted conqueror yet?” 

And Doflamingo’s long tongue had edged briefly out at the mention of his fellow dark hearted, still trying so well to bait you.

“No. The villain still reigns. Healthy and immovable.” You answered coldly, looking dead into those reflective sunglasses. 

But you had no intention of bantering out here in the blazing heat either. You knew Doflamingo was going to do whatever he had already decided to do, whether you played along or not. “So just tell me why I’m here, and let’s be done with it.” You said, cutting to the chase.

Which his smile did finally fade at that. The rarer frown beginning instead. Which was always a far more honest expression in your experience.

Honest and wholly dangerous.

“Well…that is unfortunate. And here I thought you might have been willing to apologize for once.”

The change in his voice was actually very subtle, despite what he’d said. But the shift in his body language was not.

You could only stare at first as those previously crossed legs suddenly opened wide across the couch.

Very wide.

A provocative position you’d seen many times within the privacy of the royal chambers in fact. 

Always just before this animal would lasso your neck with string, and yank your face down to greet that hardened weapon he only barely concealed in the best of times.

And your body must have tensed in realization.

Because his voice was slipping into something more saccharine then as his teeth began to bare. “Something wrong, mi cariño?

It was akin to a rattlesnake’s rattle. 

But still another lie, in that this was not a warning at all when he had already chosen to bite you.

“Sugar.” Doflamingo then drawled to his other subordinate who had still been eating grapes beside him. “Be a dear and go find something else to do. Bring Dellinger with you too.”

And that little devil who was only “little” in her appearance looked up at him and then to you. But she was unbothered.

Sugar stood up on the couch with her basket of grapes, walking along the cushions before hopping off at the end to not have to climb over the new wall of her captain’s legs.

You only glanced as she did leave obediently with Dellinger moments later.

Baby 5, Buffalo, and Monet must already be elsewhere as well.

Your stomach was beginning to twist terribly. Your skin now felt clammy.

“You really are forgetting your place.” Doflamingo said more flatly there once they had gone.

But you wanted to now be dragged anywhere with less eyes instead, to have your punishment be carried out behind locked doors at least. Though the whole castle may still hear your cries.

“Doff-“

And his fingers jerked before you could finish even his nickname. His other hand had already moved down against himself too, the heel of his palm rubbing his groin roughly as you saw the shimmer of strings emerging in the sunlight.

Just before your knees slammed down to the stone tiles in front of that couch.

Hard enough that you made a gasp of real pain, with the bone of your knee caps losing easily to the stone.

Out the corner of your eye you saw Bellamy’s copycat smirk finally falter from where he still stood. 

But his master’s chest rumbled in a deep chuckle, in tandem with the delayed quieting of the remainder of the courtyard.

“No one else leaves this yard without my permission!” Doflamingo ordered much louder then as you stayed kneeled before him. 

The new desperation must have been fully in your eyes too as you saw his head tilt at you in response.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You didn’t mind at all when everyone was watching us earlier, did you? Disagreeing with me, chastising me. I’m only giving you more of that audience you so clearly desire, aren’t I?”

Doflamingo’s thighs were still spread, almost unnaturally in that extreme flexibility of his. Your face so close to all the bright fabric and body heat.

“So get to work then.” He commanded you next. “Because the pavement is hot too isn’t it? It’ll only scorch that soft skin more and more, the longer you delay, dearest.” His dark smirk curled upward again.

And it was beginning to burn. The ache of the initial hit fading enough for you to feel that hot stone through the thin fabric of your dress you were now kneeling on.

But even as your trembling fingers began undoing the drawstrings of his pants, he still did not relent in his continued cruelty.

Even this was not yet enough for him.

“Bellamy.” Doflamingo said abruptly, with insulting informality in the context of what was already being done to you. “Come here and hold her hair back from her face. She’ll be sweating soon enough in this travesty of a dress. I don’t need that dripping on me too.”

And that was just another purposeful barb by him to twist the knife even further.

Because the long sleeved, ankle length dresses which had become your seemingly pious trademark among Dressrosa’s people were solely the product of his own behavior.

You would have loved to feel the freedom of the breeze on your skin again, and even the sunlight too in reasonable doses.

But all that extra fabric was there to cover your ugly tapestry of scars no matter the weather.

Years of string cuts, and the constant bites, bruises, and sucking marks left behind from this largest physical and emotional leech that the New World had ever seen.

Yet even Bellamy’s blind obedience must have stuttered at such a surprising order.

Because you saw the impatience beginning in Doflamingo all over again.

The Heavenly Demon scowled threateningly. “Are you even listening to me, Bellamy?”

“Yes, sir! It’s just…” He stammered. “You always said we’re not allowed to-“

“To touch the queen?” Doflamingo finished the words for him. With his brows lowering in a way that meant he was now glaring through the both of you. “But who owns the queen?” Doflamingo questioned as his hateful voice grew that much louder again. “I do.” He then answered his own question for everyone. “So hold her tightly while she completes her punishment.”

And you’d never felt more worthless. More defeated than you did then and there as Bellamy’s clumsy fingers scraped the sides of your face in front of everyone.

He couldn’t risk his master’s ire by hesitating further.

But the heartless king just smiled again as soon as Bellamy’s black leather pants came to brush behind you. The younger man held your hair out of the way just as instructed. Your scalp in his grip as well, as he stood behind you with one leg on either side of your own while you still kneeled.

Your husband relaxed back into the couch at this submissive sight. Pleased at last with his hips jutting forward just that bit more towards you.

Of course Doflamingo wouldn’t let himself be caught lacking in front of everyone either. That was why he’d been rubbing his groin harshly with his hand before.

Between that physical touch and the view of you now helpless before him like this, you knew he’d be fully up and ready by the time you did get those awful capris pants pulled all the way open.

The only unexpected thing for you was in the way you did feel Bellamy’s grip twitch against your skull when Doflamingo’s long cock had indeed sprung free into the air.

This was surely Bellamy’s first time ever seeing it at all.

And part of you wanted to reprimand the fool to say that this wasn’t the time to be impressed.

But you’d fallen for it all too in the beginning. Hadn’t you?

So hot and bothered for Doflamingo when you were younger. Easily seduced and dumb enough to think yourself lucky whenever this pirate had first obsessively courted and then fucked you over years ago.

When he’d deceived you with both his body and his words, pretending that that initial level of care and attention was the real him.

Long before you knew just how many nights you’d only be bleeding around this torture device instead of worshipping it. 

Doflamingo’s rock hard cock had never been intended for anyone’s pleasure but his own. 

And he quickly proved this again, still smiling as he’d given it an abrupt stroke from base to tip before aiming it directly for your mouth.

The courtyard was fully silent.

The king and queen of this country were about to perform public fellatio all because you’d dissented one time too many in front of others this morning.

Doflamingo had hurt you so many times, in so many ways.

But not like this.

Your tears were forming before his length ever touched your lips. Before he forced his way past them. The head of that thick cock moving beyond your teeth immediately after.

“Push her head down.” He grunted at Bellamy, trying to angle himself deeper already without letting his ass fully leave the couch.

And you gagged as soon as that command was dutifully followed.

“That’s it.” Your husband only laughed at your clear distress. “Get a rhythm going, you two.”

It was humiliation beyond words. Spit slid down your chin and the tears ran quickly to join it. Bellamy only made it so much worse every time too, as you’d tried briefly to resist those subsequent pushes.

You needed to breathe, but you were given no time to. You were being fully choked by the continued shoves and the slamming of the king’s cock against the back of your throat.

But Doflamingo didn’t care.

“Harder.” He ordered again, voice urgent even as heavier arousal already began to cloud it. It took him no time at all to be consumed by these sensations.

His perfectly defined abdominal muscles began tensing and releasing already as his breathing quickened while you only gagged on him again and again.

He was getting off too much, too fast actually as your mouth moved up and down against your will with every further push.

You understood his body’s signs well. Meaning, Doflamingo would have to force himself to calm back down if he wanted this to last at all.

But you knew all the other things which would set him off as well. You could stop this here and now by using any of those tricks.

Yet only if you didn’t fear what else he would do to you in return. But did that really matter anymore?

As dark as your thoughts often became in this hell, you’d never really tried to do it.

You’d never wanted to end yourself with your own two hands.

Just as you’d never been able to harm him either. Even when he slept beside you, vulnerable and taunting you each night with that trust of his steady heartbeat beneath your hand. So guiltless and comfortable, regardless of whatever new sins he’d committed against you and others every single day.

You could never pick up a knife or one of his pistols, no matter how many nights you’d lain awake knowing that you should.

Because he was the villain of this story.

But you were not the hero.

You were nothing.

And you could not endure it any longer.

You still couldn’t breathe. But you could make your hand move as it came up without warning and thrust itself into those still open pants to grab your panting king right by his most vulnerable flesh.

His sensitive sack, big and heavy as always as you squeezed those balls so hard just beneath the base of his now spit soaked cock.

Doflamingo gasped in your surprise attack. His thighs jerking, with long legs trying to close defensively in his moment of true pain.

Yet your monster liked pain.

And you knew exactly what his body would actually do in further reaction as he’d tried to pull back out of your mouth to stop that overstimulation in time. 

But Bellamy hadn’t understood what was happening of course.

Bellamy had kept you pushed tight onto his master’s length just as ordered instead of releasing you.

Enough that Doflamingo couldn’t escape as he did cum prematurely right then and there. Fully unwilling as those hot ropes of semen spattered your airway and the king of Dressrosa shuddered pitiably with an angry moan.

You’d ruined his show.

You’d just made it look like the strongest man on this island, and maybe in all of this part of the Grand Line had no sexual stamina at all.

A brutal knee did impact your chest in immediate retribution, knocking you back fiercely with a crack of bone to bone.

But Doflamingo’s cock had finally left your mouth in all of that chaos.

You were coughing and sputtering while Bellamy hit the ground with you. The force had been too unexpected for him when you’d slammed into him.

And as you’d laid on Bellamy, with your lungs trying to refill, your terror had also waited for the strings to begin ripping through you both.

Yet the very next scream wasn’t either of yours.

It was your husband’s. 

“Get her out of my sight! NOW!” Doflamingo practically roared in the purest of that white hot rage.

And your muscles had frozen.

But Bellamy’s hadn’t. His reflex had been to fall right back into that hopeless obedience. 

He’d picked you up as if you were weightless. His springs had coiled at his legs, and he’d launched you both from the courtyard and that eruption of true fury within a single leap.

——————————

You were still shaking. Bellamy had cleared the roof easily, and the two of you had landed elsewhere on the king’s plateau.

At some point he’d realized his arms were still fully around you. And it was almost as if that impropriety was what frightened him even more as he abruptly let go.

Your feet met the ground and you stumbled before straightening up to look at him still in your own shock. But whatever you’d first wanted to say to him didn’t come. His expression looked so lost. Yet he wouldn’t make eye contact with you now.

So your gaze drifted down to his deeply breathing chest instead. And right to your husband’s jolly roger that Bellamy had so stupidly defiled his own body with a tattoo of.

That mark was no different than all the scars that branded your own chest.

You and Bellamy were the same.

“Go!” Your voice broke as you finally found it. “Leave while he’s still distracted by his rage at me! Take the first ship out of port and never-“

“No.” Bellamy cut you off through a clenched jaw. His stare at last met yours. That momentary confusion was already leaving him. Denial was flooding back in again to cover it. “This is just another test of our loyalty. He-”

And you wanted to either strike him then, or fall to your knees and beg.

“He doesn’t care about us!” You screamed through a hoarse voice.

Because who would feel anything for an ant or a fly, even if killing them accidentally? 

Doflamingo saw himself as a god.

And you were all only the pawns. Every single one fully replaceable.

But Bellamy’s heart wasn’t yet shredded like yours. He still had optimism, he had lies and excuses one after another.

“It’s not Joker’s job to care! He only wants the strong in this family...he chose us!” Bellamy dared, even with his head bowed submissively to you.

You were still the queen. He thought you were somehow above him. You could not reason to deaf ears.

You let out a sound of pained frustration, turning your back to him in a twirl of your dress as you headed for the walking path which led back towards the palace.

There was nowhere else for you to go. Nowhere in all this world or any sea that the devil wouldn’t hunt you down to finish this.

“Then be well, Bellamy. Survive in this prison for as long as you still can. And if I don’t see you again…then by your logic, that just means one of us wasn’t strong enough for this family.” You said with another exhale through tears while you walked away. 

But you heard that continued delusion behind you even then, though he did not try to stop you. 

“You’re his wife…he wouldn’t...”

“He would.” You promised.

————————————

You didn’t change your clothes once back inside. You didn’t clean your face or try to hide. You just laid on your and Doflamingo’s bed, curled and listless while you awaited the inevitable.

You closed your eyes and eventually dreamed of nothing.

Because miracles weren’t real. And heroes didn’t exist.

Darkness had fully crept over that room by the time your eyes did open again.

The sun was gone, and the monster’s weight was already pressing you down painfully into the mattress.

The bed creaked as strong hands bunched your dress up from behind and then yanked you up onto your knees.

Doflamingo grabbed you by the back of your neck after, keeping your face and chest shoved down so very hard as his hips lined up to what he first wished to take.

He never allowed you to wear underwear any longer. So there was no other barrier before you’d cried out as he’d slammed himself into you at full force.

There was no foreplay, no words of warning. He was just fucking you relentlessly at very first contact, growling like a vengeful animal while he stabbed into you over and over.

The bedsheets had always been dark fabric of one hue or another for this very reason. So the frequent blood stains didn’t annoy him when they rarely laundered out well. Those droplets that’d be running from you soon enough while your eyes remained tightly shut.

His thrusts became too rapid, too close together for the pain to even separate anymore then. It was just constant, and debilitating as your tears ran freely again.

And then it was over.

Doflamingo shuddered violently, and you felt that final pulse from the base of him as hot seed overran your insides just the same as he’d done to your throat hours ago.

That man was briefly on all fours after releasing your neck again. He panted with his torso still high over your back and his arms walling you in on either side. He was holding himself up with both his hands splayed against the bed.

It took him a moment to regather his voice as he recovered.

But the sound was still rough, not its normal smoothness at all when he did at last speak.

“You have been a very stupid bitch as of late…”

His excess release was still dripping from you as he slid that now softening cock back out. And with your differing heights, he actually had to crawl backwards on the mattress. Enough to even your and his shoulders up before he collapsed down on top of you. 

You grunted in further pain for that additional physical insult as well. 

He was fully nude, his chest hot against your still clothed back. His lips brushed your ear as you kept your face turned to the side against the bed. 

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you, dearest.” He warned lowly.

You obeyed reflexively through the continued tears when your eyes had opened again. “I…I just couldn’t breathe.” In the courtyard earlier, when you’d made your surely fatal choice in order to stop that public assault. “I couldn’t take it…I can’t anymore…”

And he laughed at you. Right in your ear.

Just before he bit it.

You cried out again, trying to curl up once more to keep him from tearing into anything else.

But his hands forced between you and the bedding. Your thighs stung as he raked those claws over your legs to break into the thin layers of skin once his fingers had clamped down.

“Doffy!” You begged without shame by then. Not for your life, no. It was far too late for that. You just wanted it all to be done. You wanted it to be quick.

And his laugh was even louder that time.

His angriest version of it actually.

“You don’t even understand why you’re being punished, do you!?”

His voice was rising. The same as when he’d yelled at you this morning before you’d hid yourself away in the library.

But you couldn’t meet him there this time. 

You were done.

Your voice was so quiet in contrast, but wholly broken as your fingers dug helplessly into the sheets. 

“Please, Doffy! Just do it already!”

He was still holding your thighs. The torn skin there now dripping blood into his palms. He grabbed harder into that mess, his body still laid over yours with his suffocating weight.

“You fucking idiot!” He was furious, and he bit the side of your face that time. Those white teeth nailing you right at your jawline from behind in retaliation.

And you thrashed in reaction, but he was far too heavy. All the cursing and crying in the world wouldn’t move him an inch now.

“You think this is what I want!?” He screamed at you fully then. You didn’t have to look back to know the blood vessels in his forehead would be throbbing.

But you had no chance to even try to answer either before those same blood stained hands flipped you. He was back up on his knees, straddling you as you were thrown down to the mattress all over again.

The sunglasses were gone. His eyes were widened in that familiar rage as his teeth grit above you.

You stared up at him, helpless with your throat and underbelly now facing the beast. 

He could eviscerate you. He could paint this entire room red.

Yet he didn’t.

Doflamingo grabbed your tear stained, bleeding face instead.

“I don’t care about what you did in the courtyard. I was never going to leave them as witnesses regardless. They’re already gone.” He hissed, with his voice dropping again from his prior outburst.

And your confusion was real. As was the new heartbreak of your eventual realization. Because of course he was right. You could still remember the emotion, the humiliation of being watched in the courtyard today.

But you couldn’t remember any names, no actual faces. They were gone, purged from your memory.

All but one?

“No. It’s why you did it. That is what matters. You’re being punished for this goddamn addiction of yours!” He kept right on talking though, not letting you focus on trying to yet reason out any of it. “You and your self pity! Your self destruction! You don’t get to decide when you leave me! You don’t get to leave here at all!”

And then his mouth was over yours.

Doflamingo had leaned down, his lips capturing your own in a way that was equal parts desperation and extreme frustration. 

His fingers had moved into your hair. He was pulling it as he kissed you over and over.

But even he had to breathe. Your eyes had stayed open in your fear, and you saw the way his lips jerked downward against his will in the brief moments he’d come up for air.

He was so emotional. He was fighting it and losing completely.

His eyes even looked pained, confused when he had fully paused again.

“I saw it…clearer than ever this time.” Yet the accusation against you was still so evident in his tone. “You wanted me to kill you. And…I…if that mongrel Bellamy had been any slower...”

Yes, Bellamy was the one name and face that still existed in your mind from earlier. He had not been taken to Sugar then, even while all the rest had. Bellamy had been the only one to whisk you away before his master could give in to those worst impulses.

“Doffy…” The sudden tenderness in your own voice disgusted you just as much as your hand that then reached for your husband’s face.

This was an incurable disease, a terminal affliction.

And he leaned his face into that touch without hesitation. 

“I only spared him because of that. At least for tonight.” Doflamingo finally admitted. His deep voice was so much quieter while you petted him. 

Bellamy had saved your life then.

And you had fully scared your own captor in how close it’d come to being otherwise.

“I do want to live.” His rare honesty brought out much the same in you. “But I’m so tired…I really am.” You told him.

“I know.” He was laying on you fully again, chest to chest as he buried his face against yours. He only shifted to grab the blanket, pulling it over the both of you protectively. “But it doesn’t mean you can leave me. You can’t ever do that…”

You were stroking his scalp by then, still feeling suffocated under his significant weight as his eyes closed against your skin. 

“I’m sorry, baby…” You whispered like the gutless thing you really were.

You weren’t even allowed to die once you’d finally tried to.

The last light of hope was fully gone.

“I still love you.” And he checked those locks to say it to you of course. He had to always make sure you hadn’t loosened a single, invisible chain between the two of you before he could rest again.

You belonged only to him.

“I love you too.” You tried not to whimper in your shame.

But the tone didn’t matter to him. It was enough for you to also still be saying it.

Every day, every night, year after year until the true end. 

He was the villain. You were the pet.

That would never change until a real hero could step in. Until storms and miracles would one day come that you didn’t yet believe in.

You didn’t even know that that was the stuff of your lover’s nightmares. As his arms wrapped you tightly, needfully. 

You dreamed of freedom. 

But he feared the day that it would finally come true.

——————————

End.

Thank you for reading! 💖🦩

[imrkos]

FREAKING OUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD?! — Rafe Cameron & JJ Maybank.

THE PROLOGUE : VELVETWAVES

SYNOPSIS As a new year begins you’ve decided to rebel against the norms of your very well established title “Ms.Perfectionist” and create the band VelvetWaves with your fellow friends, and it seems like you’ve attracted both the eyes of your fellow kook’s and the pouge’s, especially those of Rafe Cameron, your sister and brothers bestfriend and JJ Maybank, the guy you’ve heard a lot about from your bestfriend and fellow bandmate Cleo.

WORD COUNT 2,482

WARNING! : this chapter contains mentions of somebody taking their life & readers depression so read this with caution if the topic is something you wouldn’t like to read or hear of!

You lied. You weren’t sure if Ryder was even conscious enough to drive you and Cleo home, hell you didn’t even know where Cleo was. You guys came together for a gig you guys booked and it was the highest amount you guys have been paid thus far. It was for a birthday or something, you weren’t sure.

You try scanning through the crowd of people for a sign of your friends' presence, you guys had just gotten done performing and were offered free drinks and to Cleo’s and Kai’s dismay Jace and Ryder suggested staying a bit longer.

You take a look behind you and notice a familiar face “Topper!”

Topper Thornton. A friend of your siblings, a close friend even, your siblings are twins so they basically have the same friends and although your sister Riley had a thing with Topper back in freshman year it seems like they stayed cool with each other. He’s nice, at least to you.

“Hey rockstar, you done cosplaying as one of…them” He says with a slightly disgusted tone “Yeah very funny Top, Do you happen to know where ‘one of them’ is?” He looks around “I mean I saw Kai or whatever his name is, he seemed bored, don’t know where he went” You sigh

“Hey, can you do me a favor or something?” He raises an eyebrow “Can you drop me off at home..” He stares at you “Please” He lets out a deep breath “C’mon, let’s go before Ruthie tries to find me or something” You chuckle as you guys make your way outside

“What’s up with you guys? She’s usually by your side or nearby” he shrugs “I don’t even know at this point, it’s like we’re good and then she does something to piss me off and expects me to apologize-“ He suddenly stops walking causing you to almost lose your balance “Oh hey man” he says dapping Rafe up.

Rafe Cameron. To be completely honest you don’t even know much about him, at least not anymore.

“Hey.” hey was all he could say to you and all you could say back was “Hey.”

There was an awkward moment of silence yet you both knew exactly what the other was thinking.“I hate you” was the last thing he said to you last summer yet he kept contacting you and then the messages stopped.

“Uh, y’know I was just taking her home but I’ll be back so uh see you later man” Topper says breaking the silence, thank god. Rafe nods brow’s furrowed “Hey Y/n” you turn around at the mention of your name “You guys did great.” he says before leaving.

You scoff “You guys did great.” you mock him as Topper tries fighting back a laugh “So you guys haven’t spoken?” He questioned, you looked over at him as he opened the car door for you, and he noticed the slight frown on your face and the way you were now playing with your bracelets “I'll take that as a no”

He starts the car and for a moment there’s nothing but silence. You notice him looking at you from time to time when you guys reach red lights and stop signs, his phone buzzes constantly probably Ruthie or something, you look over at him and he finally speaks,

“He’s gone sober y’know” he also got a new girlfriend you think to yourself but you stay silent. “It’s crazy because he did a complete 360, I mean he’s a douche at times but shit he’s like a changed man”

Silence.

“I don’t mean to bring him up to upset you, I surprisingly like you“ you roll your eyes at his attempt at being nice “-and he’s one of my best friends after all but he can be a hot head and can’t admit his wrongs and-“

“He did apologize.” Topper opens his mouth to speak but he decides not to say anything. “He actually blew my phone up, that same night that..” you pause “My-“ “Yeah I know,” he says “But then you left for NewYork and showed up again all new and improved” he laughs “I like this little rockstar era of yours it’s quite different, don’t get why you're with those pogues but it’s nice to see you good again.” you look over at him as he parks the car in front of your house.

“Top” “Yes?”

“Is he happy? with her?”

Topper hesitates, he looks out the window rather than looking at you, his hand gripping the wheel “He seems happy. I can’t necessarily say it’s all because of her but she’s- she’s good for him I guess.” You nod eyes now glossy

“You wrote that song of yours about him, right? The one that’s all over the radios?”

You nod “It’s a great song Y/n, he likes it too.” you caress your hand as he unlocks the car “Get some rest alright? And tell your brother he needs to answer my texts faster, I’m not one of his bitches” you both laugh “Thank you.”

“Goodnight!” he yells out from the window “Goodnight” you yell back.

As soon as you enter the house you're faced with your brother's annoyed face, his eyes droopy and slightly red, his lips parted slightly as he was going to say something but he takes notice of your slightly heavy breathing, his face drops “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t say anything. It’s not that you don’t want to, you really can’t let any words out.

“Topper dropped me off” you finally managed to let out after a few minutes “What'd he do?! I swear that prick is an idiot-“ “No! I-It’s not anything he did, I just-“ you take a deep breath “Just forget about it” you dismissed, heading towards the stairs, you took notice of how he didn't follow like he usually did.

You quickly undress and step into the shower, the hot water finally hitting your face.

Your dad would always compare you to himself. He would say that he would also take showers to think, sometimes he just needed to get away from everything, even your mom. You always admired the way he could give great advice and slide in a joke here and there. He always knew when you needed somebody, something, someone, and he was always somebody, something, someone.

He passed before your junior year of High School. It was midsummer and you noticed he was gone and by the time you found him, it was too late. You didn’t scream, you didn’t walk towards him, you couldn’t move.

──⋆

“DAD!” you hear Quinn scream, “Oh my god! Oh my god! D-Dad!” he screeched “Y/n! What the fuck happened?! O-Oh my god!” he looked over at you standing still while he kneeled next to your dead father.

He screams your name again, his eyes all watery, you doubt he could properly even see you “Y-Y/n I need you t-to tell me!” his voice cracked and his face all doleful “Please” his hand shaking gripping onto your dad's suit.

Soon enough your sister, Riley arrived, and then your mom.

Gosh, It broke your heart hearing her scream, your sister right beside her looking towards you as her twin cries into your dad's lifeless body.

Guilt.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It was all you could feel. Maybe if you hadn’t argued with him that night you would’ve been right by his side. Maybe if you hadn’t told him you hated him, he’d be downstairs watching football. Maybe just maybe you’d still have your best friend.

──⋆

After your dad’s funeral, you ended up finding his guitar collection. He never let you touch his instruments, he’d say that you would have a chance to keep all of it one day. You didn’t know it then but he had been planning that day to come sooner than expected.

You never found a note. And you resented him for it. You would spend day after day thinking that you may have triggered him into doing what he did and you still think that from time to time. Your mom tried to explain it wasn’t your fault but you could tell she couldn’t see you the same way.

She didn't know why she felt the way she did about you. Maybe you reminded her too much of your father. Maybe deep down she thought you had something to do with his death. Yet she always reminded you that you were her daughter and that she loved you.

Your dad left a will for you guys, money divided for all of you once you all turned of age. His famous car collection went to Quinn as he knew that Quinn would always sneak out and borrow them from time to time, The beach house that Riley loved so much would go to her, and you would have the honor of having his instruments.

You never once entered the music room without his permission and the fact that you were now allowed to go in without him by your side made you wonder what he would’ve said if he had been there when you first unlocked the door.

Your dad’s companies immediately went to your mom, she had decided that it was too soon to give the business over to Quinn and Riley and they agreed they’d take over once they felt ready.

──⋆

The band came about when your mom held a small get-together to celebrate your dad's legacy.

You had met Cleo shortly after your dad's passing, you were at the beach and it was like your dad sent a guardian angel to you. She knew how to uplift you and came over almost every day after that. You never really asked about where she stayed as she would often avoid the question but she had told you that she met her boyfriend and his friends and would often hang out with them. Your mom enjoyed her company and your sister surprisingly did too, Quinn didn’t care much but they all saw how much she helped you with coming to terms with his death.

Jace was always around figure eight. You never knew what a pogue was doing around the area, especially because you’d never see him with anyone. You ended up bumping into him a couple of times. He always apologized with a slight bow and walked away before you could say anything and one random day you finally got to say something faster than he could apologize “You seem to really like bumping into me” and ever since that day you guys kind of just clicked. He was a great listener and a great writer. You found out he would come to Figure Eight to hook up with Sidney Florence, some kook girl you’d always see at school, she was quiet and charming but she didn’t like being seen with him.

Ryder Beckett. He worked for your dad and you grew up with him and his dad coming over to help with some yard work. You guys often played while his dad did whatever he needed to get done at the house. Once y’all grew up he decided to start working for your dad, and you didn’t mind cause you would often chat while he did yard work once in a while you’d invite Jace and you’d all just talk and help him out. One thing about him is that he knows how to charm people, probably the nicest guy you’ve ever met. You always say that he’s too nice for his own good and he’d only say that he couldn’t help it. You often helped him out and added a bit more money to his paycheck, he would insist that the money he was making was enough but you knew he needed it for his mom. You always have had a soft spot for him.

You often heard of Kai as he was always in trouble with the law. The first time you met him was when you were at school, well you were skipping class with some friends and somehow you guys ended up at the beach, one of the girls had asked if you would accompany her to the bathroom and you guys ended up at a small antique store as you waited you spotted him hiding under a table and accidentally laughed a little too loud causing his attention to direct towards you “Trying to blow my cover?” was what he said before getting discovered by the store manager who kicked him out. After you guys got out the front door he happened to be waiting right there for you “You owe me a drink.” And that one drink turned into you, Jace, and Ryder hanging out at your place and soon enough it was all five of you.

Jace wrote and produced your music, he also knew how to sing, Cleo knew how to play the keyboard, Ryder played both electric and acoustic guitar but stuck to the acoustic, Kai did a bit of everything but stuck with drums, and you were convinced by Jace to sing alongside him and you often used the electric guitar.

Cleo had come up with the name VelvetWaves due to the fact y’all were eating the red velvet cake by the beach. You guys laughed at the name at first but it stuck.

You guys worked on music that whole summer not once leaving the room and Jace insisted on capturing every single moment on camera. You think it was the first time you were able to relax and have genuine fun for the first time in a while but that didn’t last long.

Your mom had decided that you would benefit from going to New York and staying with your aunt for your Junior year. You didn’t have much of a choice to stay so you left for that school year.

The band decided to release music although you were apart from them and it caught some attraction from not only people in the Obx but some people from outside the state.

You didn’t know it then but even the person you had dumped and ghosted was tuning into the music. He smiled at the thought of you finally pursuing your dreams and the world seeing your talent. He felt hurt that you left without letting him properly say goodbye but he knew it was for the best.

The day you returned from New York you guys released your biggest song yet and it was most obviously about that special someone. He knew, your siblings knew, your other friends knew, and even his new girlfriend knew.

And soon enough you’d bump into the other guy that was tuning into your music. The guy who seems to have always been attracted to you yet never found the courage to go up to you

VELVETWAVES OFFICAL

MASTERLIST CHAPTER ONE

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this, I’m not entirely comfortable when writing so it might be mid but hey! womp womp

[avengersome]

OK, having scrolled the ACGAS tag, I see that I completely disagree with numerous opinions of episode 5.05. So here are my thoughts…

Miss Grantley was, in my opinion, not a ‘love interest’ she was a ‘plot device’. The same way Gerald was, in the end, also a plot device.

Gerald taught Audrey that she could have love again. That she could be loved again. That she could once again build a life with a man. And the fact of her going to leave with him, then changing her mind, taught her what was truly important to her, and what she couldn’t live without.

G’s mere existence also taught Siegfried what was truly important to him, and how much he needed Audrey.

Miss Grantley was of interest to Siegfried, yes. A beautiful brunette, animal loving woman who knows her mind and speaks it. Hmm… who does that remind us of? Anyway, for the first time in a couple of years Siegfried actually came out of his shell and showed an interest in somebody. At no point did it seem she was romantically interested in him, however. In fact she suggested that she thought him inferior to her, when she gave him the book to read, and Siegfried looked a little hurt by that. He also ditched the book the moment a family trip to the Drovers was suggested.

I’ve seen somebody say that they thought this was a classist bit of writing. That it showed that Siegfried only would go with somebody ‘of his own class’. I don’t see that. In fact I see the opposite. He turned to Audrey for advice about Carmody, listened intently, and thanked her for said advice. And then when she asked him directly if they should join the others at the pub he eagerly agreed.

I’ve also seen it said that this is too slow a burn and no progress has been made. Again I disagree. Siegfried has been obviously smitten with Audrey for two series now, and this year they have been closer together, despite her having a new role that takes her out of the house for some evenings. Several times we have seen her gazing at him with a loving smile, or giggling at what he says this series. We saw her teasing him lovingly in the car in 5.02 as well.

An episode titled ‘pair bond’ ended with the two of them together, talking about their family, and then going out of the door to the pub. All after he had unceremoniously dumped Miss G’s book in his office without a second thought, brushing it off to Audrey in a not overly flattering way, preferring her and his family’s company.

I personally loved this episode. It appears many really didn’t. But to me this was just another delicious step on the road of this wonderful slow burn. Yes, it’s been 5 years, but there have been much slower burns in other shows over the years.

And frankly, even if they never get together, I am just going to enjoy the ride, because their love for each other in any and all forms is beautiful. They are a pair bond already. It may not (yet) be romantic, or exactly the same feelings on both sides, but they are happiest together, that much is obvious.

[imtrashraccoon]

Whew! It's over...don't mind me but I'll probably be taking a few days off writing again. Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! I learned so much and had so much fun! It's definitely given me so many ideas for future projects...

There will probably be an announcement post coming soon... (ﾟ⁠οﾟ⁠人⁠)⁠)

@owl-bones

First Day & Previous Day.

Bad Sansuary: Free Space - Snuggle

Word Count: 3,301

Feat. Everyone!

You were relaxing in your room with a book you'd borrowed from the library after dinner. This high fantasy series Nightmare recommended was seriously good and once you'd started, it was incredibly hard to put down. Well, unless someone interrupted you that is...

There was a playful knock at your door, pulling you out of the story and back to reality. You knew exactly who had chosen to bother you and a part of you wanted to just pretend you had gone to bed early so he'd leave you alone. But...that wouldn't be very nice and you could always read later on before you did actually go to sleep.

With a sigh, you slipped a book mark made from laminating the pressed flowers Axe had given you between the pages and hauled yourself off the comfortable couch to go answer the door. The knocking grew more insistent until you finally threw it open and fixed Killer with your most exaggerated grumpy face.

"What's so important that you would drag me from the realm of Middle Earth just to see you?" you grumbled.

Killer shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and smirked. "hm? oh i was just bored out of my mind, angel face~"

You sighed and ran your hand down your face. "So, you want me to help you?"

"nope."

"What? Then...why did you come see me?" Now you were really confused and you stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to break and claim he was just messing with you.

"i wanna have a movie night and almost everyone else has already agreed. so...?" He wiggled his bonebrows in a playful way until you finally relented.

"Alright, I guess that sounds like it could be fun."

No sooner had you agreed did Killer take your hand and nearly drag you into the common area. You protested from the suddenness, but he only laughed and barely slowed down at all. It seemed you'd have to revisit Middle Earth another time.

"she said yes!" he announced to the other three skeletons.

Axe and Dust seemed to have been trying to figure out which movie to watch, but by the looks of things, they hadn't been able to come to a decision. Nightmare was casually lounging on one of the couches watching the two of them. All three looked up at the news and Axe smiled at you.

"guess i could whip up some snacks. do ya wanna help, lil' chip?" he asked.

You shrugged and glanced over at the tv to see what they had narrowed the choices down to. "Sure, but what movie were we going to watch anyways?"

Dust, Axe, and Killer glanced at each other before saying different titles at the same time, none of which you'd ever heard of before. They then proceeded to start arguing over which was the better movie.

Nightmare sighed and shot you a look that seemed to say "See what I deal with?" You gave him a sympathetic smile before clapping your hands to get the other's attention.

"Why don't we watch all of them and just turn this into a movie marathon night?" you suggested.

Thankfully, your idea seemed acceptable and they nodded in agreement. Even Nightmare seemed suitably impressed which made you quite happy to have solved the argument.

"guess we should start on those snacks then," Axe hummed and started for the kitchen.

"dusty and i could go pick up some pizzas and pop if you're fine with that?" Killer suggested and glanced at the aforementioned individual, who merely shrugged.

"sure, do what ya want," Axe rumbled, not even bothering to stop and look at them.

The two disappeared to presumably go get the food and you went to follow Axe into the kitchen, although not before glancing back at Nightmare. He gave you a bit of a disinterested look before getting up and leaving the common area.

You frowned and started to go after him to figure out if something was wrong, when Axe called out for you.

"ya comin' lil' chip?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there." You hesitated for a moment before hurrying to the kitchen. It seemed you'd have to check in on him later.

You helped make some buttered popcorn, cut up some fresh fruit, and arrange some cookies that Axe had made earlier on a plate. By the time you were done, the other two skeletons had returned with a couple of still hot pizzas and two bottles of pop. You didn't question where they'd likely pilfered them from and neither did Axe, as the answer would likely be either unpleasant or exactly what you suspected they'd done instead of paying like proper monsters.

Just as you were helping to arrange the food where it would be easily accessible, Nightmare reappeared with his arms and tentacles full of various cushions and blankets. While you were a little surprised, you were also glad to see that he was interested in participating in the fun afterall.

It didn't take long to make the floor by the tv extra comfy and get situated. Axe was content to lean against the couch where his large frame wouldn't be blocking anyone. Dust claimed a beanbag chair, which practically swallowed him up, and you were pretty sure he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. Killer, being the absolute gremlin that he was, went about stealing as many pillows as he could to make a makeshift pillow nest for himself. At first, Nightmare chose the couch, but when you all but insisted that he should join everyone else, he relented and eventually chose to copy Axe, leaning against the couch instead.

Two problems quickly became apparent though. Problem one was that no one could agree on whose movie choice to watch first. Problem two was that you could tell each of the boys wanted you to sit with them.

You really didn't want what was supposed to be a fun evening devolving into a jealous fight. So before anyone could actually get upset, you decided to try and take charge.

"How about this... To keep things fair, I'll just swap places for each movie so that I can sit with all of you in turn," you suggested. Unfortunately, your attempt at a solution wasn't nearly as effective as you'd hoped.

"sooo...who gets to have the cutie to themselves first?" Killer asked. He had a dangerous look on his skull as he spoke and while his tone sounded light, even like he was almost teasing, you knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't playing around.

"definitely not you," Dust growled and sat up a bit, his gloved hands digging into the bean bag.

Even Axe seemed to stiffen up and his good eye socket narrowed into a harsh glare at his loud-mouthed colleague. His clawed phalanges twitched slightly, as if aching to wringe a certain someone's neck or curl around the handle of the weapon of his namesake.

While Nightmare remained silent, you could tell by the way his tentacles were twitching restlessly, that he was at the very least mildly annoyed by this situation. His cyan eyelight flicked to you and the intensity of his gaze was almost enough to make you want to shrink into yourself. His expression held something else though; a look that you couldn't quite place but one that seemed to suggest he was scheming about something.

You swallowed and managed to tear your eyes away from his piercing gaze. Raising your voice again, you cried out, "No fighting! I have another idea...you should all play rock, paper, scissors to determine the order."

They glanced at each other but no one protested. After playing a few rounds, an order was established, minus Nightmare, who claimed he didn't care when his turn was. Killer won each time making him first, Axe was second, and Dust was third, much to his frustration. Nightmare was content to go last, which of course nobody protested over.

Killer was all too happy to welcome you into his nest. His arms fit snugly around your waist, teasingly close to your pelvis, although he otherwise kept his hands to himself and just continued spooning you during the first movie.

Speaking of, the movie was one of those corny horror movies. It was full of gratuitous violence with plenty of obviously fake gore. Still, you couldn't help but cringe whenever the monster attacked the very doomed side characters. Killer was quick to soothe your nerves with soft whispers of encouragement and occasionally making fun of the many cliches present in the film. Overall, the experience left a sort of thrill coursing through your veins and you were admittedly a little disappointed when the movie was over, a sentiment Killer seemed to mirror, although he attempted to hide it.

Axe had picked a tamer movie, although that wasn't saying much as there were more jump scares than the previous one that never failed to startle you. Still, Axe was also very good at comforting you and multiple times throughout the movie, you felt his eyelight watching your reactions just to make sure you were okay.

You ended up snuggled up against his left side with his hand around your back and resting on your left hand which was on your thigh. You wrapped your right arm around his broad back and laid your head against his ribcage, which inadvertently meant you could listen to the soothing hum of his magic that emanated from his soul.

At some point during the second movie, you glanced over at Nightmare and were a little surprised to find that he seemed a bit bored. It was odd because you had assumed he'd actually get some sort of satisfaction from witnessing how terrified the protagonists of the film were.

He sensed your gaze and glanced over, tilting his skull in a silent question.

"Are you okay?" you mouthed.

His eyelight flicked back to the screen and he shrugged. "It's manufactured fear... I can't gain any benefits from attempting to absorb it," he murmured. When he glanced back at you though, a subtle smirk formed across his skull and he went to say something but stopped himself when Axe took notice of the conversation.

You were momentarily fascinated that there was that much of a difference. Would it be any different if it was a live broadcast and the actors didn't know what was going to happen? You'd have to ask him about it sometime.

You glanced at Nightmare a few more times throughout the movie and occasionally caught him looking a little amused. The boys weren't easily spooked but the rare times one of them was seemed to coincide with those little moments. You figured he was the one who hadn't exactly wanted to have a movie night, however he'd seemingly decided to go along with it anyways. Probably under the guise of this being a group bonding activity like any good boss would host. The thought was actually kind of funny to you now that you knew them all a lot better.

Dust's movie of choice was definitely a thriller, and while you didn't mind the change, it made you feel really anxious, which you hated. It was about an old cop trying to solve a series of murders apparently perpetrated by the one criminal he had failed to bring to justice years prior. The plot was certainly intriguing at points and you could see why he had picked it.

You'd been right on the money earlier when you'd assumed he wasn't planning on budging from the comfortable beanbag for a long while. That was fine of course since he didn't really need to move in order to actually cuddle with you. His idea was for you to sit in his lap so you'd be as close as possible, which you'd expanded on and chosen to sit side saddle. It meant you could both hold each other and he'd get to watch your face, so he didn't protest at all. You wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders and he sort of mimicked the gesture, except he supported your back, leaving your other hand free to hold his other one.

By the time of the fourth movie, which was a classic monster movie about a mad scientist and his creation, you noticed something strange. Save for yourself and Nightmare, everyone else seemed to doze off, almost at the same time too.

Turning to the only possible perpetrator, you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Did you...put them to sleep?" you hissed under your breath.

His grin seemed only to grow more smug and even without him saying anything, you knew your suspicions were correct.

"Indeed~" he purred. "It is said that good things come to those who wait. They had their fun, so now I get to have mine..."

Your heart skipped a beat at the deliciously dark tone of voice he'd used. It was at that moment that a flock of butterflies decided to assault your insides with their delicate wings. You'd managed to control yourself with the others but now that you were technically alone with him...well, you weren't sure if that was possible anymore.

He pressed his skull against your hair and growled low in his throat. "I had to watch them hold you so close all this time... Have some empathy, dear..."

A chill went down your spine from the possessive tone of his voice and your tongue felt heavy like it was made of lead. Even if you could complain, he probably wouldn't even listen to you.

Nightmare pulled you into his lap yet again, which seemed to be his preferred method of holding you for whatever reason. Maybe it was because he could cage you in with his arms and tentacles so you couldn't escape. Or maybe he just liked the feeling of having you so intimately close to him. You tried not to dwell on it, partially because you liked it too.

Neither of you said much of anything for a little while, being content to enjoy the closeness and intimacy of this rare moment in time.

He was the one to break the silence first. He seemed to grow restless the longer you went without saying anything and his tentacles twitched with pent up energy, leaving you wondering what was really on his mind today. Then his clawed phalanges hooked under your chin, gently turning it so he could make eye contact and ensure he had your full attention before he even attempted to say anything.

"My dear, I cannot see into what the future holds, but I believe with all my soul that you'll fit in here. You've won over each of my boys in your own way and they've come to care a great deal for you in return."

He paused to take a breath before continuing. "I'm not normally a very...romantic person... But, even I can admit that I care a lot for you. No matter what you think, you matter to us and you've made a difference in our lives...for the better. I hesitate to use the word 'love' as I don't, and maybe can't, exactly feel that...but you will always be safe under my care."

He drew closer to you, his touch growing more tender now, and his tendrils slowly undulating against your clothing. "I promise, dear..." he murmured, almost against your lips, before closing that final distance.

For a moment, you were frozen in place as your brain tried to process what all he'd said. You caught on quickly though and wrapped your arms around his cerebral vertebrae so he wouldn't pull away too soon. You felt him stiffen ever so slightly but he soon relaxed into your embrace and actually deepened the kiss further.

It was over much too soon. You had to separate to catch your breath, although he didn't seem winded in the slightest. There was a soft cyan glow colouring his otherwise dark cheekbones and you could also see a small spark of what you thought might be true happiness in his eyelight.

Neither of you said anything for the short remainder of the film and you snuggled up against him as close as you possibly could get. Your soul was practically leaping for joy in your chest at the implications of what he'd said. You'd been assured by the others, but now you had definitive proof that he really did like you afterall.

Whatever magic he'd used to put everyone else to sleep seemed to fade as the end credits began to roll. One by one, the boys stirred before waking up, although you could see they were still a bit drowsy from the effects of the spell.

"Nice of you all to join us," Nightmare remarked with a chuckle and lightly squeezed your body against himself one last time.

They could only seem to respond with a cacophony of various tired grumbles, which even you had to admit was a little amusing.

Dust was the first to move and his mismatched eyelights scanned the room before locking onto you. The intensity in his tired gaze was nearly breathtaking but you couldn't read what could possibly be going through his mind right now. He dragged himself to his feet and managed to shamble his way over to you like a dead man walking. He ended up collapsing half on top of you so that his skull was resting just above your knees.

As soon as Killer realized what he'd done, he dragged himself over to you as well, plopping himself down on your shins with his skull resting on one of his arms so he could still look up at you. Interestingly, the black ooze that always leaked from his eye sockets had slowed to a meer trickle now, possibly from sleeping?

You were slightly flustered by all this contact at once but there was still one skeleton missing. Glancing over at Axe, you saw that he seemed to be conflicted. His eyelight flicked from his two colleagues to you and back again, while his large hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

You couldn't exactly reach for him but you motioned with your chin to try and reassure him that you didn't mind if he wanted to join in. That little push was all he needed to scoot over and wrap both you and Nightmare in a big hug.

The aforementioned god let out a low growl of annoyance at basically being smothered and his claws pressed into your waist in a vain attempt to keep you to himself. Yet, he didn't shove any of them away, even though he was plenty strong enough to, as demonstrated when he used his tentacles to move some of the boys and yourself into more comfortable positions.

You couldn't move even if you wanted to and definitely wouldn't be able to for a while. Your eyes were finally starting to grow heavy, but still, you resisted the tempting allure of sleep to enjoy what had turned into a snuggle pile.

It was obvious that all four of them felt strongly about you and if the events leading up to the movie marathon were anything to go by, this wouldn't be the last time you'd need to intervene. Each of them were equally stubborn and also quite dangerous when provoked, which could quickly lead to hurt feelings or injuries.

You would have to either get good at breaking up future arguments or simply pick one of them and stick with your decision. Unfortunately, you didn't want to pick one over the others as you liked each of them equally. You'd have to give this matter a lot of thought.

You were confident you'd make the right choice though...

[malarign]

missing home

IN WHICH? enhypen helps you feel less homesick

INCLUDES! bf!hyungline x gn!reader / fluff / established relationship, homesick reader, mentions of food / 459 words

☆ LEE HEESEUNG

learns some basic expressions in your native language

mans tired of not being able to communicate well with your family basically

plus he doesn’t really like it when you talk to them on the phone and can’t understand a single word

you catch him repeating after you random phrases sometimes and can’t help but smile at his efforts

and let me tell you that’s what makes him want to know more and more

after a while basic expressions turned into some basic conversations and stuff

whether he knows or not it makes you feel so warm and at home

well, he knows and that’s the main reason he decided to buy more textbooks and listen to songs in your native language <33

☆ PARK JONGSEONG

cooks your favourite dishes

man he even contacted your family to get as authentic a recipe as he could

before he even let you try it he had to cook it a few times just to make sure it’s GOOD good

at some point all of the members knew almost whole cuisine and were threatened to not spill a single word

though you kinda knew since the dorms smelled like your family home for a good few weeks

when he finally decided to tell you and let you eat it, it smelled and tasted practically exactly like when you ate it before leaving to Korea

your happy reactions and expressions made him cook only dishes from your country

☆ SIM JAEYUN

watches TV series from your country

watching TV series with him was already your tradition, whenever you finished one series you started a new one

what ignited an idea to watch something from your country was a small cameo of a character from your country in one of them

something switched in his brain and when it was his time to suggest something he chose a title you knew well

insisted on watching it with just subtitles or sometimes without them, even if it meant he didn’t understand a single word

thanks to that he picked up some words and says them in completely random moments making you laugh </3

☆ PARK SUNGHOON

surprises you with plane tickets every chance he gets

well, it really depends on how far your country is from Korea

but every time he gets a couple of days off he just doesn’t waste a second to book your flights

usually tells you in advance since traveling as an active idol is a logistical nightmare

but still possible!

but sometimes he just feels goofy and breaks into your apartment in a rush panting as if some tragedy happened

and just when you want to ask him what’s going on he takes tickets from his pocket and says with stone serious face

“we need to leave the country as fast as we can, don’t ask any questions”

did he just cause you a mini heart attack? well, yes but is your happiness worth it? definitely yes

[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse One (you're here!)

Despite the title, this series will focus a little more on Steve growing up in Genovia for the first few parts. That being said, there will be Steddie because this whole thing was inspired by my desire to write a modern royalty AU.

So, ya know, it's coming lol

For now, just enjoy Steve being raised by our favorite queen.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

Clarisse stares at the two-story house from the driveway. It looks incredibly...American. It's American in a way that Amelia's home and city aren't. This house is the Ideal American Home, the kind people are told is the goal in life, the kind with no personality and no distinguishing features compared to other houses on its street. It's the kind of house she'd never see in Genovia, and she's glad for it.

"Your Majesty," Joe says, pulling her attention from the house to her driver. "If you are nervous, may I suggest returning another day?"

She knows exactly what he's doing. It still works. She still pulls herself together, rolls her shoulders back, and raises her chin. "A queen is never nervous. She is simply calculating her approach."

With that, she opens the door and gracefully (the kind of grace that comes with years of practice) steps out of the car. She smooths down her clothes, takes one more deep breath, and strides to the front door. Joe is just a step behind her, always a step behind her, as she rings the doorbell and waits.

A few moments pass, the blinds in the window next to the door shift, and then the door is pulled open. A young boy, certainly no more than ten, stands before her, looking nervously between Clarisse and Joe.

And could you blame Steve? The only visitors he gets when his parents are gone are secretaries that sweep into the home, make sure he's alive, and leave right after. Nobody rings the doorbell, nobody knocks, and nobody knows he's alone in the big house, just like his parents told him it should be.

"Hello," the lady says, her accent vaguely European and similar to his father's. "Are you Steve Harrington?"

If she knows his name, maybe she's been sent by his parents. She looks fancy enough, and the guy with her looks scary enough. Steve grips the door tighter and nods once. "Yes, ma'am," he says, his voice soft and barely a whisper so he doesn't upset her.

"Good. Is your father home?"

"No, ma'am."

That makes her pause, her lips tugging down in a frown, and Steve wonders if he's already failed whatever test this must be. His father will give them sometimes, in the rare moments he's home, and it's always to measure how polite Steve his, how proper, how cultured. This must be a new kind of test, a way for his father to further measure him. He gathers himself, takes a subtle breath, and asks, "Would you like to come in?"

"You don't know who we are," the man suddenly says. "Why are you inviting us in?"

Oh. He's failing this test already. Steve bites his lip, ducking his head. "It's polite to invite people in," he says. "But, um, could you tell me your names first?"

He glances up to see that frown on the lady's face deepen, and his stomach starts to churn. "Yes, of course," she says, clearing her throat before continuing, "I am Clarisse Renaldi, and this is Joe."

Steve looks between the two of them before slowly nodding. "Please, come in," he says, holding the door open. The two adults are hesitant but enter the home anyway, watching Steve as he shuts the door silently and locks it. "This way, please."

He leads them to the living room, looks at the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and blushes. "I'm sorry for the mess," he says, quickly sweeping everything off the coffee table and holding it close to his chest. "I was doing homework and didn't expect visitors. Please, sit. I'll get some tea."

With that, he turns on his heel and hurries out of the living room. He presses his back against the wall, eyes closed and heart racing as he listens to the man and woman talk. "He's very polite," the woman says, sounding pleased and surprised.

"Too polite," the man replies, "What ten year old says things like expecting visitors and offers to make tea?"

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and hurries to the kitchen. He puts his papers and books on the small table there, climbs the stool in front of the sink to fill a kettle with water, and then climbs the stool in front of the stove to place it down. He turns on the burner, watching the flames jump before getting cups, a teapot, tea leaves, and a tray to place it all on.

In total, the process from heating the water to pouring it over the leaves in the pot and carrying that to the living room is no more than eight minutes. It still feels like an eternity, though, when Steve knows each second is a mark against him. "I'm sorry for making you wait," he says as he enters the living room, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. He pours a cup for the woman first, then the man, and then himself, careful not to spill a drop.

"Did you make this yourself?" the woman asks, picking up her teacup and taking a polite sip.

When Steve nods, he gets a tiny smile in return. And then the man says, "Aren't you a little young to do these things?"

Steve has been taught how to answer questions like this, ones that imply his parents aren’t doing enough to raise him. He picks up his teacup, holding it in his hands and letting the warmth transfer to his palms. “I like making tea,” he says, keeping his voice steady, “so Mother taught me how to use the stove safely.”

Joe looks ready to say more, but Clarisse clears her throat. He shuts his mouth, picking up his own cup just to do something. “When should we expect your father, Steve?” Clarisse asks, placing her teacup back on its plate. She’s seated on the edge of the couch, her ankles tucked together so her legs are at a slant and her back perfectly straight. 

He can’t lie. If they stay, they’ll know he’s lying when his father doesn’t return. Maybe they just want to see his father, and Steve can let them think his mother will be home soon and convince them to leave before she is. He decides this is a good plan and says the extremely familiar words, “He’s away on a business trip.”

That earns him a frown, but before he can try to fix his mistake, Clarisse nods once and asks, “What about your mother, then?”

Steve tenses, dropping his gaze to his teacup and scrambling to find an answer. He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, takes a sip of his tea, and feels his stomach twist when he still doesn’t have anything to say in response. 

“How long have your parents been gone?” Joe asks. 

The question pierces through him so harshly that Steve’s hands twitch, tea splashing over the edges of the cup and onto his fingers. He hisses at the temperature, quickly setting the cup down and getting a tissue to wipe the tea away. 

“What do you mean gone?” Clarisse asks.

“There are no cars in the driveway and no adult shoes by the door. We passed the kitchen on the way here, and only one set of dishes is in the drying rack. Stools have been placed wherever a child might need to reach something too high for them otherwise. Dust is on the shelf with adult books, but the smaller shelf with movies appropriate for children is clean, implying regular use. Finally, my men have informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington boarded a plane headed for Hong Kong from London.”

Steve’s eyes widen as Joe speaks, his stomach twisting ever tighter with each word. When Clarisse looks back at him, his eyes begin to sting and he looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice quiet as he clenches the hem of his shirt. 

“What on Earth are you apologizing for?” Clarisse asks, sounding so insulted that Steve shrinks in on himself. “You are not to blame for your parents’ incompetence and negligence. Of all the things your father has done, abandoning you to fend for yourself is unforgivable.”

Oh. She’s…angry for him? Steve looks up, meeting Clarisse’s eyes and wondering why she cares. And then, because he thinks she can’t possibly be any angrier, he takes a risk by asking, “Why are you here?”

Clarisse pauses, blinks twice, and then gathers herself. Her shoulders relax some, but her back remains straight. “I am Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia, and your grandmother.”

Steve stares at her, glances at Joe to see if this is some kind of joke, and then looks back when all he gets in return is a blank stare. “My…grandmother?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Yes. Your father, Richard Harrington, is my son. He was…well, he involved himself in troublesome schemes and had to leave Genovia and the line of succession. We keep tabs on him, of course, but all contact is otherwise restricted.”

None of that surprises Steve. He’s heard his father complaining when he has a bit too much whiskey, muttering under his breath about betrayal and being forced from his home and that it was only a few million he took. 

“I…still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Yes, well, the Crown Prince of Genovia has recently passed, and you are next in the line of succession. So, I traveled here to meet you and bring you back to Genovia for a proper education befitting a Crown Prince.”

Steve is staring at his lap again, his mind turning. So much information has been given to him, and he can only focus on the part that makes his heart speed up with hesitant hope. “Would…would my parents go with us?” he asks.

“Your father is still barred from Genovia. Your mother is welcome, though.”

“Does she have to go with us?”

He looks up in time to see Clarisse pause, tilting her head as she considers him for a moment. “No, Steve, neither of your parents must accompany us,” she says.

“Will I ever be alone?”

“The royal family employs upwards of 300 staff to keep the palace running smoothly,” Joe says, nodding once to confirm that number when Steve gives him an incredulous look. 

“Members of staff will be assigned to you as well,” Clarisse adds, smiling softly when Steve returns his attention to her. “At least three maids, several private tutors, at least one playmate for social development, and a personal team of security to keep you safe.”

Something lifts from Steve’s shoulders then. He’s not stupid. He knows his parents aren’t good. He learned that last year when he realized that other kids’ parents picked them up from school and gave them hugs and surprised them with pizza nights and just smiled at them. Steve looked at those parents, thought of his own, and quietly accepted that they either sucked or he just hasn’t figured out what will make them love him yet.

A tiny part of him knows that nothing will.

“Will you be my new mother, then?” Steve asks.

He watches Clarisse’s surprised expression morph into something unsure. “I will certainly be taking on a parental role,” she says, the words slow.

Steve looks down again, trying to ignore the disappointment that stirs in him when he realizes she’s just trying to spare his feelings. She won’t be a mother; she’ll be like his teacher. She’ll be someone who makes sure he learns what he should, eats when he should, and passes him along to the appropriate person when there’s a problem. 

Still, she’s nicer than his own parents, and Steve won’t be alone if he goes to Genovia. If nothing else, it will be better than this empty house and his absent parents. “If I packed right now, can we leave?” he asks.

When Clarisse agrees, Steve excuses himself and goes to his room. 

Once he’s out of sight, Clarisse looks at Joe and says, “He’s a very mature child.”

“He shouldn’t be.”

Clarisse nods once in agreement, looking down at the teapot in front of them and wondering if Steve has ever burned himself on it. “I believe he’ll take to being royalty well,” she says.

When she looks up, Joe is frowning. “If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?” he asks. When Clarisse nods, he clears his throat. “Before he can be royalty, he needs to be a child. For his own good, he needs a parent, not someone taking on a parental role. You may not be his mother, Your Majesty, but you are his grandmother. You have the ability to give him the unconditional care and love he’s been deprived of so far.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Clarisse admits, frowning slightly in thought. “I just…”

“You are worried he will be like his father.”

“Yes.”

“He is not his father. You cannot project the wrongdoings of Richard onto Steve. It is unfair to him and you. He deserves a fresh start, one that is not burdened by his father.”

“I will think on it,” Clarisse says, already knowing she’s going to do as Joe has suggested. “In the meantime, look into parenting books. If nothing else, Steve’s maids and tutors can review their contents as he grows.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

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

Genovia is small, but the palace is huge. It towers over Steve like something out of a Disney movie, and he almost falls behind during the brief tour through its halls. He manages to catch up, though, meeting Clarisse’s stride just in time for her to gesture at a set of double-doors and say, “Beyond these will be your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

“Yes, more than one,” Clarisse says, smiling down at Steve as she leads him past the doors and into a sitting room. A group of people are already gathered there. Most of them are adults, but a few younger children are playing with a Lego set in the corner and a girl and boy his age are standing with the adults. “These are your personal staff members.”

Before Steve can say anything, one of the women steps forward, her smile warm and her face framed by her brown hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Joyce. I’ll coordinate your schedule and make sure your rooms are taken care of. My husband, Jim, will be the head of your security team, and my eldest son, Jonathan, will be one of your playmates,” she says, pointing to her husband and then the boy his age.

“Feel free to call me Hopper, Your Highness,” her husband says.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonathan adds, smiling politely in a way that Steve painfully understands as fake and forced.

Joyce steps back, and a black woman steps forward. “My name is Sue. I’ll be in charge of your education. That means I’ll be arranging your tutors, making sure your lessons match what a child your age should be learning, and overseeing your Royal Education with Her Majesty. My husband, Charles, will be your science tutor.”

Steve glances at Charles when he waves and nods in greeting. His smile, at least, seems more genuine than Jonathan’s was, and Sue is so straightforward that Steve finds it refreshing. 

The last woman steps forward. She’s a little heavier than the other two, and she’s wearing an apron that has stains smeared across it. “Wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Claudia. I’ll be in charge of your diet and medical needs. If you’re allergic to anything or just plain hate certain foods, let me know.”

She steps back, leaving only the young girl. With a grin, she moves to stand in front of Steve and holds her hand out. “Name’s Robin,” she says, “I’m supposed to be your friend, but Her Majesty and I’ve got an agreement that I can ditch you if you suck. If I stick around, I’ll be trained by Hopper to be your personal guard.”

It’s so sudden and blunt that Steve can’t stop his grin as he takes Robin’s hand and shakes once. “To make things fair,” he says, “I should get to ditch you, too.”

Her eyes light up, and Steve thinks he’s done something right, which is an odd but welcome feeling. She lets go of his hand but stays by his side, standing close enough that their shoulders brush as Clarisse gestures for Joyce to take over the tour. He’s introduced to the children playing with Legos first, bombarded with their names (Dustin, Will, El, Lucas, and Erica) and which parents they belong to, before moving on to the rooms. 

In total, he has five: the sitting room, a classroom, a small library, an empty room that he can do whatever he’d like with, and his bedroom. The bedroom has its own bathroom with a shower attached, but there are extra bathrooms in the other rooms, too. He’d count his closet as another room entirely, but he’s not ready to admit he really has six rooms. 

He’s still too overwhelmed by the giant bed and the rooms that all belong to him and this group of people that will always be around him. He turns to Clarisse, ready to thank her, when she smiles at him and says, “There is one more thing.”

Something else? There’s more? What more could there possibly be? What else could he be given? Steve watches as she walks to the door that leads into the bathroom, steps inside, and comes back out holding something that squirms slightly in her arms. 

She quickly deposits the thing in Steve’s arms, and he stares wide-eyed at the Rottweiler puppy that starts sniffing at his hands and neck. “What?” he asks.

“She’s yours, Steve. Rottweilers are very loyal dogs, so she’ll stay by your side. They’re also loyal and protective. Once she’s grown, she’ll keep you safe, too.”

“What am I then, chopped liver?” Robin asks, pouting slightly as she looks at the dog. She leans closer to it and yelps when she gets licked. 

Steve can’t help laughing, holding the dog closer to his chest. “Does she have a name?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s Dart!”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Dustin, meeting his curly hair and slightly gummy smile. Next to him, Claudia flushes slightly and hurriedly says, “You don’t need to listen to him, Your Highness. You can name her whatever you’d like.”

“No, I think Dart is good,” Steve replies, looking down at the dog and gently scratching behind her ears. She perks up, her entire body wiggling with excitement, and Steve feels something hopeful and optimistic settle in his chest.

--------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 25

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

First chapter || << Previous chapter || Next chapter >>

---

“So you are saying that the Infinite Realms’ government is organized like a dungeons and dragons party?”

Danny snorted and patted Tim’s shoulder. “Jazz’s idea, actually.”

From where she was quietly talking with Bruce, Jazz huffed. “I never said it was a dungeons and dragons party. I only suggested the organization that fit our strengths better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Potato, potahto.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, but went back to her discussion.

The group was walking towards the gardens, where a light lunch was served. Time went by as the Waynes asked anything and everything about the Realms and their rulers, now that there were no more secrets between them. They talked about Sam and Tucker and Valerie and even about Danielle, her origins and how she joined the team included.

The Fenton siblings enjoyed oversharing in a way that felt weird to the vigilantes, so used to hiding and concealing their thoughts all the time. Now that they were more comfortable, Danny and Jazz didn’t hesitate to act more inhuman around them, with the younger sibling floating when he got excited as if it was the more normal reaction.

It reminded Bruce of his colleagues in the Watchtower break room goofing around and using their powers for the stupidest reasons.

When Tim rejoined them, this time alone, he was more annoyed about losing the bet than missing the ghost royalty status reveal. Danny thought that was the funniest thing, and gladly started a new stream of oversharing information about Jazz’s princess status and all the titles she held, ignoring his sister’s attempts at silencing him.

They didn’t even notice lunch time approaching until Alfred reminded everyone in the house that they had to eat — yes, even their inhuman guests. The last part was added with a pointed glare and a short nod before the man walked away.

So now they were making their way to lunch, which was served outside given the nice weather despite being way into fall, chatting about Team Phantom and their roles in detail.

“So Sam is like the Barbarian of the team?” Tim pressed on. “And Tucker is the Artificer.”

Jazz huffed again.

“We are not—”

“Actually, is not that far from the truth,” Danny chuckled, “but not exactly just that. All of us are at least trained in one main duty and act as a backup for someone else. That guarantees that if one of us has to leave, nothing will be left unattended.”

“Like with Jazz being here.”

He nodded. “Jazz helped Tucker with all the record keeping and research in magical theory, as well as diplomacy and ghost law studies. Valerie helped Jazz with her main duties, and so on and so forth.”

“Magical theory?” Jason asked, one eyebrow arched. “Ghost law?”

“Sounds cool but it's actually just reading a bunch of books and trying to guess what they say.” Danny grumbled, rubbing his face. “I swear there is nothing that can make me pass out faster than reading those fuckers.”

“That’s because you don’t do your homework. Dorathea is a very good teacher.” Jazz chimed with a mocking smile.

Duke interrupted when Danny jumped to answer. “You said that the books weren’t Jazz’s main duty, so what is it?”

The young woman tensed for a second before putting on a gentle smile. It didn’t fool anybody, though. “I am—”

“Jazz.”

She turned towards her brother. “What?”

“Jazz, look.”

She frowned at his serious tone, the boyish glee gone completely, but turned to look at what he was pointing at.

It was a giant painting on the other wall of the room they just passed by, which was featuring a small family — a woman, a man and a child. All three were wearing nice clothes, serene smiles for the portrait.

“What’s the matter?” Bruce stepped closer to see what they were seeing, tensing when he realized what it was. “Why are you pointing at my parents’ portrait?”

The siblings looked at each other. “That’s your mother?” Jazz finally asked.

The look Bruce gave her was equal parts worried and calculating. “Indeed.”

Again Danny and Jazz talked to each other with facial gestures and looks.

“It can’t be.” Danny murmured. “Can it?”

“I don’t know.” She answered.

“Hey.” Jason grabbed Jazz’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

She glanced at her brother, frowning. She licked her lips and drew a long breath. “That’s Lady Gotham.”

One second passed by. Two seconds.

“No, that’s my mother.”

Dick giggled at the absurdity of the situation.

“Could she be wearing someone’s face?” Jazz ignored Bruce’s quiet breakdown to talk to her brother. “Or is it like ‘the Spirit passes down ownership’ kind of situation?”

Danny hummed. “I don’t think it is the second case,” he crossed his arms, “she felt like an Ancient and this woman couldn’t have been dead that long.”

“Are you saying that an ancient spirit is wearing my mother’s face?” The older man said, voice small. Even Jason frowned at the weakness in his tone.

Jazz seemed to snap back to reality and noticed that the conversation may not be the best given current company. She sighed. “We don’t know. Maybe. Was your mother special in any way for this city?”

“Are you kidding? Haven’t you heard about the Martha Wayne foundation? Or all the charity stuff in her name?” Tim scoffed. “Do you live under a rock?”

Jazz blushed. “I’m sorry.” She shrugged. “I don’t pay that much attention to current events outside my work and Crime Alley.”

Jason pretended to try to hide his smile in Jazz’s hair as he pulled her for a side hug.

Danny made a face at the pair, shook his head and turned towards Bruce. “We can’t be a hundred percent sure, but it’s not unheard of for an ancient Spirit to change their appearance. It’s usually to fit in as time passes; but taking the face of a real person from their hunt?” He tilted his head, and Jason noticed the similarity with his sister. It was adorable. “That’s a new one for me.”

“We can always ask?” Jazz tried to move past her misstep.

“Do you really think she’d want to talk about that?”

“Maybe. If we ask nicely.” Neither sibling actually believed these words.

Bruce blinked slowly and started walking again, lost in thought. The rest followed as if nothing even happened.

“Is she really that scary?” Duke asked.

“She is…,” Danny started, rubbing the back of his neck, “she is surely something else. This city is cursed, man; so it doesn’t surprise me that the Spirit overseeing this place is just as cursed.”

“What Danny is trying to say,” Jazz jumped in, “is that the Spirit of Gotham has been deeply corrupted and, well, she’s definitely in pain, and sometimes she lashes out.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” her brother scoffed, shaking his head and not looking at anybody. “I don't know what nice and watered down version of the story Jazzy here told you guys but when we first came here, she was pissed. King or no King, she was ready to kill me.”

Jazz blushed again. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” Danny rolled his eyes.

She looked like she had something to say, but chose to close her mouth and ignore the chuckles.

They finally arrived at the nice backyard patio where a table was already set up for lunch. Alfred walked around the table with his cart, setting down the plates and giving the finishing touches to the display.

Nobody missed his little smile watching them naturally divide in groups and sit down together, his eyes lingering on Jason refusing to let go of his girlfriend’s hand even under said girlfriend’s brother's snarky comments about it.

It had been a while since the Manor was filled with noise like this. It felt… alive. Like how it was supposed to be.

The old man quietly grabbed his cart and went back inside to plate the second course for the meal. He didn’t glance at the moving shadows and the trickster reflections on the corner of his eyes — after so many decades serving at this Manor, this family, he got used to not being exactly alone inside those walls.

***

“I don’t know how you are going to break it to Frighty.”

Jazz froze mid bite, frowning as she swallowed the food. “What do you mean?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at Danny’s shocked expression. The young man looked around the table, maybe looking for support or an explanation, but he probably forgot they just met that morning.

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Jazz, Fright Knight has been courting you for around a year.”

Tim froze, glancing up to see Jason’s reaction. Expecting loud shouting to start, he was even more shocked when Jason leaned back on his seat and crossed his arms with a giant smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow.

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.” Jazz leaned in, glaring at her brother on the other side of the table.

“Hold on a second,” Dick pushed his empty plate aside to lean closer to Danny, “Fright Knight? The King’s right hand man? The Aspect of Fear?”

“That’s the one!”

“I don’t—” Jazz blinked, “I don’t know— How? When?”

“Uhhhh, since the first siege, I believe?” Danny's smile went from one ear to the other. “He said, and I quote, ‘I had never felt such things in battle before. Lady Jasmine’s war cries pierced my chest deeper than her lance pierced our enemies’.”

Tim shuddered. It was the way Danny impersonated this Fright Knight’s sickening dreamy voice.

“The first siege? That was more than two years ago!”

“And you haven’t noticed this guy being in love with you?” Jason spoke for the first time, grinning at his girlfriend.

“I don’t know?” Jazz threw her hands up. “I thought he was being nice!”

“For a whole year?”

“He’s been giving you courting gifts, Jazz!” Danny said, incredulous. “And you accepted them!”

“So those were courting gifts?”

“What were those gifts?”

“Swords.” Danny answered Jason. “Shiny blades. Ornamental and functional. Jazz has a collection back in the Realms.” He turned towards his sister. “Which, by the way, people keep sending gifts for you. I think they think that you are the ‘reasonable’ one of us and if they send you more swords you’d be more merciful.”

“I don’t need more swords.”

“You liar. You love swords.”

Jazz blushed, unable to say otherwise. “Still nothing he did told me he was interested.”

“Ancients, Jazz,” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everyone knew he was head over heels for you. We thought you were preferring to deal with it in private.”

Her blush became worse. She kept her gaze fixed on her hands fidgeting with her napkin. “You know I don’t do all the romance stuff.”

Incredulous, Danny just pointed at Jason. “And how do you explain him?”

“It’s…” she licked her lips, “different. Unexpected. We just— we clicked.”

“Awww.”

Danny made a face and rolled his eyes, ignoring Dick and Cass’ cooing.

“Well. I’m not going to be the one dealing with all that. Frighty is all yours.”

Jazz sighed. “I’ll talk to him when I go back to the Realms.”

“Hm.” Danny hummed, suddenly lost in thought as he sipped his water. “Maybe you don’t have to.”

“What?”

“I said: Maybe you don’t have to.” He spoke louder. “Come back, I mean.”

She did a double take. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Danny took a second longer than what was expected. “You can stay here.” He leaned back on his seat, putting as much distance as he could from his sister. He was also evading her eyes. “Permanently.”

There was only the sounds of the birds chirping in the nearby trees and the wind flowing between the leaves for a few seconds.

“Are you—” Jazz’s voice was careful, low, “Are you firing me?”

Half the table was looking at Danny and the other half had their eyes glued on Jazz’s face. Her rage, while quiet, was familiar to those witnessing the moment — betrayals, infightings and disbelief ran though their minds as they remembered similar situations in their pasts.

“Jazz—”

“After everything you just— What the hell Danny?”

“I’m not— Could you at least look at me?” She did, and everyone could see her watery eyes. “It’s for your own good.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Jazz’s expression turned murderous as the tears escaped her eyes. She stood up, teeth grinding, breathing deeply a few times before she opened her mouth.

“You don’t mean that.” She crossed her arms.

Danny looked like he wished he was anywhere else but in that room at that moment. “Bad choice of words. I don’t mean that.” He slowly repeated.

“Good.” Her shoulders relaxed a bit, but she was still mad.

“What I wanted to say is…” He sighed and lifted his hands in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at— You know I always mess these things up— Okay, okay I’ll get to the point.” He quickly added under Jazz’s narrowing eyes. He breathed in, breathed out. “I want you to stay here. In the living world. As long as you want.”

She processed his words, and slowly sat back down. The sounds of nature around them picked up like nothing happened, even if no one had noticed their rather unnatural silence.

“But you said…”

“I know. But things have changed, Jazz. I want you to stay. How could I not be okay with that?”

“But— But my role— And the Archives, and Walker, and—”

“Everything can wait. Or, I don’t know, we’ll deal with it.” He leaned in and took one of her hands in his. “We told you to come here because you really needed a vacation, and I stand by it. The Keep can wait for you. I can wait for you.”

“But—”

“Jasmine Fenton. You have given up everything for me. You were not meant for any of this ghost bullshit or war or fist fighting gods in a Denny’s parking lot. But you gave me a decade of that, and I appreciate it, but that’s enough. You can rest now, you can have nice things. You deserve it.”

Nobody missed when Danny gave Jason, and quick look around the people on the table, when he mentioned the “nice things” she could have.

Jazz opened her mouth only to close it again, more tears coming to her eyes. Her cheeks tinted red, maybe from embarrassment, maybe for remnants of her anger.

She yanked her hand from her brother’s and rushed to her feet, taking a shaky breath.

“Excuse me.”

Jason frowned, watching her go back inside the house and probably looking for a place to calm down.

He felt a kick on one leg.

“Go.” Danny interlaced his hands on the table and nodded in his sister’s general direction. “She needs you.”

Jason’s frown deepened, but he obliged without saying a word.

Bruce cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very self conscious under Danny’s stare. The young man didn’t look affected by what just happened like his sister was, but his eyes betrayed the conflicted emotions he hid behind his mask.

“I’m sorry you guys had to witness that. I should have waited until we got home. My bad.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but it felt like forced nonchalance.

“That was sure something.” Dick commented after clearing his throat.

“I apologize but I need to ask,” Bruce leaned in. “Jasmine seemed pretty adamant her time here was limited, that she would sooner or later have to leave everything here. What changed?”

“Did she tell you that?” Danny made an incredulous face and scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t even need to ask. I don’t know why I keep being surprised by her antics.”

“So it’s not true?”

What else had she been lying about? A tiny voice said in the back of Bruce’s head. He tried to ignore it, but given the drastic differences between Danny’s and Jazz’s behavior, he was wondering what was the actual picture and what was the siblings’ casual omission of truth.

“It was true, but only because she herself sets those limits. Jazz is…,” he sighed, deflating on his seat, looking at the sky, “I love my sister, and a lot, but she takes everything too seriously.”

Or you don’t take things seriously enough, Bruce thought, but chose not to say it.

“I never said she had a time limit, or that she had to turn her back on the living world for the rest of her life. We sent her ass to the Arkham internship because she doesn’t know how to take a break.”

“Arkham is a break?” Tim asked what had been lingering in everyone’s heads. The siblings kept referring to working at the worst psychiatric criminal facility, a vacation and a break.

Danny scoffed again, turning his eyes towards the young man. His smile wasn’t kind. “You guys haven’t put it together? The kind of role Jazz has in the Realm. The kind of person she… The kind of person I asked her to become.”

There was deep guilt in his voice, and in the way he couldn’t hold his gaze. Danny fidgeted with his napkin, letting the birds sing the tension of his silence away. They were waiting on him to elaborate, and he knew that, but was building the courage to speak.

“Do you guys know how powerful I am? No, you don’t,” he answered himself with a shrug, “because there’s no one like me. I could— If I wanted to, I could bring this city, the whole city, into the Infinite Realms. Just like that.

If I wanted to I could end the war with a snap of my fingers. I could Order every ghost-adjacent being to follow my every command and bring peace via total domination. Or,” he stopped his fingers, sighing, “I could just rip their cores with a thought and crush them with another and be done with Vlad and with every stubborn ghost that thinks I don’t deserve to be King.”

He finally glanced up at Bruce, as if he knew all these scenarios passed though the man’s head as he spoke. “Imagine that — Every conflict, every war, I could wish it away in seconds.”

The older man nodded, following his speech. “And yet you are here.”

Danny’s vulnerable smile reminded him so much of Clark’s. “I can’t. I can’t do that. If I— If I just eliminate every little thing in my way, what kind of person would I be? I’ve seen it happen, Bruce. I know what I could be if I lose perspective of who I really want to be.”

Cass lifted her hand like she was in a classroom. “Jazz. She’s your anchor.”

Danny went back to looking at his hands, shoulders sagging. In shame? In defeat? “All of them keep me grounded, even when I feel like I’m drifting away from who I used to be. But Jazz? She knows what needs to be done, what I’m scared to do. She knows she can handle the guilt and the nightmares and the horror.”

He took a long breath to calm himself. “Jazz is what I can’t— what I won’t be, and she took that burden like it was nothing. She has always done that, taking the bad things and dealing with them for me. It’s just… This time, the ‘bad things’ are a little bit more permanent.”

It made sense now. How she avoided talking about it, how Jazz tensed when she was asked what her role was. How she was so comfortable at Arkham.

“She’s your Executioner.”

Danny flinched at Bruce’s words. “She’s that and more. She became a counterpart for me, a shadow, so I could shine in the spotlight. A symbol.” He said the word like it was a curse. Bruce didn’t miss the twitch in his eyebrow. “Do you know why her armor is bright red?” His smile wasn’t kind when he looked up. “The Infinite Realms are green. She stands out and attracts all the attention in battle so the rest of us can be the heroes of the hour.” He chuckled. “She never wanted any of this. She didn’t defeat the previous King, she wasn’t even there. I know my childhood could have been way worse if she wasn’t in my life, and I’m grateful, but I kept asking more and more from her and now—”

“Do you really think I didn’t want this?” Jazz’s voice cut through Danny’s rambles. “I chose to stay, Danny.”

He didn’t react when he saw her walk in, her face puffy and her eyes still wet. Did he know she was listening? Of course he did — from what the vigilantes could gather so far, Danny’s abilities were up there with Superman’s. Maybe even more.

“Don’t.” He frowned. “I can see right through your bullshit, Jazz. There wasn’t that much of a choice and you know it.”

She bit her lips, but didn’t deny it. Instead, she pulled on her joined hands with Jason’s so they approached the table and sat down.

After settling in her seat, she breathed in, breathed out and smiled. “You are making me sound like some kind of demon or something.” Nobody bought the lightness of her tone.

Danny caught her deflection and chose to follow. He scoffed. “And you are not?” He made a gesture with his hands, placing them on the sides of his head with his pointer fingers up, imitating his sister’s headpiece.

She rolled her eyes. “I am not—”

“Jazzy, fear incarnate is in love with you. He let you ride his horse!” He smirked at Jason. “Not an euphemism.”

He caught on what the siblings were trying to do and turned towards his girlfriend. “You never told me about any horse, darling.”

“Nightmare was a strategic move. Frighty knows I can’t fly like the rest of you and it could give me an advantage during battle.”

“Nightmare? Seriously?” Jason asked.

“Big black horse with wings.” She quickly explained with a shrug. “Breathes fire.”

“Are you serious? Fright Knight doesn’t let me even touch his horse and I’m the King!” He threw his hands up in the air. “That being said, he doesn’t challenge me as much as he does with you, and thanks the Ancients for that.”

“Wait. Wait a second. Are you saying—”

Danny’s smile grew like a Cheshire Cat’s. “Ooohhhh. You didn’t know? Did you forget the one basic fact about ghost nature, Jazzy-pants? Ghost’s love language is fighting.” He said the last part imitating her voice, like she was giving a lecture of some kind.

“Oh? Tell me more?” Jason leaned towards Danny, head leaning on one hand, completely enraptured by the information his girlfriend’s brother shared so easily.

“And he wasn’t pulling any punches either. Before I learned he was formally courting her, I wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight her to death or marry her!”

“He could do both if he’s not a coward.” Jason shared the smile with Danny, ignoring Jazz’s hands pushing his shoulder away from her.

“Hey!” Jazz protested, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Don’t encourage him!”

“Wait until I tell you about The Ballad of the Red Demon.” Danny also ignored his sister, and the eyes of the rest of the Waynes, as he summoned a notebook with more green flames. He cleared his throat, opened the notebook and started reading:

“The fire in her eyes burned brighter than any sun, as the sharp edge of her blade pierced your chest to meet your untimely end.

Don’t provoke the Red Demon, for her burning fury will consume you in a blaze hotter than the Realm’s Core.

There she rides the winged Dark Horse as her cries call for the blood of her enemies, bright green eyes already searching for the next target.

Don’t provoke the Red Demon, for her siren’s call will be the last thing you hear before you draw your last breath.”

“What in the Ancients is that?” Realization came to the young woman. She slapped the table and stood up. “Ghost Writer?”

Danny nodded. “He gave me the first draft to approve before getting into editing.” He shook the notebook closer to his sister. “There’s a chapter for each of us, don’t think it’s just about you.”

He rolled his eyes and reopened the notebook, getting ready to continue reading, but Jazz jumped and reached across the table trying to snatch the notebook before he continued. He managed to float away just in time to prevent her from taking it from him, and quickly flew high enough that she couldn’t reach him, but close enough that he was almost within reach.

“Awww, you don’t want our new friends to know about your feats during the last siege? About—” he glanced at the text, quickly murmuring words under his breath, “‘Her fiery hair glows like a damned halo’ and ‘sharp blade like a gentle kiss of death’ something something ‘crushing enemies under her foot’.”

Jazz was trying to jump high enough so she could catch her brother, her face crimson red as the others chuckled at the scene.

Finally, taking pity on her, Jason reached for the book as Danny was distracted reading the next stanza and seized it away from the floating Fenton.

“Thank you.” She breathed in relief, extending her hand so he could give her the notebook.

With a tiny smile, he opened it and tried to read too, but it was written in symbols he felt he recognized but couldn’t read.

“Do you have an official translation yet or do I have to wait?”

---

First chapter || << Previous chapter || Next chapter >>

Back to Main Archive

Back to Danny Phantom Archive

Just a normal link to support me (if you want)

[sycamorelibrary754]

Booked for the Day

Summary: During a visit to the New York Public Library, Yelena experiences an unexpected encounter that leaves a lasting impression.

Pairings: Yelena x Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None?

A/N: Thanks to @yelenasdiary for helping me with a couple of the details. 

Yelena adjusted the collar on her faux fur coat as she walked alongside Steve down Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan. Energy filled the bustling city, and the trees were beginning to showcase the beautiful colors of autumn, painting the streets with their vibrant hues.

"Remind me again why I'm here, Rogers?" Yelena asked, her steps slightly lagging behind the super soldier.

"You dozed off during the briefing. It was this or a meeting with Fury," Steve replied, finally coming to a halt.

Yelena tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, a faint smirk on her lips. "I'm not exactly an Avenger," she remarked, her Russian accent giving each word a sharp edge. "What's Fury going to do? Give me a demerit?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said, gesturing towards the facade of the New York Public Library. “Notice the Marble Lions atop the two pedestals? They're called Patience and Fortitude," Steve pointed out as they made their way up the steps.

The widow paused and ran her hand over the smooth marble sculpture. "Let me take a wild guess," she said, "You were here on the day the library first opened?"

Steve chuckled. "Oh, come on. I'm not that old."

Yelena shot him a pointed look, prompting him to continue.

"I was here during the Great Depression when Mayor La Guardia gave them the names 'Patience' and 'Fortitude' to symbolize the qualities he believed New Yorkers needed to persevere through those tough times," he admitted.

"Mhmm," the blonde responded as she playfully tapped Steve's cheek. "That's what I thought.”

Stepping through the library's entrance into Astor Hall, Yelena couldn't help but be awed by its magnificence. The meticulously crafted white marble columns and majestic staircases evoked a luxury reminiscent of a bygone era. The pair ascended the stairs and walked through the McGraw Rotunda into the Rose Reading Room. Exquisite arches adorned the space, while the sprawling half-moon windows bathed the room in gentle, natural light. A stunning mural depicting the endless expanse of the morning sky floated across the ceiling. Steve began leisurely perusing the shelves, taking in the titles and carefully searching for his next read. 

What are you looking for?" Yelena asked.

"Hmm," he pondered, pulling his brown leather notebook from his coat pocket. "Bruce mentioned To Kill a Mockingbird, and Clint suggested 1984."

Yelena reached for the notebook. "Are you seriously planning to read all these books?

“Absolutely," declared Steve as he snatched the notebook back. "I want to know what I missed under the ice. Besides, haven't you ever heard of broadening your horizons?” 

“Back again, Steve?” A warm voice behind the pair suddenly said. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve said, embracing you with a hug, “Yeah, I've been on a roll lately.”

"I see you've brought a companion with you this time," you remarked, locking eyes with the blonde.

"Yes, this is Yelena, Natasha’s sister. Yelena, this is Y/N. She's the Chief Librarian."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted, offering your hand to Yelena.

"Pleasure's all mine," Yelena responded, grasping your hand. Your soft and delicate touch contrasted her scarred and calloused hands from a lifetime of combat.

"Do you need help finding something?" you inquired.

"Not at the moment, just looking around," Steve replied.

"I'm only here because America's ass is, in fact, an ass," Yelena exclaimed. "Ow!" she yelped as Steve nudged her in the side.

You smirked and suppressed a chuckle. Just then, you noticed a queue forming at the circulation desk – familiar faces from NYU returning to continue their dissertation research in the archival collections.

“Okay, you know where to find me if you need anything, Steve. And Yelena, it was lovely to meet you,” you said as you smiled and walked away. 

Yelena's gaze lingered on you as you returned to the cluster of students. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, seemed to track your every move as you rejoined the group. 

Hey," Steve said, snapping his fingers in front of the widow's face. "No cursing in front of the Chief Librarian."

“Oh, please,” Yelena retorted. “You would be mad if I cursed before a teddy bear."

"I'm going to take a look around," he began, glancing at the shelves of books. "How about we rendezvous here in an hour?"

"Eye-Eye Captain Swear Jar," Yelena replied, giving the Super Soldier a mock salute.

"I understand now why Nat never wants to take you anywhere,” Steve deadpanned. 

*^~^*

While Cap continued to browse the shelves, Yelena decided to explore the rest of the library. True, the blonde was no bookworm, but the building was too beautiful not to admire. 

The rhythmic click of her shoes reverberated through the hallways, accentuating the pristine white Vermont marble floor. The grandeur of the architecture brought back recollections of the imposing Houses of Parliament and political palaces she had once covertly infiltrated during her time in the Red Room. It had taken a while, but she was gradually becoming accustomed to the freedom she now enjoyed. Moving through the building based on her own merits, she no longer had to skulk around every corner with a gun in hand and a knife strapped to her thigh. Soon, the joyful sounds of children's laughter filled the air and reached her ears.

As she followed the sound, the blonde turned around a corner and poked her head through the double doors into the Children’s Room. It was full of small white bookshelves and desks. A colorful animal mural decorated the walls, adding a cheerful touch to the room. Suddenly, Yelena caught sight of you once again. You were kneeling before two young children—a boy and a girl—pointing to five old stuffed animals in a glass case.

"This is the real Winnie the Pooh?" The little boy asked with wide eyes.

"It is!" you replied with a smile. "Christopher Robin's Daddy gave him Winnie the Pooh for his 1st birthday."

"Cool," the boy said softly, clearly in awe.

"And look, that's Eeyore, Piglet, Kanga, and Tigger," the little girl chimed in, finger-tapping the display case.

"That’s right! You must love Winnie the Pooh," you said, impressed.

"He's our favorite Disney character! I like it when he gets the Honey Pot stuck on his head," she giggled.

"Well, then I have a special book for you two," you said, bringing your hands out from behind your back to reveal a small tome.

"The House at Pooh Corner," the little boy said slowly, sounding out the words.

"Thank you so much!" The little girl exclaimed. 

"You're so welcome," you declared. 

You watched the children race back to their parents, joyfully clutching the book. As you steadied yourself to stand up, a ring-clad hand suddenly appeared.

Without hesitation, you clasped Yelena's hand and pulled yourself upright. "Thank you," you said gratefully.

"Your words to those children were sweet," Yelena remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"First grade is when kids take an interest in reading. I try to make it as fun and engaging as possible for them," you shared.

“Looks like it’s working," Yelena remarked, gazing around the Children's Room.

"Is this your first time visiting the Library?" you asked. "Steve's a regular, but I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I don't get much time to read," Yelena replied, nervously playing with her rings.

"Understandable," you nodded. "I guess being an Avenger keeps you pretty busy."

"Oh, I'm no Avenger," Yelena dismissed. "I'm more of a... Freelancer. I show up when I'm needed.”

"Well, I'm happy you showed up today," you said with a smile.

Wow, your eyes were stunning. They sparkled with the most mesmerizing Y/E/C color, and Yelena couldn't help but be captivated by them. 

"Um, excuse me?" a tiny voice suddenly piped up, interrupting her thoughts as Yelena felt a gentle tug on her coat, diverting her attention away from you.

Looking down, she saw a young girl with curious eyes staring back at her. Her golden curls reminded her of her own at that age. The little girl spoke softly, almost mumbling, and stared down at her scuffed shoes, making it difficult for Yelena to catch what she was saying.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Yelena asked gently, crouching down to the little one's eye level.

"I said, are you an Avenger?" the little girl repeated, a hint of shyness in her tone. "You have the same shape on your belt buckle as The Black Widow," she pointed to the unmistakable red hourglass on Yelena's belt.

Yelena's gaze lingered on the intricately crafted belt buckle before she looked back up at the little girl standing before her. She had forgotten she was wearing it. Her fingers instinctively traced the contours of the hourglass symbol. It was a piece she had up-cycled into an accessory, a subtle nod to her journey and a means of reclaiming her narrative.

Yelena paused, struggling to find the right words. "Sort of," she finally managed.

The little girl leaned in, her eyes wide with curiosity. "How many bad guys have you fought?" she asked eagerly.

You quickly interjected, "Oh..."

But Yelena gently placed a hand on your arm. "No, it's okay," she reassured you before returning to the little girl. "I've fought many bad guys," she whispered with a small smile.

Her eyes sparkled. "I want to be just like you when I grow up."

“Oh, my,” Yelena said, taken aback. “Well, if you treat people with kindness and always try to lend a helping hand, then you can be whatever you want.”

The little girl stood there, awestruck, and whispered, “Wow.”

Yelena continued to converse with her until her mother called her from across the room. Yelena stood and looked at you, a grin plastered across your face.

"Now, who's the sweet one?" You remarked.

"Let's just say that when I was her age, I wasn't spending much time in the library," Yelena conveyed as she rose, wearing a solemn expression.

Your brows furrowed as you contemplated her words. "Everyone's journey is different. What's important is that you’re here now.”

Yelena nodded thoughtfully. "I do whatever I can to help girls reclaim their freedom," she explained, carefully selecting her words to convey the essence of her work in liberating widows, "In more ways than one."

Impressed by her dedication, you responded, "That is amazing, Yelena."

“Sometimes I feel like it’s not enough,” she confessed. “There are always more children who don’t have anyone to protect them, just like me when I was small."

"I understand,” you said, looking around the room. “Not everyone understands that the library represents their freedom. For so many, it is their only safe space,” you sighed. “I wish we could help everyone, but that isn't always possible.”

In a fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. Soon, the realization of the time broke the trance. "I need to head back to my office for a meeting. Care to walk with me?"

"Sure," she said, running a hand through her short, freshly cut blonde hair. 

As you both strolled through the magnificent building, you eagerly shared captivating details about the library’s 113-year history, collections, artwork, and the exquisite spaces often rented out for weddings and galas. You spoke animatedly, and your enthusiasm for the place was evident in every word. Yelena followed you back into the Rose Reading Room, where you had filled her mind with enough information to dominate a New York Public Library-themed game of Trivial Pursuit.

"Yelena, there you are," Steve called out, holding a small stack of books. "I'm all set. Are you ready to head home?"

The thought of leaving was the last thing Yelena wanted to do as she wrestled with the uncertainty of when she would have the chance to see you again.

“Sure,” Yelena reluctantly replied. 

As you bid farewell to both, you warmly hugged the super soldier, saying, "Happy reading, Steve." Turning to the blonde, you smiled and added, "Yelena, don't be a stranger.”

"I’ll do my best," she promised.

Yelena sighed quietly as you left, but Steve couldn't help but chuckle at the scene.

"What's so funny, stars and stripes?" Yelena asked.

Steve raised his hands in defense. "Nothing at all. I swear."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said as she walked out the door.

*^~^*

No, Tony. Absolutely not," Pepper said firmly as she walked into the lounge. Tony followed closely behind. The clinking of dishes was in the background as the team enjoyed their dinner.

"Come on," Tony cajoled. "You know there's no better setting for a gala than the compound."

Pepper folded her arms. "Except this isn't one of your 'The Sun Rose Today' parties where you all get drunk and try to lift Thor’s hammer. This gala marks Stark Industries' donation to New York City Public Schools, and I'm not sure the Chancellor of Education needs to see you doing the Macarena in one of your suits.”

"Ok, fine," Tony reluctantly conceded, "But let it be known that the Macarena is a time-honored classic."

Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's comment before addressing the rest of the team. "Any ideas?"

"The Rainbow Room?" Sam exclaimed.

"Too formal," Pepper replied with a smirk.

"The Algonquin?" Bucky suggested with a shrug.

"Too old," Nat said, shaking her head.

"The Highline?" Kate suggested with a hopeful look.

"Too precarious," Wanda interjected with a concerned tone.

“The New York Public Library,” Yelena said from her seat at the end of the table.

Every gaze suddenly fixated on the blonde, as if she had been invisible until that moment.

“The Library is beautiful. They often rent it out for galas or weddings. I'm sure they'd love to host a Stark Industries event that benefits kids,” she said, glancing over at Tony, “Even if it meant he had to show up.”

"She's right," Steve nodded in agreement. "We were there today, it would be perfect."

"I’ll make some calls. Thank you, Yelena," Pepper said with a smile.

"Don't mention it," the widow remarked.

Yelena picked up her plate and headed towards the sink, with Steve following suit.

As they rinsed their plates, Yelena noticed Steve's smile and asked, "What now?"

"Nothing," he replied with a grin.

*^~^*

Despite her best intentions, Yelena felt overwhelming guilt as two months passed without her fulfilling her promise not to be a stranger. A continuous string of high-stakes missions and an unexpected journey to London with Nat to free a widow had left her with no opportunity to visit the Library. Nonetheless, her thoughts frequently drifted to you while in the field, a sentiment she would never be comfortable admitting. This inner conflict contradicted her rigorous training – maintaining constant vigilance, staying focused, and never letting her guard down. Yet, her sister was quick to notice the change in her demeanor.

Therefore, Natasha was inevitably concerned when Yelena failed to arrive at their designated extraction point on time. She was about to call Maria to ping her tracker when the blonde rounded the corner,  a Harrod’s garment bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Where have you been?” Natasha asked, irritation present in her tone. “We said 0200.”

"I'm here now. Relax, sestra," Yelena replied as she swaggered onto the Quinjet.

"What's in the bag?" Natasha inquired, springing up the ramp after her.

"I had to do some shopping," Yelena responded casually, trying to brush off the question.

"What's in the bag?" her sister persisted, reaching for it.

"Nothing that concerns you," Yelena retorted, stepping back out of reach.

Nat gazed at her with a skeptical expression, a single eyebrow arched in challenge as she uttered, "You think I can’t take that bag from you?"

Yelena locked eyes with Natasha, weighing the option of a physical altercation before letting out an exasperated sigh and handing it over.

“Ah, what have we here?" the redhead mused as she deftly extracted an elegant white dress from the bag, her whistle expressing her admiration. "I take it this isn't for some formal undercover operation?"

Yelena confessed, "It's for Sunday's Stark Industries Gala at the Library. I want to look nice, okay?”

"Ah, I see," Nat murmured, a knowing look in her eyes as she delicately placed the dress back into its garment bag. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Chief Librarian, would it?"

Yelena feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you're suggesting."

Nat raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. "Whatever you say, Lena." She deftly punched in a sequence of buttons to power up the Quinjet. "But here's some news for you – Cap mentioned that she's confirmed for Sunday's event."

Yelena nodded, a flicker of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Good to know," she replied calmly, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

*^~^*

Yelena hurried across the crowded New York City sidewalk, her eyes fixed on the ornate doors of the New York City Public Library. As the clock struck 7 PM, she reached out and pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the serene interior. This was one occasion for which she was determined to arrive on time. 

The Parahélios Monstand white dress clung to her curves in all the right places, its V-neckline and flowing design accentuating her figure. The thigh slit hinted at the floral tiered skirt peeking out from underneath. Her entire outfit was highlighted by a stunning Valentino Clutch and graceful Fiorellini Gold Glass Heels, giving her a welcomed boost in height.

Adjusting the backs of her Starry Woven red and black earrings, she spotted the team mingling with the New York City Public School Board, but no sign of you. 

Yelena heard a familiar voice behind her. "She'll be here soon.”

The widow turned, only to be met by Steve standing with his hands folded behind his back. His impeccably tailored tuxedo garnished with a white pocket square.

"You know, I can't remember the last time I turned around, and you weren't there," the blonde groaned.

Steve chuckled. "You should be thanking me. Who do you think suggested to Pepper that Y/N attend this soiree?"

"Yeah? Well, let’s wait and see how the night goes before we declare you Cupid," Yelena quipped.

The evening began with a cocktail hour. Guests were treated to champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Then, everyone journeyed into the Rose Reading Room, setting the stage for the night’s festivities.

The Renaissance-style oak tables were now adorned with rich green tablecloths, each impeccably set with votive candles and white anemones. Overhead, twinkling lights recreated a breathtaking starry night on the ceiling, casting a mesmerizing green glow throughout the room.

The blonde reached the head table, where the rest of the team was already gathered, and found her designated seat. As she perused the evening's menu, you suddenly appeared.

"Yelena!" you exclaimed. "It's so good to see you. And look, we're seated across from each other. What are the odds?"

Yelena glanced down to the end of the table where Cap was sitting, and he responded with a smooth thumbs-up, causing her to roll her eyes. You looked beautiful in an elegant Navy floor-length short-sleeved evening dress. The textured floral rosettes and scintillating sequin accents immediately caught the blonde’s attention. 

“Yes, it is truly a coincidence,” Yelena said as she sat down. “It's good to see you, too. I’m so sorry I haven't been able to revisit the library. Working with this group of misfits…” 

“Oh, please,” you replied, waving her off. There is no need to apologize. I’m just happy that you’re here tonight.” 

“I am, too,” Yelena said, silently thanking the evening lighting for concealing the growing blush on her cheeks. 

Dinner was a delightful early fall vegetable salad and succulent braised short ribs. The gala's aura provided the perfect backdrop for a captivating conversation between you and Yelena. As you both immersed yourselves in the discussion, the blonde remained oblivious to the subtle glances exchanged by the rest of the team. Meanwhile, Natasha discreetly snapped a photo to share with Melina and Alexi.

As the speeches wrapped up, Tony and Pepper took the stage, presenting a check to the Chancellor of Education. Soon after, you and Yelena mingled with other guests in Astor Hall, where delectable desserts and lively music awaited.

Amidst the festivities, you spotted the New York Public Library President motioning for you to join him. Yelena's expression fell as she realized you would be pulled into work-related conversations and networking.

"I'll catch up with you later, Yelena—duty calls for me this time," you said with a playful smirk.

"No problem, see you later," Yelena replied with a casual wave.

"She's cool," Kate Bishop whispered. "Think you'll ask her out?"

"Think you'll notice that you're wearing two different earrings, Kate Bishop?" Yelena deadpanned.

"Dammit," Kate muttered under her breath.

Yelena laughed and strolled off, leaving Kate flustered.

*^~^*

Yelena wasn't usually one to hit the dance floor, but the elegant vibe, refreshing drinks, and company made her let loose. After begrudgingly joining Kate Bishop in the Bunny Hop, she finally sank into a chair, letting her blonde hair fall loose and kicking off her heels to give her feet a much-needed break.

Looks like you had quite a night," you teased.

Yelena shrugged. "You'd be surprised. This is nothing compared to a typical Stark Gala."

"Is that so?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "I'll have to get the inside scoop from Steve."

"Mrs. Stark mentioned that you were the one who suggested holding the gala here. Thank you for thinking of us. It makes a difference for us to have all of you here."

"The library is incredible. It was the least I could do," Yelena replied with a gentle smile. 

A warm feeling tugged at your heartstrings and reflected in your eyes. After a long, contemplative pause, you gazed deeply into her eyes, and finally, with a sense of urgency, you uttered, “Come with me.”

Yelena's expression turned perplexed as she slipped back on her heels and followed you out of Astor Hall. The distant sounds of the party grew quiet as you ascended the stairs to the third floor and made your way down the hall of supervised reading rooms. Finally, you stopped in front of Room 319—The Pforzheimer Collection.

Yelena whispered, "Are we even allowed to be up here right now?"

"I am," you said with a sly smile. There's something I want to show you," you said as you pushed open the intricate mahogany door.

"This room is a sanctuary for English romanticism," you explained, delicately retrieving a first edition from the shelf. “I want to read you something from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte`.”

Placing the book on a pedestal, you began to turn its pages with reverence, searching for a particular passage. As you did this, Yelena observed you closely, captivated by your presence. Your enchanting Y/E/C eyes scanned the words on the page, just as they had done countless times before.

Your eyes lit up as you found the passage you were looking for and read aloud: "I am no bird, and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will."

After carefully absorbing every word, Yelena finally found her voice and spoke sincerely, "That was beautiful."

You nodded. “It’s the moment Jane finally realizes years of being treated like a thing, an object without feeling. Here and now, she declares her independence and fierceness of character.”

"Ah, that sounds familiar," Yelena remarked with a wistful smile, her gaze shifting downwards to the intricately patterned floor beneath her feet.

“It reminds me of you, Yelena," you explained, gently closing the book. Writers have poured their hearts out for centuries, trying to capture the essence of courage. But you? You embody courage in every step you take. You fought for your freedom, and now you do the same for others. That is beautiful.”

With her eyes locked on yours, Yelena leaned in gradually. Before you knew it, your lips met gently, like a delicate touch of a bird's wings gliding through the air. Your hands went to her hips as the blonde's arms wrapped around your shoulders. The kiss was unhurried, intense, and filled with intention.

You paused to catch your breath as you pulled away. "I think we should head back to the gala," you giggled—a warm flush creeping over your cheeks.

“In a minute,” Yelena smirked, caressing your cheek as your lips met again. 

*^~^*

Three months later 

Follow me this way," Yelena called, her voice carrying through the soft, falling snow as she led three young girls up the New York Public Library steps—a path she had taken with many newly freed widows over the last three months. Behind them, the iconic statues of Patience and Fortitude stood guard, adorned with festive holiday wreaths.

With practiced ease, Yelena guided the girls through the door. They gazed in awe at the grandeur of the white marble columns and staircases of Astor Hall. You greeted Yelena with a gentle kiss as they enter the Rose Reading Room. After introductions, you do your best to make your guests feel comfortable.

"We'll be happy to show you around whenever you're ready," you assured the girls.

“Why are we here?" One of them asked curiously. 

“You’re free to make your own choices now,” Yelena reminded them proudly. “And the library represents your freedom.“

Come on," you said warmly as you gently took Yelena's hand in yours. "We'll show you.”

[yunhonumeris1fane]

One Bed•JYH

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡

“The title explains it all. You are traveling together with the boys, as you encounter an issue with the hotel reservation, that leads you to sharing a room with that someone you dislike”

pairing - idol_yunho x non_idol fem reader

genre - suggestive(tiny bit of smut) to fluff

warnings - Smut (tiny tiny bit)

The boys were mid tour, as you joined them as ‘team member’, though more as a guest. You were studying music business, so your brother Hoongjoong suggested you join them for a week, to see the process of being a musician on tour. Almost all of the boys were welcoming, they were happy with your presence, except for Yunho. He was usually the type of person that chose not to be on bad terms with anyone, but you somehow landed on his bad side and so did he on yours. He couldn’t explain exactly why he disliked you, he thought you were too pretty, then too challenging, always too nosy, stubborn and so on. Almost a complete opposite of Hoongjoong. But there was something attractive in you, he couldn’t explain either. On the second day of you traveling with them, after the show ended, you spent the entire evening out in the streets by yourself, leaving the boys alone and he oddly missed you. He wanted to slap himself for having those kinds of thoughts. He couldn’t let himself fold over you.

 Fast Forward to the 5th day, you just landed in Dallas and all of you are on the way to the hotel. Once you arrive, the managers lead the way to the reception, as the worst news of your life is announced.

“The rooms for the tour crew are alright, however we encountered an issue with the guys' rooms. You booked 5 deluxe twin bed rooms, but as there was an issue with our system, now there’s 4 rooms with two twin beds and one room with a regular double bed. We are really sorry, but our hotel is fully booked for tonight, so we can’t change the room” The receptionist explains the situation to the manager.

“Guys, two of you have to take the room, who’s taking it?” He turns around, expecting volunteers, but there’s none.

“I want to sleep alone” Seonghwa turns down the offer, slowly moving away from the crowd.

“Same” Yeosang raises his arm, so does Jongho and Hoongjoong.

“We all want to sleep in separate beds, but since it’s impossible, I vote for Yunho and Y/n to take the room with one bed” Wooyoung comes up with a solution, there’s a mischievous grin lingering on his face. He thinks he’s slick

“No, she’s not sharing a bed with any of you” Hoongjoon protests, there is no way he’d let his sister sleep with a man.

“Then you share the bed with her, she’s your sister”, Mingi suggests, as Hoongjoong instantly frowns.

“n-no…” he disagrees, with a shameful look on his face, “listen, she kicks when sleeping, she kicked me really hard a couple of days ago. It still hurts”

“Why can’t you two share a bed?” the manager turns to San and Wooyoung.

“No reason…We just don’t feel like sleeping next to each other tonight” they shrug in unison, as the manager rubs his temples, he’s had enough.

"Okay, hold up your hands if you think these two" Wooyoung points at you and Yunho, "should share the room" as he finishes, everyone's except Hoongjoong's hands are raised.

"We're not sharing the room Wooyoung" Yunho says firmly, with you nodding along.

But here you are, saying goodnight to your neighbors, as Yunho unlocks the door and lets you in first. Placing your travel bag down on the carpet floor, you stroll around the room, viewing the decor of the place. It is nice and modern, nothing too overwhelming.

"Well… At least the bed is large" you comment, eyes landing on a large and comfortable looking bed in the middle of the room.

"Yeah" Yunho mumbles as he runs through his luggage, "do you want to shower first?"

"You go first" you take out your phone to check up on your social media accounts.

 While he’s in the shower, you sit down at the writing desk and scroll relentlessly through social media, snacking on a granola bar. So immersed in your phone, you forget that you’re sharing a room with Yunho and when you hear the door clicking, your heart stops for a moment. 

 He walks out of the bathroom, already changed into a black set of sleeping clothes, his hair still wet from the shower. If you didn't hate him, you'd definitely be down bad for him. But you don’t have time for these thoughts, so you throw your bag over your shoulder and sprint right into the bathroom.

 After slamming the door shut, you undress yourself and hop in for a short but thorough shower. After you are done, you dry yourself with a towel, change into a fresh pj shirt and shorts set, complete your skincare and tie your hair in a low ponytail. Checking yourself in the mirror for one last time, you pick up your bag and head out. 

 The moment you leave the bathroom, you eyes meet Yunho laying on the bed, doing something on his phone. Your heartbeat increases rapidly, when you realize you'll have to sleep right next to him for the whole night. 

“You’re just going to stand here?” He lifts his eyes off the screen, noticing you standing in the corner, spaced out to another universe. You immediately shake off all the unnecessary thoughts and plug in the charger, as your phone is at 5 percent. And since your phone is currently charging and you aren’t feeling very sleepy, you take out your favorite romance book to read before bed. Bad decision

 Gathering all of your strength, you try to walk to the bed like a normal unbothered person, but you end up walking like a penguin. Good thing Yunho is too deep into his phone to notice your awkward walk. You slide under the covers, puffing up the pillow behind your head and open your book. A few pages later, you finally make it to the part where the main characters confront each other after a long slow burn. The male lead intertwines his fingers with the female lead and confesses, making you start giggling happily. That piques Yunho’s interest. He wants to know what you're so excited about, so he discreetly glances over at your book, but his eyes land on the page you haven’t read yet. And it is a part where the sexual tension is at its highest. 

“That’s an interesting thing you’re reading” He comments, casually as you turn your head into his direction, there’s a questionable look on his face.You can’t seem to understand what he meant by that, as it was very fluffy, nothing out of ordinary.

“It’s just romance and cute, you wouldn’t understand”

 Seeing that you still don’t get it, he points at the other page with his index finger, “this” and after reading the first paragraph you shut the book.

“I-don’t-read-these-pages-y’know… I only read for the cute things” You start babbling, knowing damn well you were just caught.

“Yeah sure”

“Fine, what if I read that, what’s wrong with that?” You confront him, admitting your choice in books.

“nothing, you don’t have to lie about reading freaky stuff”

“it’s not freaky, it’s art” you correct him.

“freaky art” He adds, making you feel very agitated. 

“at least i read it and not watch the exaggerated stuff”

“good for you, there are good videos tho” He continues teasing you, enjoying how annoyed you are.

“we’re talking about porn now”

“you started it” he accuses you as you let out an exaggerated gasp.

“No! you started it, why pry on things that don’t have anything to do with you”

“What can I say, I’m curious” He wonders and looks over to you, you're staring at the wall, trying hard not to snap.

“Aren’t you going to continue reading?”

“Why do you want to know?” you question him, wondering if it’s another attempt to irritate you or just a genuine thought.

“I want to see what happens next”

 Unfortunately, you want it too, so you open the book once again and find the page where the action starts. You hold the book in between both of you and start reading. When you get to the part where the female lead gets laid down on the bed and the male lead starts leaving trails of kisses from her neck down to her chest, you look away from the book, unable to focus. 

“Eyes up here” Yunho points at the book, “We still have one page to go” He says, intrigued in the plot, so you get your eyes back on the book.

 As the two of you are engulfed in the book, you fail to hear intruders entering your room.

“OmmoOO” You immediately look up to see your brother and Jongho standing at the doorstep.

“What a sight?! Never in this life have I imagined Yunho reading a book, reading a book with Y/n together” Jongho gasps, as Hoongjoong is completely frozen, like a block of ice.

“Listen… I was bored and…” Yunho tries to explain the situation, but his mind is slow.

“excuses excuses… What are you reading, can we read it?” Jongho inquires as he takes a few steps closer.

“No!” you hide the book under your back, protecting the innocent intruders from the damage of the book.

“Go to sleep, why are you here anyways?” Yunho distracts them from the topic of the book.

“Hoongjoong wanted to make sure everything is fine in this room, just watching out for Y/n” Jongho explains, trying to figure out what the two of you are hiding. It’s strange to see you two teaming up,

“Well I guess we will go, everything seems good. Sleep tight” Hoongjoong exchanges final words with you and they both leave.

“Did you finish reading the chapter, I couldn’t” Yunho breaks the long silence that has been lingering around ever since the boys left.

“They fucked, went to sleep. End of story. Goodnight” you place the book on the bedside table and lie down, turning your back to Yunho, who’s not happy with the way you explained.

“You’re very mean” Yunho admits as he lies down as well, turning to the other side, your back’s facing each other.

“So?”

“I didn’t hate you from the beginning, but your laid back attitude made me dislike you, you could be a little nicer” He as if scolds you.

“Everyone likes me, except you” you mumble, picking at the fabric of your pillow case.

“Cause I’m the only one you’re always complaining about”, he explains, “Wanna elaborate on that?”

“You’re just naturally annoying” you trail off, trying to find a good reason for disliking him. But there’s no exact one.

“You said Wooyoung’s too, why are you treating him better”

“I don’t know…S-stop interrogating me” you blurt out, now he’s really getting annoying.

“I’ll stop once you tell me the truth” He insists and you can’t take it anymore, so you pull off the covers and get off the bed, “I’ll sleep on the carpet”

 He immediately sits up, turning to you, “No, you won’t” with that he reaches for your arm, wrapping his hand around, pulling you back to bed. But instead of hitting the mattress, you land on top of him. Your eyes meet and you stare into each other for a good moment, until his hand finds its way over to your face, pushing away a strand of hair that's blocking your view. He’s not resisting anymore.

“I really hate you” He murmurs as his thumb rests on your chin, “But I think I hate it more that I like you” he lets out a soft chuckle, “I don’t know if it makes any sense”

“I doesn’t” you breathe out, not breaking the eye contact. Now that you’re inches away from each other, suddenly all the hate you felt towards him vanishes. All you feel is an intense desire to kiss him and he can see it in your face too, as your eyes travel down to his lips.

“Go ahead” he reads you like a book, giving you a push as you inch your face closer to his. Gazing into his eyes for one last time, you close your eyes and connect your lips with his. His hands entangle into your hair, as you lead the kiss, exploring every inch of his mouth when he parts his lips. He likes it when you dominate, but he really wants to have you under him, so in a split second he swiftly flips you over. Now you're trapped under him and he reconnects his lips, with even much more hunger. Your hands automatically find its way to his back, fingers tracing every crevice of his back as he dips his knee in between your legs, causing a moan falling off your lips. Using the opportunity he glides his tongue through your lips, tasting the unfamiliar waters. Unconsciously, you find yourself grinding against his leg, desperate for some friction, now that you’ve gotten used to his lips moving against yours. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, there’s a smirk plastered over his face.

 You reach for his shirt, wanting to unbutton it and look him in his now darkened eyes for approval. He doesn’t say anything, but kisses you again. You take it as a yes and reach for the button, slowly working your way down to the last one. Once his shirt is unbuttoned, your hands are all over him, your fingertips grazing at his soft skin. Wanting to play fair, he tugs at your shirt, “we need this off” he instructs as you lift yourself a little, helping him to take your shirt off. Then he sits up his heels and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts. With a nod from you, he slides them down your legs and tosses them on the floor. Now that he’s partially satisfied he brings himself up to kiss you and then you feel his intense gaze memorizing your whole body. His eyes are burning with desire, as he runs his fingers down your body. Even if he really wants to love you tonight, there’s uncertainty lurking behind his eyes.

“What is it” You ask him, your voice barely audible.

“I don’t think this is right” He’s once again face to face with you, “I think we’re going to fast” his thumb draws circles on your cheek.

“Did you change your mind, you don’t want to sleep with me?” 

“Fuck no. I’m really trying not to go insane and take you from behind right now, but I think we should get to know each other in real life, before getting to know each other in bed” He explains with soft spoken words.

“Let’s talk then and you do what you just said” You encourage him, he riled you up for no reason, if he doesn’t want to do it.

“You really have no chill” he laughs at your desperation, all smug from knowing that he has you in a chokehold now.

“I just really don’t want to wait for months to get railed” you admit, trying hard to change his mind, but he’s too stubborn.

“Well isn’t that exciting, that after that month, once I’m home, you get a reward, for being a good girl and waiting patiently” 

“You’re not helping!” You playfully punch him in his bare chest, “What if you don’t like me anymore then?”

“You’ve got me all wrong, I don’t move on that quickly” He assures you as he takes your hands into his, intertwining your fingers with his, “This was a promise and I keep my promises”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡

A/n I really don’t know how to write toe gripping smut, so I’m leaving you on a hang here.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 3!!

Okay, this thing needs a name. Please suggest ideas in the comments :) I know this part is tedious, but the thing with self-insert is you have Establishing to do before any Real Action happens. We'll get there, just hang on.

//Edited to include title.

Beginning || Previous || Next

***********

The shaking must have been more visible than you thought, because Muriel is at your side before you can speak. They touch your shoulder gently.

“Um, excuse me,” they say, “Sorry, but you’re shaking an awful lot. Maybe you should sit down.” You nod, and it takes concentration, but with Muriel’s help you make it to the sofa. Apparently caffeine and adrenaline aren’t the best mix. Your breathing speeds up, despite your best efforts, and the rest of the room feels fuzzy. Shit, you do not need this right now. There’s talking and movement, but listening to the words feels too sharp, and the best you can do to convey that you are not okay is to shake your head over and over and over. You reach out a hand next to you, and are surprised to find the sleeve of Aziraphale’s shirt. It’s not ideal, but it’s something, and he doesn’t pull away. You focus on the feel of the cotton, the button on the cuff, the pattern of the stitching in the seams. Slowly, you’re able to tune back in. You focus on your breathing, you look around and count five things that start with B – button, books, brown, bow tie, black. Crowley hands you a mug of cocoa, and you accept it, running your thumb along the porcelain wings and letting your hands feel the heat of the drink. You take a sip and take stock.

Multiverse travel (?), mouthing off to the literal Voice of God (lol), brush with death (or...eternal saltiness?), confronting your very limited mortality (at least it’s 5 lives and not 3), panic attack. WELP. This is going well so far. Just peachy. You take another sip, and notice that everyone’s waiting. Oh, right. You clear your throat.

“Thanks,” You say, “Sorry about that. Um...I’m gonna guess that you all have some questions.”

“That would be accurate, yes,” Aziraphale says next to you. Now that you are better, he stands, straightens his waistcoat, and moves to stand nearer the chair (and Crowley), and watches you with his hands folded in front of him. “The first of which is, who exactly are you?”

“Buckle in, folks,” You say to them, “You’re in for a ride.”

And so you begin your info dump. You notice Muriel taking dedicated notes. Good, they’ll probably need those later. You tell them that you’re not sure exactly where you’re from, but it’s not here. You explain the tv show, the radio show, you even mention the musical, and of course, when you get to the book, you ask Crowley to find it on the shelf behind him. It’s right where you remember Jim leaving it. Crowley opens it, and you begin on instinct:

“’It was a nice day. All the days had been nice. There had been rather seven of them thus far, and rain hadn’t been invented yet.’ Now skip a couple lines Crowley. ‘I said that one went down like a lead balloon.’ Sound familiar? There’s more.” You stop quoting there, because Crowley has started flipping through the pages quicker. Aziraphale holds out his hand, and after a while, Crowley hands it to him, then goes to a corner where you notice him taking a few deep breaths. You lean to the side to see that he’s not smoking, exactly, but definitely smoldering. You look at Aziraphale next, and see him turn white as a sheet, before handing the book to Muriel’s eager hands. The scrivener is the only one who looks delighted as they flip through. Aziraphale cleares this throat and composes himself.

“Uhm...now I believe you told Metatron that...The Almighty sent you here. Is...is that actually the case?”

“Honestly,” You say, “I have no idea. I just needed to get him out of your shop and away from you.”

“Away from...me?”

“Yeah...um...” You notice that Crowley has come back to the conversation now, although his sunglasses are slightly askew. You glance at Muriel, who has noticed the shift in your tone, has closed the book, and is now watching you. They put the novel on the nearest surface and reach for their notebook again.

And so, you explain the most solid fan theories that you know. That their joint miracle from the other day made them a threat for Apocalypse 2.0, and that Metatron was here to separate them, by offering Aziraphale the job of Supreme Archangel. This news is met with...surprise.

“Well that’s just stupid,” Crowley says, “He says no, in your tv show, clearly.”

“Yes, I rather can’t imagine I’d be so keen to return to Heaven after everything.”

“Weeeeelllll…...”

The room goes silent, except for Muriel’s writing. They stop after a moment, unaware of the silence.

“So then, you were trying to keep them from being separated because the power of an angel and a demon is most powerful together.”

“Yeah, or the power of love maybe. I’m not sure. Neil’s been kind of vague on that point.” You intentionally keep your gaze on Muriel once you realize what you implied. You will get there. Making those two talk about their feelings is on your list. Patience, patience.

“Oh, the author – Neil Gaiman?” Muriel points at the book with their pencil.

“Yeah, him. He answers questions sometimes.”

Muriel makes a note. You realize something.

“Wait a minute, Muriel,” You say, “Are you...on board with this?”

Muriel stops writing and considers your question for a minute.

“Well, see, the thing is,” They begin, “I’ve seen an awful lot that I never thought I would see? Just in the last week. Like a demon being nice –“

“HEY! Not nice!”

“And the Archangel Gabriel being in love with a demon and running away with them. And then you fell out of nowhere, and honestly what you said to the Metatron may have been a lie, and therefore, you know, bad, but it makes sense. If God didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. So if I help you, I’m helping the Will of God, right?”

Crowley is the one to break the silence that follows.

“Honestly I would have thought it’d take longer for you to take after me. I have to say, I am impressed.”

“Take what after you?”

“Nevermind.”

“Well,” says Aziraphale, “Is there anything else that we need to know about?”

You think about the kiss. You think about everything that came after. You think about ‘and I would like to spend -’ But no, none of that is relevant now. Why do you feel like you’re forgetting something?

The bell at the door rings. You turn around to see Maggie and Nina. UGH. Right.

“I’ve got it, ladies, no worries! Come back later!” You call, desperately.

“Excuse me! No, we need to speak to these two now if you don’t mind!” Maggie says. Clearly she doesn’t care who you are or what you’re doing here.

You roll your eyes. Honestly, you don’t have beef with Maggie and Nina. You agree with them telling off Crowley and Aziraphale, it’s just that you can’t help but feel that the clock is ticking. But, well, there’s no helping it is there? With a sigh, you stand.

“Come on, Muriel,” You say, “Let’s go to the kitchen and get some more cocoa while these four talk.”

Muriel follows you into the kitchen. You don’t listen, you don’t need to. All you need to do is refill your drink while Maggie and Nina tell them off. While you’re at it, you try to convince Muriel to have one. Despite your best effort, you’re unsuccessful. Oh well, all in good time. When you hear the bell chime again, you go back into the shop to find Aziraphale and Crowley looking very pink in the cheeks. You can’t help but smirk.

“All right, chaps?” You say in your best-terrible-British-accent. Aziraphale nods. Well good. Because you all have work to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[lady-phasma]

Can you do a daemon cockwarming scene?

Love your books btw

Thank you so much anon! If you were talking about my books in my Aemond cockwarming fic I always love coming up with fun titles!

NSFW - 18+ (warning is in the ask)

A/N: Kepa means father and uncle so here it is used more like “Daddy” than indicating any familial connection unless that’s how you choose to read this pair.

my gif

The rain hammered against the window glass. It was a constant hum behind the click-click pause, click-click pause of Daemon’s pacing in your chambers. His boot heels on the floor were sharp and beginning to annoy you. 

“My Prince?” you asked and caught him mid-stride, cutting a click short. You didn’t look up at him from your seat. You heard him grunt in acknowledgment. Mm. 

“Are you well, My Prince?” Your hands stilled in your lap. You carefully tucked the needle into the cloth stretched on the hoop. You laid it gently on your lap and rested your hands on it. Then you looked up toward the windows where Daemon had been pacing. 

“I feel fine,” he spat out the word but without directing it at you. “It’s being trapped in this cunting castle which isn’t fine. The storms are too great for flying.” He paused and turned to look at you. “The rain has trapped me here with you, my lady, yet you are quite content.” He took a few steps toward the sofa where you sat. 

“I should leave you to your…” he glanced down at your hands.

“Oh, embroidery,” you replied with a small, proud smile on your face. “A present for the newborn of a Baratheon Lady at court.” You held up the completed portion of a stag’s head. 

“Mm-hmm. Well I would leave you to it, only…. I have nothing to do. I have no obligations today and had hoped to fly Caraxes.” You watched him step to the end of the sofa and wilt into the seat. He slumped against the back, hair sprawling as much as his arms and legs. He groaned and sighed. You couldn’t take your eyes off his neck as he leaned his head back. His eyes had closed so you let yours linger over the curve of his throat and the ridge of it as he swallowed. You pressed your thighs together in a vain attempt to quell the heat that began to rise between them. 

“Might I offer some suggestions?” you asked gently. You laid the needlework on the arm of the sofa and turned toward him, knees still pressed tightly together. He cracked his eyes open and looked at you without raising his head. 

“We could visit the library. I would think there are many books there which might hold your attention,” you continued. He only grunted. “Or perhaps view the new tapestries.” This suggestion brought forth a small snort of laughter.

“Well, then, the stables or Dragonpit? You could occupy yourself with repairing your saddle; though you have people who could do that for you. It would be something…” your voice trailed off. 

There was a drawn out moment of silence before he closed his eyes again. Then he sat up, legs still akimbo. He looked at you. His violet eyes glinting in the fire light. You felt yourself blush and found you had begun to fidget. You recognized that mischievous smirk. 

Daemon often got this look on his face. It never failed to make you blush and squirm. It was inevitably followed by some unseemly desire he had. You were a lady after all, such things should make you blush. However, Daemon’s charm, arrogance, and handsomeness always, would always, break through the remaining vestiges of your concern for impropriety.

“Come here, mērītsos,” he leaned toward you, reaching for your waist. Little one. He knew exactly what the pet name did to you. You didn’t sigh loudly but enough that you knew he had seen your chest fall. His fingers slipped around your back and you let him guide you. You half-stood to shift next to him. When you did he moved swiftly and grabbed your hips with both hands. You yelped from the insinuation as much as the surprise. He sat you on his lap and you immediately squirmed to get comfortable, feeling as though you might surely fall off. You clutched at the arm of the sofa for balance. 

“That won’t do,” he half-whispered behind you. “Here, let me help you, my lady.” With a motion that would have been awkward for a man without his strength he lifted your hips, placing you almost on his knees and slid himself into a more prone position. You felt his hands moving behind you. 

“Daemon, what… what are you up to?” you asked with an amused tone. You enjoyed his surprises, so you didn’t turn around when you asked. 

“Entertaining myself in this damnable weather.”

“I do hope you find it incredibly entertaining, as it seems that it might be an inconvenience for me.”

“Oh, of that I am sure, my lady,” his sly and suggestive words drawled out like honey. Before you could retort, his hands were on you again. He lifted your skirts and you felt your cunt become hot and lightning shot from your core to your hardening nipples. He had not yet touched your bare skin. You whined his name when his hand brushed the inside of your thigh. He chuckled softly behind you.

“Stand for me, mērītsos.” You did. He continued to slide his hand up your dress, finding your undergarments. His other hand rucked the rest of your skirts up to your hips as he moved to pull your smallclothes down. You stepped out of them and immediately he put both his hands on your hips. 

He lifted you bodily back into his lap. Your bunched skirts between your hips and his stomach made it impossible for you to lean back. However, they did not obstruct his hard cock pressed against your ass. You groaned. He laughed. 

“My entertainment,” he replied.

He moved his hips slightly, distributing your weight. Your mind was nearly blank from your desire. You would let him do whatever he wished. You hoped the rain might never stop. The anticipation of what lay ahead increased your wetness and you briefly thought of the slickness against the leather of his pants. Before that thought was fully formed, Daemon slid his hand around between your thighs and stroked his fingers up your slit, expertly missing your now-throbbing clit. You whined again. 

“So very wet for me, mērītsos. Yet you don’t know how I plan to keep myself entertained…” he trailed off. He leaned forward and grazed his open mouth against the sensitive skin at the slope of your neck and shoulder. You tried not to arch your back as his teeth played at biting you. He felt your wetness one more time then abruptly pulled his hand away. 

“Retrieve your… what you were working on, needlepoint?” He didn’t explain but you knew to lean and grab it from the arm of the sofa. When you straightened up he sat forward enough to hover his lips near your ear. He kissed the lobe softly.

“Now, you’re going to sit here and continue your work and I’m going to watch you or… not. But you aren’t to move. You’re going to keep my cock warm in my tight, wet cunt.” He drew out the words in a way that made you shiver. 

Before you could do anything but nod he gently lifted your hips and guided you to hover a moment while he reached between you. He slid his cock through your dripping folds; then, unceremoniously, he slid into you. He pulled you back down onto his lap. He was fully inside you with one stroke. The guttural noise you made almost embarrassed you. You started to roll your hips but he caught you after the first movement. 

“No.” His voice was stern but gentle. “You will not move.” He leaned back and his cock twitched inside you. Your muscles were clenching around him nearly involuntarily, seeking that which you would not get. You inhaled shakily and steadied yourself with your thighs on his. As you pulled the needle from the fabric, your shoulders relaxed. You could not relax entirely, but you could focus. Behind you, Daemon shifted, reclining a bit. One hand left your hip to begin stroking your back. His fingers brushed against the naked skin at the nape of your neck and down over the lacing of your bodice. He sighed.

“Such lovely entertainment for kepa.” You thought you sensed a grin accompany this compliment. You couldn’t stifle a small whine through your gritted teeth. 

Obediently, you began your embroidery work on the stag, your cunt filled full by Daemon, the rain, thankfully, coming down in harder sheets on the windows. 

Main masterlist

Daemon masterlist

[the-auguer]

The Forbidden Book of… Uh, Forbiddeness

Normal forbidden book mishaps lead to Mammon getting hallucination whammied into his ultimate dream world.

cw: suggestive

Dull, throbbing pain laced up Mammon’s leg, his body jerking back in an attempt to counterbalance its precarious tip forward. 

“What the hell, Satan!” Mammon barks, kicking vengefully at the book stack that had violated him so carelessly. It toppled so very satisfyingly. Stupid Satan and his stupid room with his stupid book stacks that are just lying around, waiting to be tripped over. 

“Do not,” Satan intones in that dangerous way he’s perfected over the centuries, “kick my books.”

Mammon scowls back at him. Wrathful or not, Mammon is the second born, Mammon is the big brother, and Mammon is the one helping Satan out of the kindness of his heart. 

You stumble over your own deadly pile of books, kicking a few over as you reorient yourself. You crouch to stack them, glancing over your shoulder sheepishly. “My bad, Satan.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly out of the kindness of Mammon’s heart that he’s here. But he couldn’t just leave you alone in the damn snake’s den!

Satan grunts, waving his hand at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey! Why do they get a pass and I don’t?” Mammon yells across Satan’s room. “Here I am, helpin’ you like you asked—”

“You’re only helping because they are,” Satan cuts Mammon off, dry and slightly amused. Like the bastard knows something Mammon doesn’t. Ugh.

Mammon’s mouth gapes open in offense. “What! You don’t know a damn thing, you… you…!”

“‘You’ what?” Satan asks, creeping closer to Mammon.

Mammon rears up, ready, but you call out from the distant side of the room.

“Do you think it’ll be in this section?”

Satan’s leer melts right off, turning contemplative. “That depends. Are you in the history or the practical leather work section?”

“Uhhh, neither?” You duck further into the dusty shelves from your crouch. “This looks like… demonic industrial psychology?”

Satan snaps his fingers and begins to walk over. “Yes, actually, it should be a shelf over from there.”

“Okay.” You lift yourself up off the floor, brushing the dust out of your hair. “Ick. Will it be to the right or left?”

Satan’s confident stride to the shelf falters. 

Mammon cackles. “Lookit you! You don’t even know where it is.”

Satan’s brows draw back down his face immediately.

“It would be a lot easier to find anything if someone hadn’t wrecked my room like a moron!” 

“I dunno why you’re yellin’ at me!” Mammon shouts back. “I didn’t do anythin’!”

“You ate Beel’s sandwich.” Satan says. “Again.”

“I dunno why you’re bringing that back up,” Mammon sulks. “It’s not my fault he went on a rampage over a stupid sandwich. Besides, that happened months ago.”

“It’s been two weeks and my room is still a mess.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“Why you—“

Satan steps towards Mammon.

“Satan,” you call. “Still needing those directions.”

You’ve leaned yourself against a wall, like you don’t really care about all the shouting Mammon and Satan are doing. Hell, maybe you really don’t. Mammon knows that he himself does a lot of the shouting. Maybe you’re used to it. 

Maybe you like it. 

“Ah,” Satan says. “Yes.”

He stares at the wall, considering. 

“Maybe to the right?” He does not sound sure. 

You laugh. Just a little. Mammon finds himself leaning towards you, even though you’re ten feet away. 

“I’ll take left and you take right?” You suggest to Satan.

Mammon nods. “I’ll go left with ya!”

Satan sighs. “Sure.”

Mammon bounds over to stand next to you. You quirk a smile at him. A nice, small one. Like there’s still a bit of a laugh caught in your mouth. Mammon wants… he wants…

“I’ll look low if you’ll look high.”

Mammon startles, but recovers just as quickly. “Leave it to the Great Mammon!”

He cranes his neck, squinting at the ceiling height shelves that make up Satan’s walls, only just able to read the titles embossed on the spines of the books. 

“Hey,” Mammon says, “what’re we looking for again?”

That half of a laugh falls from your mouth again. “Only you, Mammon, I swear.” 

“There is only one Mammon,” Mammon says seriously. It makes you huff again. 

“We’re looking for Satan’s cursed cookbook.”

“Oh yeah! Hey, Satan, what’re you making for dinner?”

“Nothing if I can’t find my cookbook,” Satan says tersely.

“Eh? Just use your D.D.D. for recipes like everyone else.”

“No.” Satan replies, rifling through a mid-level shelf. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right. My Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook has every recipe a demon could need, and it already has my adjustments written in it. It’s irreplaceable. I will never cook without it.”

“Yeesh, alright.”

Mammon squints at the shelves again. Something something Demonic Animal Acupuncture , some fancy cursive that Mammon doesn’t care to make horns or tails of, Forbidden Fruits of the Demonic Realm , something something Skewering Techniques , something Demon Cuisine something, some book without a title, Practical Woodwork in Relation to Leather Work , and Demonic Tree Species and their Habitats . 

Damn, Satan really had a line up of bores in his room. Nothing interesting, like mechanic books or something. How to Win Big Fast , that’s Mammon’s kind of book.

Nothing like… hmm. 

“What’d you say the book title was?”

Satan snorts dismissively. His search has been completely halted, as he has immersed himself into hunching over a different book.

You glance up, raking your hair out of your face with your hand as you do so. You need a haircut, something Asmo has been bemoaning all week. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“ Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook , I think.”

Mammon whips his head up. “I think I found it.”

You draw yourself up from the floor. “Really? Where?”

Mammon points. “Fourth shelf down, kinda on the right.”

You hum, eyes nearly in slits from how hard you’re having to squint to see that far. Your nose is scrunched. Your brows too. You’re really… you look so… Mammon wants to poke your nose. 

“Oh, I think that is it!”

Mammon’s chest puffs. 

“What’d I tell ya? Leave it to the Great Mammon, the best of the best.”

You pat his chest. “You did great Mammon.”

Cheeks suddenly hot, Mammon looks back up the shelf. “O-of cou-course. Let me… I’ll get it down!”

“How?” You ask. “It’s pretty high up there.”

“Oh, sad little human. I can get that book down with my eyes closed.” Mammon replies, shaking out his hands and then his legs. “Never underestimate Mammon!”

“Right… and you’re going to…”

Mammon jumps, his eyes truly closed. 

“Mammon!”

Laughing, Mammon stretches out his hand. At the peak of his jump, he brushes against the spine of a book. He snatches it, certain he’s correctly judged how high he’d needed to jump. 

As gravity begins to pull at his body, Mammon grins. You’ll be so impressed with him, once he lands. He’ll be perfectly balanced, practically bouncing on his toes, with the book in his hands in one fell swoop. You’ll tell him how great he is. How powerful and cool. And you’ll… You’ll. 

You’ll what?

Mammon hits the ground, his knees stock straight and unprepared. He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, before finally regaining his balance. That was close. 

He holds the book over his head. “A-HA! Victory is Mammon’s!”

Satan has finally pulled his nose out of his book and made his way to stand next to you. Mammon lowers the book to show it to him. 

Satan sighs. “Mammon, that’s not my cookbook.”

“Whaddaya mean it’s not your cookbook? We saw it for sure—” Mammon glances down. “Damn it!”

It was the stupid no title book that was right next to the cookbook. Mammon had been so close. His jump was perfect, even if his landing wasn’t. If he had only been a little to the left he would have gotten the right book!

“Don’t worry Mammon,” you say. “You still found it. All we have to do is get it down.”

Mammon grumbles. “Stupid no-title book.”

“Did you say no title?” Satan’s voice is sharp. 

“Yeah,” Mammon replies. What’s all the fuss about leather bound, unmarked books anyway? Mammon has a few paperbacks in his room, and they don’t look nearly as namby-pamby as this stupid thing. Mammon cracks the book open. 

“Mammon,” Satan warns. “Do not open that.”

Oh-ho? Is it Satan’s diary? Mammon bets it is. Well, it’s not like Satan should have anything too embarrassing in here. It’s probably all just ranting about how much he hates Lucifer. It wouldn’t hurt if Mammon had a little peek. 

Maybe he can tell you about it later. If it’s funny, of course. You might not laugh, though. Oh well. 

Mammon pulls it the rest of the way open. 

“Mammon!”

The only thing Mammon really remembered with any clarity was how strange it felt to have his knees buckle underneath him. 

“Mammon!” His face isn’t pale, or even really stricken with pain, but your hands hesitate over him all the same. What if you make whatever this is worse? What if you hurt him?

Satan sighs. “Idiot. I told him not to open that book.”

You turn to Satan. He seems twice as tall from where you kneel next to Mammon, but you’re not phased. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He opened the Forbidden Book of…” Satan delicately flips the fallen book closed with his shoe. It has no title, just a symbol you can’t decipher. “The Forbidden Book of Dreams.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Aren’t your forbidden book titles usually a little more on the nose than that?”

Satan shivered, likely reminded of the body-switching debacle. “Yes, you are right. However, I have acquired some forbidden books that follow different rules. I never really got around to experimenting with this one. Maybe it activated because—”

“Stop,” you say. “We can talk about that later. Right now…” 

Mammon looks strange, lying limp on the floor. Even in sleep, he should be restless. Muttering and rolling and kicking. Instead his only movement is the rise and fall of his chest. 

You feel wretched just looking at him. 

“We need to get him somewhere more comfortable.”

Mammon blinks out of his haze, rather confused. It’s not often he can’t remember when he walked into a casino. 

This casino seems different, too. At least, Mammon hasn’t been in it before. The walls are covered in a golden sheen, with high arcing ceilings where gleaming demonic crystal chandlers hang. The carpet is a warm, lush red, with dozens of gambling tables full of patrons scatter across the room. The dealer at his table is one of those four armed demons that Mammon loves and hates. Loves because of how quick the next hand is shuffled passed out. Hates because the extra hands make it much harder to identify the cards Mammon’s opponents receive. Glancing down at his hand of cards, Mammon conceals a devilish grin. Poker. Mammon is awesome at poker. And his cards… his cards are good. Really good. 

And he has a lot of chips. Mammon’s neck cranes with how much his head has to tip in order to see the end of his chips. 

Mammon hasn’t had good prospects like this is a while. Ever since that whole thing with the witches and Lucifer cutting him off, Mammon hasn’t had enough money to bet to win big like this. He can feel his mouth watering.

“Hey, Mammon? Where are you looking?”

The chips, as numerous and shiny as they are, quickly loose all meaning to Mammon.

It’s you. Sitting in the chair next to him. You’re glittering, draped in all sorts of gold accessories and jewels. If Mammon dips his eyes, he can see a discarded pile of tributes at your feet. Defective. Not nearly pretty enough to grace your body. 

You’re wearing yellow. It’s not a color Mammon usually sees you in. It’s lovely. You look… you look so…

A hand feathers through Mammon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It makes Mammon shiver all the way down to his toes. 

“Much better.” Your smile brings heat to Mammon’s chest. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

“Li-like what, st-stupid human?” Mammon splutters. 

The hand in his hair tugs. Not enough to hurt but just enough to reprimand.

“I don’t like being called that.” You’re… you’re frowning at him. A little bit. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“S-sor-sorry.” Mammon replies lamely, his tongue sluggish in his mouth. 

“Hmm,” you release his head and Mammon does his best to not chase after your hand. “Good enough, I guess. Your turn, then.”

Mammon turns to the table. His opponents’ piles of chips look pitiful next to his own. They watch him apprehensively. 

You’re watching him too, a half smile lazily curling about your face. “Go on. Win me a bracelet this time.” You show your wrists, both already heavy with bangles of all sorts, of diamond and gold and ruby. Your left wrist looks a bit more full than your right. Mammon finds his mouth is no longer dry anymore. He has a little too much saliva, now. “I don’t want an uneven amount. I’m sure the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, can fix that for me.”

“Yea-yeah! You bet!”

Mammon turns his head back to the table. The demon in green is looking pretty poor on chips and he has a very, very nice gold watch on his arm. Unbidden, a smirk crawls up Mammon’s cheeks. 

You huff out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m all in!”

There seems to be an unbearable pain in Lucifer’s head, what with how hard he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel a bit embarrassed, because, yes, Lucifer only left the house for a few hours and there’s another crisis. Satan, Belphegor, and you stand in a semi-circle around Mammon’s bed. 

“Belphie, what does he look like?” Lucifer rasps, only just holding onto his sanity. 

Belphegor leans over Mammon, a discerning look in his eyes. He sighs. 

“He’s in there. Just dreaming.”

All of the air that was stuck in your lungs releases. Breathing is so much easier now. 

“Can you get him out,” you ask. Your hands flex, aching to clamp around Mammon’s hand. His hands are always warm, though. You’re a little afraid that they’ll be cold. 

Belphegor see-saws his hand. “Yes and no. I can go in and try, but the Forbidden Book will have its own conditions for Mammon to wake up.”

You turn to Satan, who is very carefully leafing through the book with oven mitts on. 

Satan grunts, turning a page. “Still looking. I found the activation requirements, though. It says in this passage that for the curse to work, a demon must be a ‘warrior at heart’ and ‘dreaming of something dear to their heart’ so that the dream world can be constructed accordingly.”

In your mind’s eye, you see Mammon’s wide grin as he opens the book.

”A warrior?” Belphie scoffs. “Mammon hasn’t done anything special in centuries.”

Lucifer makes a skeptical noise. “Inaction does not invalidate the claim to the title. Mammon… has always been one of a kind.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose. What do you mean ‘constructed’?” Belphegor asks, one hand placed carefully on Mammon’s forehead. 

“Just that,” Satan replies. “It takes the dreams of the demon and makes a world that they’ll never want to leave. Quite fascinating, really. This was crafted to be a trial for warriors, to test if they would truly be able to turn from their inherent sin and serve their greater demon lord. When I saw it up for auction on Akuzon, I had to have it. Shame about the situation, though.”

Satan did not sound too disappointed. 

“You mean he can wake up on his own?” Lucifer says. 

Satan shrugs. “I still haven’t found the actual chapter for it, but in theory, yes. He just has to have the willpower to turn away from his own sin.”

An uneasy feeling roils in your stomach. Turning away from your sin might be hard for regular, low-level demons, but an Avatar of Sin like Mammon…

The others seem to feel similarly. 

Lucifer turns to Belphegor. “How likely is it that you can get him out, Belphie?” 

“Pretty likely.” Belphegor replies, hand smoothing over Mammon’s cheek to his pulse. “Sleep is in my domain, so dreams also fall in by association, and I’m not sensing any kind of power that would overrule my own. The thing is, I don’t know if the curse will retaliate if I interfere. Could be that Mammon can never go a night without a nightmare or something equally awful. That sort of thing would take a lot of time to reverse.”

“Wouldn’t there be a failsafe if it was a warriors’ trial?” You ask. 

Satan shakes his head. “This particular demon tribe did not believe in failsafes. If you didn’t have the discipline to resurface on your own, you didn’t resurface at all.”

“Will he die? If he doesn’t resurface?”

“No,” Lucifer assures, his voice firm in a way that gives you a little bit of relief. “Mammon is an Avatar, so he won’t die. Besides, Belphie will get him out, if he can’t on his own. We’ll deal with whatever comes after.”

“How long will we wait, then?”

Lucifer looks to Belphegor. 

Belphegor yawns, likely exhausted by the serious atmosphere. “Two days or so, maybe?”

“The longest recorded coma was seven months, sixteen days, and eleven hours.” Satan pipes up.

“A week, then.” Belphie amends.

Lucifer nods. “In the meantime, I expect everyone to attend their classes as they usually would. I will talk to Diavolo.”

You nod, your eyes fixed on Mammon. 

Hopefully it won’t take more than a week. 

“ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE BOW DOWN TO THE GREAT MAMMON!”

All demons of all sins could only oblige, as Mammon had taken every valuable on the table. And a few off of it, too.

You laugh. It’s not that soft breath but an honest guffaw that has you shaking in your seat. You’re dripping in luxury, your ornaments doubled in number and rarity, a bigger heap of offerings at your slippered feet. It’s still not enough. Mammon wants… Mammon wants to see you in a crown. Maybe a crown of ruby, to compliment the yellow you’re wearing. Maybe one of emeralds. A mighty, tall crown worth more than the entire casino they sit in. 

Fingers whisper under Mammon’s chin as you tip his head towards you. So many necklaces of different kinds dangle from your neck, but not a choker. Mammon wonders why. He likes the look of them, how they emphasize the muscles or the graceful column or the lovely plump of a demon’s neck. 

You smile like you know what he’s thinking. “I saved something for you.” 

It’s leather or something like it, which isn’t strange for the demon world. It has a huge sapphire embedded in gold hanging from the middle. You turn his chair to face yours, your knees touching his, and fasten it around his throat. It’s tight, tight enough that he feels it constrict slightly as he swallows. 

“There we are. It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Of co-course it do-does. Everythin’ looks better on me.”

“Careful.” You say. You take hold of his chin again. Mammon’s world narrows down to your fingers and your eyes. “I might get upset if you keep being mean to me.”

The world is dizzy. Was he… was he really being mean? He always talks to you a bit like that, but he never thought that you would… that he would upset you. 

Your brows ease from their furrow. “Don’t worry, Mammon. You didn’t upset me. I was playing.”

Your fingers begin to withdraw. Mammon clutches your wrist. 

“Don’t stop.” Mammon nearly whines. “I didn’t say ya should stop.”

You smile at him. Mammon feels the choker against his throat as he swallows. 

“I won’t, Mammon, don’t worry.” You lean in, the hand Mammon’s holding moving to cup his jaw and the other going to the poker table behind him. Every demon’s eyes are on you. On your wealth, on your magnificence, on your daring. On your lips, skimming across Mammon’s cheek to his  earlobe. 

The the back of the chair that Mammon sits in is the only thing keeping him upright. He feels like he’s trembling apart at the seams, lightheaded with how close you are.

“Hey,” you whisper to him, your lips brushing his ear. Mammon is about to morph into his demon form, if only to loose some of the excess heat that is blazing across every inch of his skin. 

“Yeah?” Mammon rasps back. 

You stand between his splayed open legs, so close you’re practically in his lap. You lean away from his ear, both a relief and a loss. He feels set aflame by your very breath. 

“Let’s go play something else.”

Mammon glances over. Other demons are beginning to crowd the table, raring to play a game of poker, but wary of the Avatar of Greed and his winning streak. 

“What should we play?” Mammon asks. He knows a bit of what he wants, but you could want something else. And if it makes you keep smiling at him like that…

“Anything,” you murmur. “As long as you take everything they’ve got. I want to walk out tripping over money.”

Shit. Shit.  

Mammon feels heat suffuse his body with vengeance. His head lolls back to rest at the top of his chair. 

You huff— Mammon can feel your breath ghost along his cheek— and run a finger down Mammon’s throat, gliding across the choker and ending at his collar bone. 

Mammon’s back quivers, curling up off of the plush cushion of his seat. His breath is leaving him fast, and he can barely inhale enough to keep up with the demand for oxygen. 

You straighten, the heat of your body retreating with you, leaving Mammon all but limp in his chair. 

The ceiling is nice. Has Mammon mentioned how nice the ceiling is? Very high, very pretty. Gold and red, just like everything else in the casino. 

“Where are we going, Mammon?”

Mammon exhales. You want everything off of every demon. All of it. Mammon wants to give it to you. Wants to so very bad. 

He stands. “Let’s go play some craps.” 

Asmodeus drapes his torso dramatically over the table. 

“It’s not fair. Why does Mammon get to sleep through school with his deepest desires?”

“Careful,” you mutter ruefully, picking at your breakfast. You can’t really help how bitter your voice is. Someone has brought up this same topic at every meal. “You sound like Levi right now.”

“It’s true,” Levi bemoans, crossing his arms, “why does he get to live out his ultimate dream and I don’t? Mammon is probably wasting this opportunity on counting Grimm when I could be saving the world with my precious Ruri-chan! Shaking hands with Henry! Playing a real life RPG! How could Lucifer lock away my golden ticket to paradise? I would give anything, even my limited edition Double Bubble Ruri-chan: Disco Era Funtime doll!”

You put down your fork, frustration killing your appetite. You haven’t talked to Mammon in two days. By the time school is over, it’ll be three days. He’ll be in the same realm, in the same house even, and you still won’t be able to talk to him. It makes you nauseous. 

You don’t blame the others. To them, this is a temporary situation that Mammon will awaken from anyway, so why not be jealous of it? But to you… 

You miss Mammon. That’s all there is to it. 

Beel stares at your plate. You push it towards him. He drools over it, but turns away. 

“You should eat more,” Beel grits out with difficulty. “Eating is good for you.”

You reach down for the backpack at your feet. “Don’t worry, Beel. I’m not hungry, so I’m going to start heading to RAD.”

Beel does not wait for a second confirmation. He digs into your plate dutifully. He’s been eating a bit more than usual, you think. He’s probably anxious. You make sure to pat him on the shoulder on your way out. 

As you walk out the door, you hear Asmodeus’s voice, loud in his laughter. 

“Counting Grimm, Levi? Oh please. Mammon is probably in some casino with them blowing on his dice for luck. Maybe blowing something else, too, the lucky bastard.”

Hot breath fans gently over Mammon’s knuckles, and Mammon feels his cheeks heat at your dipped head. You rise, and Mammon rolls his dice. Eleven. Just what he needed.

Your arm winds around his shoulders as he cackles and collects his winnings of this round. Mammon is on a winning streak a mile wide, with his opponents in tears. 

“You’re lucky,” Mammon announces to you, to the casino, to the world. “I’ll take ya to any casino, anywhere.”

“Really?” You ask, your arm a band around Mammon’s chest. 

“Hell yeah, baby! Did ya see me? I won every game!”

You still, and Mammon stills with you. 

His face flushes. He considers backpedaling. Calling you a stupid human, saying that you should be grateful he wants to take you anywhere. But… you said it could make you upset. 

“Mammon. Mammon, look at me.”

Reluctantly he turns to look at you. 

Your cheeks are pink and your smile is kind. You lean your forehead against his. 

“I like that,” you tell him tenderly. “Say it again?”

Mammon murmurs something or another that he himself did not hear. 

“Please Mammon?” Your hands smooth over his shoulders. “Mammon?”

“Baby,” Mammon whispers, unsure. 

He has only a second to doubt himself before your lips drag across his collarbone. Mammon’s hands rise to brush against your waist, uncertain. Then your lips move just a little and bite down and all Mammon can do is hold onto you like a lifeline. He would shout, but something about the way that your teeth felt… it was… weird. Dry and not at all tingly. Maybe Mammon didn’t like biting? But…

“Hey, Mammon?” Your voice is breathy, like you ran a mile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Wanna get out of here?”

More than anything. “Sure, baby.”

Mammon gets a Little D to cash out all his chips and another to carry the excess wealth to the car. He wasn’t sure if he actually had a car here, but he could improvise. Maybe trade a few hundred thousand Grimm for a real nice car. 

But he takes you to the parking lot and there it is. His red convertible, top already down. The one he he’s been wanting to take you on joy rides in. You climb in like it’s no big deal. 

Swallowing, Mammon climbs in the drivers’ side. 

“Where to?” Mammon asks, unsure himself. If they go back to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer is sure to ream him out about gambling again. Mammon is in too good of a mood for it to be spoiled by Lucifer’s endless nagging. 

You tip your head back to rest on the shoulder of the headrest. 

“Anywhere. As long as you’re driving.”

Mammon laughs nervously, and puts the car in reverse. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. 

Mammon drives to the edge of the sea. On the beach. 

You sigh as the beach breeze moves through the car. Then you sit up to look at him. 

“Is there anyone around?”

“I, uh,” Mammon swivels his head, searching. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of any other demons on this beach. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Mammon’s about to ask what’s good about being alone of a huge beach like two teens in a horror movie when you amble over the center console and sit yourself on his lap. All that can leave Mammon’s mouth is a strangled wheeze. 

You sparkle even more in the sunlight. You’re literally blinding. 

You tuck your head into Mammon’s neck and he awkwardly touches your waist with his fingertips. There’s a click, and Mammon is falling backwards as his seat reclines, yelping. Your breath puffs against the skin of his throat. Then your lips replace your breath. 

Mammon’s body jolts, jostling you from where you lay on top of him. You only laugh and feather another kiss under Mammon’s jaw, then against his cheek. 

“Mammon,” you breathe, your eyes bearing into his. Slowly, you inch forward, and all Mammon can do is meet your lips with his. 

You let your pencil clatter uselessly against the fine wood of your desk. There would be no more productivity tonight, and you pack up the remainder of your homework. Hopefully you’ll be able to wake up early tomorrow and work on it after breakfast. Maybe curling up with a book will distract you more that homework.

Day four of Mammon’s coma has trickled away, leaving you on the cusp of the fifth day and all the more bitter for it. Satan said that there was no way to reverse the coma using the Forbidden book, and had left it completely at that. Now you either had to wait three more days or hope that Mammon gave up on the pool of Grimm he was probably swimming in at the very moment. 

As much as you believe in Mammon, you know that’s not very likely. 

You toss your book aside, bored of it within seconds. Much like everything else lately. Walking with Beelzebub or Asmodeus to school is nice, but it would be much nicer if Mammon were there. Eating lunch with Simeon, Luke, and Solomon was relaxing, but it would be so much more exciting if Mammon were there. Gaming with Leviathan and reading with Satan was fun, but you miss Mammon’s ridiculous schemes and raucous laughter. 

It’s strange. You always enjoyed all of those things normally when Mammon wasn’t in a coma, but you can’t now that he is. 

He’s down the hall from you right now and you miss him more than you did when you returned to the human world for all those months. 

Tired, but unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon, you tuck yourself under your bed covers and close your eyes. 

There’s nothing. 

Mammon’s eyes are wide open. Shocked. Terrified. 

There’s no warmth at all from your lips. 

There is no fluttery feeling. No giddiness. There’s not even the heat that Mammon was boiling with back at the casino. All of the warmth from then and now seems to have leached right out of him. 

You pull back, smile bright.

“Mammon. Mammon.” 

Your hips move just a little, and you move back in to kiss him. Mammon flails, rolls you off of him, and fumbles to open the driver’s side door. When it finally opens, Mammon stumbles out, lands flat on his face in the sand, and scrambles to his feet. 

You sit up in the car. You’re still deck out in shimmering jewels, and you look just the slightest bit rumpled. And hurt. You look so hurt. 

It’s nearly enough to make Mammon trip over himself to climb back in the car, but he can't forget the feeling of your lips on his, or lack thereof. 

Maybe he just built it up too much in his own mind? Maybe he did both you and him a disservice by raising you on a pedestal, and the real deal can’t hold a candle to it?

But no. Mammon remembers. 

Mammon remembers a late movie night, you asleep with your head on his shoulder. Your head lolled and your nose ended up in the crook of Mammon’s neck. Your breath took up Mammon’s every thought, and your proximity made his heart speed. Most of all, he remembers the touch of your sleeping lips to his skin, and how electrified he felt. Like he could punch straight through Cerberus and a hungry Beelzebub all in one go. 

Everything else felt so real, so why did your kiss make Mammon feel so…

Why did it feel so fake?

“Mammon, what’s going on?” You venture, stepping out of the still ajar car door. “Are you okay?” 

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’s going on’?” Mammon yells, hurt and terrified and unsure. “What the hell was that?”

“That was—,” you stutter, “I thought that you—”

“No! No, no, no, no.” Mammon grabs fistfuls of his hair. “Don’t look at me like that! Don’t do it.”

You’re teary eyed. Which is ridiculous, because Mammon should be the one crying. Why did it feel that way? Why does he not feel horror at the thought of you crying?

“Something’s wrong.” Mammon says to himself, to the empty beach, to you. 

“What’s wrong? Mammon, tell me what it is and we can fix it!”

Mammon whips his head around. It all started with this damn abandoned beach, that feeling of wrongness. No lovely beach this side of Devildom is ever without demons. Or was it the casino? He should go back there. Right now! Only…

Where was the casino again?

Mammon’s head spun. Which way was it? He drove here, so he should be able to go back, right? Since when does Mammon, Avatar of Greed, not know where any casino is?

Never. Mammon has never forgotten where a casino is in his life. 

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate. You’re crying, and your hands are trembling. 

“Talk to me! What’s going on?”

Mammon’s only gotten that many wins in a row a few times in his long, long life. And there’s no way Lucifer would ever let him bet enough money to play the type of high-stakes game that would result in that much money. He’s never seen that casino before, and doesn’t know where it is. Even if he concentrates, he can’t remember a single face from that casino. 

Which means that there’s no way that that was a casino. Which means the casino wasn’t real. 

“Mammon, you’re scaring me.”

Mammon looks down at you. You’re in yellow, his favorite color. You were in that fake casino with him, despite him never taking you to any demon casino anywhere in Devildom. You climbed right into the car he’s never shown you anywhere but his dreams. 

Dreams. 

Mammon takes in how hazy the horizon is. He spent several hours in that casino but the sun hasn’t budged from its half-mast in the sky, just before sunset. His favorite time of day. But there’s no day in the Devildom. And this isn’t one of Prince Diavolo’s special beaches.

“You’re not real,” he whispers. 

“What are you talking about, of course I’m real,” you cry, gripping his shoulders harder. 

“No,” Mammon says, “all of this isn’t real.”

He shoves fake-you away, skin burning with home close to him they were. How close he let them be. With one absent-minded hand, he rips off the leather choker and tosses it away carelessly. 

How was he supposed to get out of here? Was there some sort of spell? Was he supposed to fly out?

“It could be real,” fake-you says from the sand. They sit up, face contorted into a beatific smile. “You could stay here, forever. You could win every day. All the wealth you could ever imagine, gifted to you.” Mountains of gold pile up, tumbling over themselves as they stack high, high, high. “Nothing to slow you down. And then at night, you can take me home.” Fake-you rises and steps forward. Mammon retreats further away. “Think of all the fun we could have. You could do anything.”

Fake-you reclines in a pile, sliding a hand down their body, and it takes everything Mammon has not to throw up. 

The Grimm, skulls emblazoned and golden, are tempting. Mammon wants money, wants so much money that he’ll drown in it. But that… that isn’t real money, is it? What the fuck is Mammon supposed to buy with fake money?

“No! I don’t want fake money! I want real money!” Mammon kicks down a pile, feeling his fangs prickle his lower lip. What was the use of money that Mammon could never have in real life? What was the use of time spent with you when you weren’t really here? “I don’t want fake-you! I want the real you!”

“Why?” Fake-you asks, cupping a handful of gold and letting it pour from their hand. It makes musical clanks as it hits the rest of the coins and slides down the pile. “It’s as real as you believe it is, and so am I.” Fake-you grins. “Come on, Mammon. It’s not like you’ll ever get this chance anywhere else.”

Reeling with hurt and outrage, Mammon lets his demon form rise to the surface, feeling his power distort the very air. 

“I. Want. Out.”

The beach and fake-you are ripped to shreds by his claws. 

Belphegor crashed into the dinning room, looking more disheveled than usual. 

“Mammon’s waking up!”

Despite your human nature, you’re the fastest to react. You stumble to Mammon’s room, where he’s thrashing so violently you balk at the door. The blankets twist around him where his claws haven’t shredded them, and he’s growling. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Lucifer demands, pushing past his curious brothers, dragging Belphegor with him. 

Belphegor shrugs. “He’s waking up, but he’s forcing it. The Book’s fighting him.”

“Can you help him?” You ask. 

“I could,” Belphegor says, “but he doesn’t need it. Look.”

You turn back in enough time to see Mammon’s eyes fly right open, snarling in rage. Rising, he claws off the remaining blankets, and moves towards the crowed at the door, horns out and wings flared.

“Mammon,” you say, excited, shouldering past Lucifer. He doesn’t break his stride in his path to you, and when you reach out to hug him, he snatches you close to him. 

“You woke up,” you exclaim, squeezing him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for two days! I took school notes, you can use them if you want.”

Mammon tilts up your head, the claws that tore up fabric in seconds gentle. “Mind if I check that this is real?”

“Yeah?” You reply. “How are you—”

He kisses you. Right there, in front of all six of his brothers. It’s soft, barely a brush of his lips on yours for a chaste second, but your heart nearly bursts in your chest with free fall sensation. Your head swims a little, and the words of the demons behind you fly right over your head. 

“Yeah,” Mammon sighs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, dopey smile growing on his face. “This is real all right.”

You have a million questions. How does your kiss make everything real? What was Mammon dreaming about? Did he miss you, too? 

As you open your mouth to ask any of these questions, Mammon collapses on you in a dead faint, taking you to the ground with him. 

Winded, you stare at the minuscule amount of ceiling that you can see through stark white hair. 

“Oh,” Satan says calmly. “The book did say to expect some disorientation upon awakening.”

[queenmuzz]

Sehnsucht

My Gift to @mintnoodles as part of @dmc-secret-santas event!

Read it HERE on Ao3

Nero wrinkled his nose at the smell.  He really ought to be used to the smell of decaying flesh, but it never got old.  Especially when it was an animal, like the poor horse at his feet.  Humans were often unfortunate victims of scenes he’d investigated, a good chunk of them being idiots who attempted to summon demons, and another chunk were idiots that went ‘Ooooh, I wonder what that slobbering creature with the sharp fangs is, let me check!’ instead of ‘RUN AWAY’.  Animals were always victims, and never at fault.

Especially with this horse, with a good chunk taken out of it, hadn’t deserved its fate.  He sighed, looking around the farm.  It was pretty silent, with the farmer and his family wisely getting the heck out of dodge, along with most of the livestock…

Most.  Apparently this poor beast, its eyes still open in terror, had not made it.  Nero frowned as he saw the track that led from the beast.  It wasn’t really a track, more like a mound, like a furrow when a spring field was plowed, but the tractor operator must have been drunk, because it went this way and that.  That, along with the dead horse, and the strangest scent, (if Nero had to describe it, it smelled like electricity) gave him a pretty good idea what exactly he was facing. A Chronoskolex. A worm that’s diet consisted mostly of Geryon steeds, it had three annoying characteristics:

It loved to burrow

It liked to snack on horses, demonic or mundane.

And because of the aforementioned preference for Geryon horses, they had time warping powers, proportional to their size.

This one, guessing by the width of the mounds, and the size of the chunk taken out of the horse, was kinda tiny, no bigger than a small car.  Still, considering how annoying these guys were, with their time warping powers making them faster than should be possible, and his… previous encounter with them, it would be best to call his uncle or dad to give them a heads up.

“Devil May Cry”  the nasally voice on the other end was more than enough to distinguish the twins. 

“Hey dad,” It still felt odd to call him by that title.  Vergil hadn’t discouraged the practice, but he felt just as uncomfortable with the title as Nero felt saying it. “I’m out on a job, and I think I came across our favourite time warping demonic worm.

He heard the heavy swump of a hardcover book cover he undoubtedly was reading being slammed shut.

“Are you certain?”

“Pretty sure.  The signs point to it.  Dead horse, tunnel activity.”

“I will be there shortly.  I would highly suggest that you leave the area until my arrival.”

Nero huffed “It’s just a worm… and a small one at that.”  He was really irked that he was treated like a little kid, Vergil was overreacting.

“Still, I urge you to use the utmost caution-”

“Oh come on Dad, there’s nothing to worry about, I’m perfe-”

He never got the chance to finish the sentence, as something wet and slimy had wrapped around  his ankle, and dragged him down into the earth.

🌷🌷🌷

Nero blinked.  Then blinked again.  He wasn’t dead.  At least he thought he wasn’t dead.  If he was, the afterlife was extremely banal.  The sun shone down, at an angle that suggested sometime around noon, the birds were chirping, the trees were rustling with new leaves.  Springtime?  That was weird because it was mid fall when he had investigated the farm.

It took a little bit of time to get his bearings.  He was standing on a sidewalk, in front of an ornate wrought iron gate, that looked familiar, and yet…odd.  He wasn’t quite sure, as it looked completely normal, if a bit rich for his tastes.  Something like those manors owned by the old families on the island.

Speaking of manor, that building behind the gate was really getting his attention.  It was stately and grand, with a lush lawn and a large garden full of flowering tulips and daffodils, further cementing it was spring here.  But it was the facade that captured his attention. He swore he’d seen it before, but… where… or more importantly WHEN.

It took about thirty seconds until he realized what this place was:  Redgrave Manor, the birthplace and childhood home of his father and brother.  But… here it stood here at the zenith of its glory, instead of the crumbling decrepit charred skeleton he remembered it to be.   Knowing what little bit he had gleaned from the twins, the fire that destroyed it and ended their childhoods prematurely was… almost forty years ago.  How long in time was he sent back?  Was this the doing of that weird worm?  It seemed kinda small to move him so far back in time.  Was this permanent?

He didn’t really have time to ruminate on such things because from a batch of tulips, there was a movement of gold that caught his eye, as if he was a magpie.  A head popped up, wearing a wide straw hat, humming contentedly as she pulled weeds.  Nero’s mouth went dry… he couldn’t see her face, had never met her, but he knew exactly what she looked like.  He’d studied that portrait on Dante’s desk countless times, comparing it to Trish’s face.  He struggled one whether to stand here standing there like a creepy stalker, watching his grandma, or to try to sound like a creepy weirdo, trying to get her attention.  What could he even say to her?

And as if she could read his mind, she looked up, and noticed him.  “Oh!” She exclaimed as she got up, removing her gardening gloves and brushing the dirt off of her knees. She had a basket of freshly picked tulips hooked on her arm, and she smelled of damp earth and freshly shorn grass.  “I didn’t see you, young man.”  She cocked her head in confusion, and for a moment, Nero felt like he didn’t have any clothes on, she was examining him so thoroughly.  But after that, she just smiled and asked, “are you looking for someone?”

“Uh yeah…” he began lamely, “is your husband Sp-”  he stopped himself.  Did his grandpa go by that name with his family?  Seemed too stately, too formal.  But maybe that was because in Fortuna, ‘Sparda’ was up there with ‘Jesus’ when it came to reverence.  Not a name to casually banter about.

“Oh, you’re talking about Spencer?  Sadly, he’s out of town-” she paused, and a shadow passed over her face. “For the foreseeable future.  I’m Eva, his wife.”

Nero could only stand there stunned.  His Grandpa, the Former Ruler and Savior of Fortuna, the Demon who threw down Mundus two millennia ago, who his father revered, went by the name… SPENCER!?  That was a nerd name!  No wonder the twins never referred to him with such a lame name.

“Oh…that’s too bad,”  he said, not feeling too bad at all.  It had been ages since he swallowed the baloney that the ‘Saviour’ was some sort of divine figure, but it would still feel awkward to meet the guy that Kyrie’s family practically worshipped.  And would Sparda somehow know who he was?  Would he be disappointed in his grandson?

“What’s your name, young man?”  

“Pardon?” “You never gave your name, and Spencer mentioned having any other…” she hesitated as she looked up at his hair.  “Relations.”

Aw crap…this is not a situation he had never planned for.  To be fair, he hadn’t expected to be warped into the past to meet his long dead grandma, but there was no way that she didn’t have suspicions about how he and Sparda were related.

“Oh,” he laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair, as if to acknowledge her concerns, “I’m from Fortuna, it’s an island off the coast a few days' travel from Redgrave.  I guess… you could call me a distant descendant of him.”  ‘Distant’ was stretching the truth to its fullest extent, but it would do, “My mom never met him either, if you’re worried about-”

“Oh, no… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to imply-” Now it was her turn to act flustered,  “I knew Spenc-, she paused, and then corrected herself, “Sparda used to reside there, long before we met, and I would never blame him for things he did there, and especially not blame a young man like you!”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and it felt… good.  Like with that simple gesture, he was now accepted by his grandmother, even if she didn’t know…it took all his willpower not to break down and cry.

“You still haven’t given your name..”

“Oh… yeah… I’m”  He panicked.. Should he give her his real name?  Would it fuck up the timeline?  But what pseudonym could he give that sounded believable.  It had to be a Fotunan name, it had to be one that he had heard constantly… it had to be a respectable name. “Credo…My name Credo Elesion”

Her eyes brightened, and she squeezed his shoulder tightly, as she tucked a vibrant royal purple tulip into his jacket breast pocket.  “Well, Credo Elesion, I’d like to formally welcome you to the Sparda family.”

🌷🌷🌷

He always knew the home where Dante and Vergil once spent their childhoods was massive, just looking at the skeleton that was left, but here?  In its prime?  It was beautiful, much grander than he’d ever seen before.  Dark wood panelling covered with paintings and tapestries, busts of statues from different eras.

“Sparda wa-is a collector of all things beautiful,” she explained, as she led him through the central hall. “One of the few things we argued about was how to let go of some of his older items, to make room for newer ones. For example,” she stopped before the only clear spot on the wall, visible the moment Nero stepped in.  “I had to cajole him to donate several pieces of art he cherished to the local museum, in order to make room for… this.”  She motioned to something leaning against the wall. She stepped away, and Nero gasped.  It was a life sized portrait, and he remembered it very well.  The heavily damaged one still hung in the manor, with Dante and Vergil hesitant to send it for restoration (and not because of the cost, he sensed)  This one was brand new, still giving off a faint odor of varnish.  A heavy canvas sheet covered half of it, most frustratingly, the part where he KNEW Sparda was seated.  But he could see Eva, looking regal as a Queen, and below her, her hands clasped on the shoulders of two young boys… “Those are…” he whispered.  The heavily damaged painting he remembered had obscured their features, almost as much as their fathers.  Now he could see their pensive features feeling quite out of character for the two older men he knew now.

“Yes, those are my sons,” she murmured, and he had a sensation that she wasn’t looking at them, but at him, for some reason.  “You have no idea how much effort it took for the two of them to stand still for their portrait to be even sketched, let alone painted.”

“I can only guess,” he grinned.  The only time the twins seem to be able to stand each other’s presence for any length of time is when they both are drunk… or sleeping.  

“Speaking of which… they’re awfully quiet…  DANTE!  VERGIL!  YOUR COUSIN IS HERE TO VISIT!!”  

Cousin, eh?  I can work with that. He thought.

There was a stampede of feet down the stairs, and a young voice yelled out.

“COUSIN LEON IS HERE! WOOOH!”

He shot a sharp glance at Eva.  There was another family member?  

“Ah, he’s talking about my sister’s son, Leon…. We’ve been a bit… estranged from that part of my family for the past few years.  The boys miss him terribly.  So few children of their age live in this area.”  She explained, and he nodded, and made a mental note to ask his dad about this cousin when he got back.

If he got back.  

He shoved the uncomfortable feeling down as soon as a bundle of demonic energy came down the steps, the two entities racing each other to get to the bottom.

It was Dante who got there first. His unmistakable aura of excitability, not tempered by age and tragedy yet to come was what marked him out to Nero.  His grin, showing a gap where he had recently lost a tooth, was hard to miss.

“I won!”  He crowed to the other figure, dressed more neatly, and more soberly.  Even at that age, Vergil had preferred to distinguish himself from his brother in any way he could.  Especially as he had to act like he was TOTALLY not upset that his little brother had won this particular race.

Dante skidded to a stop and stared at Nero, his jaw dangling open. “Dante, it’s not polite to stare.” “But this isn’t Leon!” The disappointment in his voice was palpable.

“No, this is your other cousin, Credo.  He’s dropped by to visit.  This is my son, Dante,” she formally introduced him, even though he already knew so much about him.  “And his brother,”

“Older brother,” the boy clarified.

“Older brother, Vergil.”  

“Glad to meet you!” Nero greeted them, trying to keep his composure.  They were so small.  It was hard to comprehend that the two men he called father and uncle were once children, instead of full grown adults that acted like children.

“Now, I need to get lunch ready for us and our guest, so if you two would like to show Mr. Credo around while I make some extra food for our guest.”  The boys began to protest.

“But mooooom, he’s so….” Dante looked at him with a grimace, “Olllllld.  He looks as old as dad!”

Nero had to bite back outrage, or a laugh, he wasn’t quite sure which.  

“Dante!!!  What have I told you about ‘if you can’t say anything nice…”

“Yeah yeah, don’t say anything at all...” he groaned, and he looked at his mother.  “Can I help you instead?  Vergil likes hanging around old people better…”

“Dante…”  Her voice was dangerously low, and Nero automatically knew that tone, having heard countless times, from orphanage matrons, mostly towards him.  Dante was thin ice.

“I’ll do it,” Vergil interrupted, and Nero was half surprised that he said it without a hint of sarcasm, or obligation.

“Splendid!  While you show Credo around, we’ll work on a picnic lunch!”  She shepherded Dante towards what was probably the kitchen.  

“With Strawberries?” Dante asked hopefully.

“Sorry, it’s not quite that season yet.”

“Awww”

“But we do have strawberry sorbet!”

“YAAAAY!”

And with that, they left both Nero and his…dad standing there.

“Um…well,” Vergil said, suddenly a bit shy, “Do you want to see my room?”

“Sure!”  That was a good enough start.

Nero couldn’t help but marvel at everything as they went up the stairs.  So much beauty and art was contained here, in this house Even the handrails, made of hand carved well varnished wood, were amazing.

“How old are you, Vergil?”

“I’ll be eight in a month and three days.”  

That number sent a chill down his spine and settled in his gut.  Eight years old… the kid had  less than a year of peace and happiness before all this art, this beauty, his entire childhood, would go up in flames.  And Nero had no idea if he could change it, prevent it, or even warn him about it.  Would it make things worse?  Would the kid even believe him?

No, it would be best for him to stay vigilant and silent.

“Here we are…”

Nero stepped into what was the biggest bedroom he had ever seen.  Bookshelf after bookshelf filled the walls.  Most of the upper shelves were full of  tomes that he assumed even Adult Vergil would have found extremely dull, with names like ‘On the Nature of Rosacea’ or ‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’, but the lower books seemed plausible for a kid to read, even if they seemed a bit… ahead of the curve for a seven year old.  Swiss Family Robinson?  Nero had read that book when he was nine, secretly hoping that if he managed to escape Fortuna, he could settle on an isolated island and live life free.  And even then, his teachers were surprised that he was reading it at that age.

“Wow… this is your room?”  He looked over at the bed, and was surprised that it didn’t quite fit the room.  The wood frame didn’t match, far too light in colour, and the design didn’t fit the hardwood paneling.  And there was only one.  Which was odd, because his dad always seemed to share a tiny  bedroom with Dante, even with a spare room in the building.  And seeing how they could barely tolerate each other when awake, he had just assumed they must have slept in the same bedroom as kids.

“This is just your room?”  He looked, and yeah… there wasn’t anything about this room that indicated Dante even stepped foot in it.  Everything had its place, even the set of wooden swords that were placed carefully in a display above a polished hardwood desk.  Not a single hint of the chaos that was innately Dante.

“Yes, when father… when he went off on business, he left me his old library.” Vergil huffed and plopped himself on his neatly made bed.

“You don’t share a bedroom with your brother?”  

The look on the kid’s face looked like Nero had just suggested that he should use Yamato to cut a pizza. 

“Ew.  No.  Dante is just too… messy.  He never makes his bed. He talks in his sleep.  He snores.  When mother tells him to clean his side of his room, he sweeps all his stuff under my bed, and then I get in trouble for it.”  Vergil explained, each complaint given the full seriousness of a courtroom civil suit. “And worst of all, he’s always bugging me.  Always asking questions.  Always wanting to spend time with me.”  

Nero couldn’t help but chuckle.  That did sound like his dad, but nowadays he seemed to mellow out, maybe nearly a lifetime of being apart had made him more tolerant of Dante’s presence.

“Oh, he can’t be that bad!”

“Oh yes he can!  That’s why I moved into the library.  I can have my own space, and it has my father's old books.”

“You like books, I take it?”  Nero said as he sat down beside the kid, admiring the collection.  The amount of books could rival a small town’s library.

“Yes… father always liked reading.  Said it…” He closed his eyes and picked up his chin before lowering his voice in an imitation of Sparda, “Helps promote culture and learning.”  Nero couldn’t help but chuckle.  Somehow, despite never meeting the guy, it sounded like it had come straight from his mouth.

“Huh, that’s probably why he has a gigantic library where I live.” he mused, looking up and making a mental estimation at how many books this room had.  There had to be over two thousand.  After he was satisfied with his math, he noticed that Vergil had been quiet for far too long, he turned to see the boy staring at him in wonder.

“Father has another library?”

Crap.

That was not something he had wanted to disclose, but now the demon was out of the pizza box, so to speak.  Trying to backpedal would just make the kid more insistent.

“Yeah… your dad lived where I live, a looooong time ago.  He had a huge amount of books, so we took care of them, and tried to learn about him by reading his stuff.”

“Where do you live?”

Nero hesitated.  He could just make up a place, and Vergil wouldn’t know any better, but something told him that he ought to tell the truth.   Vergil would eventually head to Fortuna anyways, and do… uh… ‘research’.

“Fortuna,” he rubbed the back of his head, “it’s an island where your dad liked to spend time,” he decided to clarify, “before he met your mom.”

Vergil looked at his lap, thinking hard.  Eventually he murmured, “I’d like to go there… maybe I can find out about what Father really did, where he went.  Mother always seems so sad when I talk to her about him, and I would like to make her happy again.”

Nero paused.  Vergil was a good kid.  He had a lot of stuff ahead of him that Nero didn’t wish on his worst enemy.  He didn’t deserve to deal with it all alone.

“What about Dante?”

Vergil huffed, “What about him?”

Nero gulped, but continued, “You like to say that you don’t like hanging out with him, but I get the feeling that deep down, you really care for him as a brother.  Yeah, you need some time apart, but at the end of the day… you like having him at your side.”

Vergil sat there, digesting the information before slowly nodding.   “Perhaps…”

“VERGIL… CREDO!!! THE PICNIC IS READY!!”  Eva’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs.  Vergil’s eyes lit up, and he hurried out, grabbing Nero by the wrist and practically dragging him down the stairs.

🌷🌷🌷

Lunch was a delight, with sandwiches cut into quarters, layers of ham and cheese, turkey, and bacon, with finely cut slices of vegetables.  There was fresh squeezed lemonade, and as cheered for before, strawberry sorbet for dessert.  The boys devoured everything (with the exception of the vegetables) with gusto, despite their mother repeatedly reminding them that they had a guest, and that it wasn’t polite to ‘inhale’ their food.  (Some things never changed).

Nero was glad that they enjoyed the food, because for some reason, it didn’t have the same appeal to him. Like, it LOOKED like it ought to be delicious.  The vegetables were crisp, the bread was freshly baked, but everything, including the tartness of the lemonade felt…dull… distant.  Like those cheap drinks Nico bought at gas stations and guzzled constantly, despite them tasting like a can of water shown a picture of a fruit.  Even the strawberry sorbet tasted more like one of those cheap snow cones that had only one squirt of flavouring in it.   Of course, he would remain polite, and smiled and lied about how delicious the food was. 

“Vergil!” announced Dante, after licking the rest of the sorbet out of the bowl .  “Race you to the treehouse?”  He stood up and held his hand out to the other boy.

The older twin hesitated, obviously not really enthusiastic for the idea of spending more time with his annoying little brother.

“Go on…” Nero urged, “have some fun with him.”  Nero might not be able to prevent what was going to happen, or protect him, but at the very least, he could encourage him to make some good memories, to help him remember how much he loved his brother, despite the hard times ahead.

The boy pursed his lips for a minute, looked at his mother for her nod of encouragement, and took Dante’s hand, who helped him up and attempted to look like he was being dragged towards the distant tree, a barely seen wooden structure hidden in the freshly grown leaves.  But Nero couldn’t help but notice he had a small smile on his face, especially as he turned back for a one small glance at what he originally thought was his grandmother… but to his surprise, it was directed at HIM.

He heard a blending of two types of laughter, one eager and excitable, the other more subdued, yet fuller with warmth,  before the wind carried them away.

“I hoped you enjoyed your short stay with us,” Eva murmured, sitting next to him.  She took a sip out of her teacup, her mannerisms in holding the cup resembling a  man he knew.

“Yeah!” he took a sip of the lemonade, attempting not to wince at the (lack of) taste.  Maybe old folks were right, food back in the day wasn't full of those ‘darn artificial flavouring.’  It’s been great meeting you all, coming here and seeing…”  he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to sound like a crazy guy, so he took another swig.

“Seeing your father as he once was…” she finished his sentence, and it was all he could do to turn his head away from her and not ruin the picnic by choking and spitting the lemonade all over her and the picnic.  He spent the next minute coughing and hacking while she sat patiently for him to recover.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that while you were in the middle of sipping.”

Frankly, him looking like an idiot, choking on some lemonade was the least of his concerns. He eventually got control of his breathing, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stared at her.

“How did you…”

“Know that you weren’t who you said you were?”  She said, but there was no anger or disappointment in it.  “Having spent most of my adulthood at Sparda’s side, I learned much about arcane subjects.  Demonic magic, the subtle distinctions of souls, and when someone is where- or in this case- WHEN in the wrong place.  I identified it the moment I saw you.  There’s a …” she placed her teacup down, and picked up his hand.  He was too dumbfounded to pull away or react, not that he wanted her too.  Her hand was so warm, so soft.  “There’s a translucency about you, as if you could exist at this time and place for a limited period of time.  It’s a lot more pronounced now, perhaps you can see it too.”

He looked down at his hand, and he could just make out the outlines of her hand within his, not noticeable enough for anyone not looking for it.

“That means-” he gasped.

“We are running out of time…” she said softly, and there was a little bit of a tremor in her voice.  He wasn’t sure if she was talking about him, or…her and her sons.  

“How did you know my dad was Vergil?” he asked.

She chuckled, and looked out at the treehouse, which now looked faint, like a warm fog had suddenly blown in.  “I’ll admit, I may know the difference between Vergil and Dante by their souls, but even I have my limits with the twins.  In which case, I cheated.  I looked at you, your reaction to the boys.  The way you wrinkled your nose at Dante calling you old.  And the look of longing you gave Vergil.  That sealed the deal.”

Was it just him, or had the colour of the grass they sat upon lose its springtime vibrancy?

“May I have your name?”  She asked one last time, and this time he answered truthfully.

“Nero.  My name is Nero.”  

Her face broke out in a smile.  “That’s a wonderful name!”  He was glad she didn’t ask for his last name.  He wasn’t sure there was enough time to unpack all of that history.  Still, her face turned a bit sombre as she looked at him.  “We haven’t met before, have we?”  She seemed more sad that she would never meet her grandson, than the implications that she would never LIVE to meet him.

Nero thought he didn't have springtime allergies, but for some reason his eyes began to water.  He blinked back the tears threatening to form.

“No… Dante and Vergil talk about you regularly though.  One of the few things they agree on is how wonderful a mom you were.”

He must have inherited those sudden spring allergies from her, because her eyes were now shiny too,

“Oh, they’re still together!  That’s wonderful to hear!”  But she pulled him closer to herself to the point that their foreheads nearly touched, like she was trying to memorize everything about him.  Her hand withdrew from his, and placed it on his cheek, which he couldn’t help but lean into, savouring the warmth.  Every other sensation was becoming muted, even the blue checkered cloth picnic blanket was fading into a dull white.  “It hasn’t been an easy life for them, has it… or for you?” He couldn’t say anything except to nod dumbly, because he was certain that the only sound he could make would be a choked sob.  He couldn’t put the burden on her on how one son would spend much of his life living his life depressed at his own failures and alone, the other cold, tortured by his past and legacy, and alone.

“But you are here, my grandson, a fully grown man, and my sons are alive and together,” she reassured him,  “that is enough for me.”

He managed to keep himself together enough to blurt out, “Me and my fiance…we have three kids we adopted. Vergil loves them, in his own Vergil way.”  He longed to tell her about Kyrie, how much that woman saved him from a life of anger and despair, that she was so much like Eva in her own way, but like his grandmother said, they were running out of time.  But still, as the haze that surrounded them and leeched the colour out of everything got darker, her smile of delight shone through.

“I’m a great-grandmother…” she said with amazement, and Nero’s heart thumped that like Vergil, she instinctively took them as her own, bloodlines be damned.  She pulled his head closer and down, and brushed her lips on his forehead, and that was it.  The dam broke and he began to sob.  He didn’t want this to end.  He didn’t want to leave her to a future he knew would end in her terror and death.  He wanted to protect her, protect the twins, let them live life to the fullest.

“What little time we have been given to be together is worth more than many years of being worried for the future of my boys.  Whatever happens, I know that in the end, things will work out.”

He couldn’t help it, his spectral wings shot out and gathered her in a loving embrace.  There was a small yelp of surprise, and then a contented hum as she realized what was happening.   The world was becoming really dark now, as if he had entered a tunnel.  He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or shut, or if the scant light he saw was just something he imagined behind closed eyes.

Her voice murmured at his ear, faint, almost a whisper.  “Tell them all that I send them my love.”  He nodded, tried to speak, but found himself unable to move.  The darkness was now physical, crushing him, and for a brief moment, he just floated there, trying to figure out what was happening.  Was he dead?  No, he couldn’t be dead, he needed to relay her last message to the twins.  He needed to get back to his kids, tell them how much he loved them, tell Kyrie that his grandma would have adored her.  He struggled at the pitch black that threatened to suffocate him.  He felt, rather than saw his spectral arms struggling against it trying to find something that wasn’t a void of light. 

Suddenly, there was a shift, and a jerk upwards, his right spectral arm had found something to latch onto, or more correctly something found IT, and now was pulling it, and him up.   He hoped whatever it was, it didn’t have any plans of eating him.

Suddenly, he felt the influx of three things, light, air, and sound in abundance.  Blinked teary, gritty eyes. Coughed up, not watered down lemonade, but dirt that was in his mouth and throat.   Heard not the sound of spring birds or the sound of his grandmother’s voice at his ear, but the hiss of a dying demon, the rush of ghostly hooves, and the half frantic mutterings of a man.

“Come on Nero, wake up.”  The nasally voice, much different from the pensive young boy.  Nero heard a grunt, almost a roar, “GET UP!”  and suddenly the darkness that had imprisoned him was gone.

He cracked his eyes open, blinked away more grit. Vergil stood above him, breathing heavily, loose strands of his usually combed back hair flying this way and that.  Yamato was unsheathed, demonic ichor still dripping from the tip, unwiped which was so  his usually meticulous father.  

“WHAT. DID. I. TELL. YOU. ABOUT. THE. CHRONOSKOLEX.” he wasn’t yelling, per se. But for Vergil, this volume of voice conveyed how angry he was at Nero.  “I  SPECIFICALLY told you to be aware and keep your distance from it, especially without me or even your uncle.  Had I not had the ability to arrive quickly…” he wiped his blade on his sleeve before sheathing it as he motioned towards the rapidly decaying carcass of the worm.  There was that telltale odor of ozone that always accompanied a portal that Yamato had cut. “You would have been kept in stasis by its timecontrol, completely motionless, undetectable until you were suffocated by the ground.”  It was that sentence that revealed that it wasn’t anger that was causing Vergil to raise his voice, it was terror.  Terror at what might have happened.   Nero could tell by the way he offered a hand to help him up, the way it trembled.

With a grunt, he swung a hand, and his father yanked him up, overcompensating on the effort so that Nero fell into him.  They both stood there, frozen, waiting for the other to hug, neither one wanting to be the one to initiate it.

In the end, it didn’t happen.  He heard a disgusted sniff, and Vergil’s voice at his shoulder.  “You smell of horse droppings,” and he backed up, as if he was afraid of being contaminated.   Still, it didn’t stop him from brushing off the horseshit infused dirt out of Nero’s hair, his shoulders, his coat… and then he stopped, his eyes transfixed on Nero’s chest.

After a few awkward moments, Nero braved a glance downward to see what Vergil was staring at.  And suddenly froze as well. 

There, set in his breast pocket was a perfectly dried black tulip.  But, on closer inspection, as his trembling pulled it out and held it in the light, indicated that it had been a deep royal purple when it was fresh.  Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he could still smell, above the odors of a farm, its delicate fragrance.

“That was mother’s favourite…”  Vergil’s voice was ragged.  

“Her favourite colour of tulip…” Nero finished his sentence for him, and gave him some time to register it.

He looked back up at Nero’s face, searching for something, or retrieving a memory, before rasping out a single name.

“Credo?”

Nero gave him a small grin… “You of all people can’t blame me for going by an assumed name,”  He placed the tulip in Vergil’s hand, cracked his stiff neck, and his grin grew.  “How about we go home, I get a shower, Dante orders a pizza or two, and we can talk about…well” he motioned to the flower, and Vergil nodded.

The older man cut through the air, creating a portal, the inky void beckoning them forward, not scary and suffocating like the deep earth and the tragic past, but leading them to an unseen, but hopeful future.

“I have one question right now…” Nero said as they began to walk through.

“Hmmm?”

“Do we have a cousin named Leon?”

[k-didathing]

Startober Day 5: Monarch

Jimmy was different. No matter how much people assured him otherwise, he knew deep down that it was true. He was reminded of it every time he had to stoop down to fit through a doorway, or when his fish-like tail got in someone’s way, or whenever the scars on his back ached, even though he had no idea where they came from. And that was another thing: everyone else in the Nether had a past – a history, a place to belong, a reason for being there. Jimmy didn’t have any of those either, but he thought that perhaps he could do something about that. And that is why he became the (self proclaimed) sheriff of this town. He thought that surely people would welcome him and respect him then! But the mocking laughter of children echoing behind him seemed to suggest otherwise. 

Jimmy slammed the doors of the library behind him, breathing a sigh of relief as the sound of laughter vanished. The library was one of the few buildings in town where he could comfortably stand up without feeling like the ceiling was weighing down on him. Sure, the bookshelves made the space a bit cramped, but it was one of the few places where Jimmy could sit and think without worrying about anyone else’s opinion.

“Hey there, big fella,” a voice said from nearby. Jimmy jumped in surprise at the voice, since it was a voice he recognized, though not one he would expect to hear in this place. 

“You startled me,” he said, looking for where the voice came from. It was the old, retired sheriff of the town, though up until now, Jimmy doubted that it was possible for him to leave the saloon. All he did these days was drink and sleep, and sometimes Jimmy wondered how factual his stories about the glory days when he was sheriff actually were. “I didn’t really expect you…”

“What, you think an old guy like me doesn’t know anything about reading?”

“That’s not what I-“

“Well, you would’ve been correct.” The Old Sheriff picked up a book at random and started flipping through it, but the cover of the book caught Jimmy’s eye: it was titled The Mystery of the Avians, with an illustration of a tall, winged, fishlike figure with a crown.

“Let me see that,” Jimmy said, reaching for the book with determination.

“What, do you own it or somethin’?”

“What? No, this is a library. Nobody owns anything. Do you even know how to read that thing?”

“Eh, not really.” The Old Sheriff tossed Jimmy the book, which he just barely caught. The pages were filled with imformation about Avians, but most of the “facts” presented by the book seemed strangely dubious to Jimmy. He began to flip through the book hastily, looking for more concrete information, but he paused when he reached two pages that were in full color. They were images of the Avians, one male, one female.

Whenever people asked what race Jimmy was, he would usually tell them he was a glare. But it wasn’t like he had any glare abilities — believe him, he’d tried. He often got mistaken for an ender because of his height, but he didn’t have any of those abilities, either. He never seemed to be able to do much of anything. He just assumed that he was some sort of glare hybrid because of his feathers.

But when he looked at these pictures… well, he couldn’t deny the resemblance. They had the same tail that he did, and their hands and feet were also webbed. Their colorful skin was also similar — covered in things that weren’t exactly scales, but didn’t look like normal feathers either. But there was one big, glaring difference — they had wings, and Jimmy did not.

He rubbed his back. His scars were beginning to ache again — the dull ache of something lost that he couldn’t even remember losing. He closed the book remorsefully and put it back on its shelf.

(A galaxy away, an Avian sat on the precipice of her palace and wept, her warm tears streaming down into the sea, her heart aching to see her lost brother again.)

(A galaxy away, a glare darted through alleyways, one who had wings but did not want them.)

(A galaxy away, a group of figures watched from the shadows, feasting eagerly upon the pain of the estranged siblings.)

(How I wanted to help them then! How I wanted to stretch my hand across the cosmos and cradle them and tell them that it was going to be okay!)

(But of course, I could not. All I can do is silently hope that one day they will see each other again. Alas, such is the lot of the ones who watch.)

(AU by @skimmeh and @kairamuwu)