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nemastraea · 6 months

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Doormat extraordinaire: Andrew Graves is down horrendous for his own sister | Part 1

Or as I like to call it, actual literal word vomit attempting a proper character analysis!

Here's a link to the AO3 version for archive purposes: The doormat extraordinaire has a bit of a romantic streak,

Content warning: This will heavily feature spoilers from Episodes 1 & 2 of The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. Trigger warning: Abuse, cannibalism, child neglect, codependency, harassment, incest, murder, self-harm, and suicide. Disclaimer: I will occasionally reference an extremely normal essay from Sufficient Velocity commenter Leyleyfication (here). It would be a lot easier to read this essay first as Leyleyfication does a pretty good job establishing the following: - Ashley is dependent on Andrew to assure and validate her of her own insecurities, and - The game heavily implies that Andrew wants to fuck his own sister.

Anyway: The Coffin of Andy and Leyley! A game in early access where a pair of siblings are stuck through a seemingly never-ending quarantine together, desperate not to starve to death. When their cultist neighbor dies in a ritual gone wrong, they rationally resort to cannibalism. Fun!

I am definitely going to assume that you read Leyleyfication's extremely normal essay (I am on my knees, begging you to read that). Which is why this essay immediately starts with, "yeah, Andrew definitely wants to fuck his sister" as its baseline.

What I will be adding to that funny little cauldron of fucked up sibling dynamics in a horror visual novel are the following: Andrew's fixation and sexual attraction manifests as his desire to control, dominate, and possess Ashley. And it is framed as a fatalist attraction and the totality of his existence (for worse or even worse).

Because of Tumblr's limit for 30 images per post, though, I'm going to have to split this extremely normal and reasonably lengthy essay into... multiple posts! Yeah! I have no idea how long this will fucking go!

So first things first: how can we tell that Andrew is even attracted to Ashley in the first place?

Nemlei (Devlog 05). Note the hickeys above and below Ashley's choker and her left inner thigh, and Andrew's left hand creeping into her right thigh.

As Leyleyfication points out, the game primes us to believe that Andrew is a pushover and Ashley is his abuser. This occurs in the Steam page as it explicitly says Ashley is "in fact, very bad" and Andrew is a "doormat extraordinaire." Moreover, it's very easy to tell that Ashley is, on some degree, obsessed with Andrew:

She's happy to hear that Julia broke up with Andrew over the phone;

She repeatedly accuses him of finding the Lady from Room 302 attractive and he 'tried anything with her;' and

Her flashback to wanting to punish her friend Nina ("the Bitch in the Box") for crushing on Andrew.

Episode 1, dream and memory. Leyley previously said that Nina should know better than to 'steal from another woman,' referring to herself. The implication that Andy is hers is toyed with after this moment, when she says she'd put Andy back in the box.

The game does prime us to think that Ashley is Andrew's abuser. It also suggests that Ashley projects an unrequited and incestuous love onto Andrew. Before we consider Episode 2's narrative, Episode 1 gives the initial impression that if Andrew comes to reciprocate her feelings, it's more of a reaction and subsuming to her will. That it may not be something he wants for himself and independent of Ashley's manipulation.

But again, I do believe Andrew wants to fuck Ashley. And always has been. He just frequently vacillate between 'subtle' and 'really fucking obvious' tells that completely take advantage of the game's third person limited POV.

Keep in mind that both Andrew and Ashley are extremely unreliable narrators. We aren't going to get information they personally do not care about and that is on top of our own choices as the player.

(A digressive example: you will not learn that the founder and CEO of Toxisoda's company was a former surgeon unless you interact with the television in Andrew's Episode 2 dream and memory of their blood oath. Otherwise, it neatly ties into the surgeon that Mrs. Graves conveniently says she was directed to regarding the siblings' quarantine in the main story.)

When it's really fucking obvious

When you play as Andrew in Episode 2, his post-dinner argument with Ashley carefully frames them both. They are cramped in the foreground and Andrew's left arm is conveniently blocked by Ashley and the kitchen knife, as seen here.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, you can interact with Mrs. Graves for her to pointedly comment on the siblings being inseparable.

At this point in the game, their physical closeness is something we're used to by now. After all, we've already seen Ashley on his lap at least twice; Andrew slept in her bed in Episode 1; and Ashley confirmed they've shared the same motel bed multiple times in the one-week interim between Episodes 1 & 2.

But the game abruptly shifts to Mrs. Graves' POV when she enters the scene and not only do we see the two as physically close, but we notice a few more details.

Episode 2, common route. The first picture transitions from Andrew's POV to Mrs. Graves as it introduces us to her entering the scene.

The contrast of how spacious the kitchen is from Mrs. Graves' POV to Andrew's cramped POV is obvious. More importantly, Andrew's fingers loop through Ashley's belt loops when the two are huddled together. When Mrs. Graves clears her throat, the two don't really separate.

Ashley pivots on her left foot so that her body is turned to their mother, not Andrew, but she doesn't step away from him. Andrew, meanwhile, recoils from Ashley and withdraws his hand. But he isn't turning his body to face their mother like Ashley does here. His attention, at least in this moment, is still towards Ashley (and, yanno, the sink).

Episode 2, common route. Two things to consider in the second picture: Andrew hides Ashley's bite mark on his cheek with his left sleeve and he conveniently moves the pillow from behind him to his front.

The 'tell' isn't so much as the two are unusually physically close. Again, we're used to that by now. But it's how the two siblings react whenever Mrs. Graves comes into the picture. Ashley doesn't really give a fuck about whether or not people assume the worst of her or even her intentions regarding Andrew. To Ashley, their proximity is normal and anyone who sees that as a problem is not worth an explanation or reason.

But Andrew is at least subconsciously aware it's 'not normal.' As far as these moments are concerned, Andrew instinctively tries to do damage control by either putting space between them or keeping his hands occupied so they aren't visibly touching Ashley. Still, he either does not mind or actively appreciates his physical closeness with Ashley.

When it's really fucking obvious (but only in hindsight)

In Episode 1, Ashley passes out after trying to clean up after the apartment. Regardless of her passing out in the living room, the bathroom, or their parents' room, she will wake up on the couch with her head pillowed by Andrew's lap.

Episode 1, Ashley's POV. Andrew's hands often hover over Ashley's head, but more than that—

I personally didn't notice this until I replayed Episode 1, when I basically have the hindsight of Andrew's fixation with hair. But yes, his fingers idly twirl through the ends of Ashley's hair as they watch TV. It's implied that Andrew can and will do this when Ashley pillows his lap, awake or asleep. He does not recoil from it when Ashley does wake up and later on, in Episode 2, even continues to brush it from her face.

Episode 2, common route. Ashley fell asleep at the passenger seat, so Andrew had to have transferred her to the back seat to pillow her head again. Though, technically, she's more cramped at the back seat than if he'd just reclined the passenger seat.

So far, we've seen that Andrew has a natural tendency to not only be physically close to Ashley, but to hover over her personal space and be in constant and direct contact with her. Whether it's by having her head on his lap, twirling her hair through his fingers, or even constantly grabbing her by the head in various states of comfort, playfulness, or outright threat (but let's put a pin on that for now).

The weight behind this candid contact shifts when Episode 2 draws a pretty explicit parallel between Julia and Ashley. Assuming that you interacted with Julia's landline and heard Ashley's voicemails, you know (and Andrew knows) that Ashley draws that connection herself:

DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to... It's not you he seeks out. It is me.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and vision implies that Andrew's heard these voicemails before.

That connection extends to the hair contact as well, as Andrew goes in to hug Julia, cards his hand through her hair and requests she tie her hair up.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and memory of Julia when they're older. From the use of Andrew's present-age portrait, suggests is closer to the timeline of the game's events than his and Ashley's memories as Andy and Leyley.

From this moment, we can have one of two assumptions: either Andrew wants Julia's (black) hair put up like Ashley's, or Ashley caught onto Andrew's hair kink and puts her hair up to imitate it.

Regardless, we infer the following:

Andrew teases affection through touching and even pulling on one's hair.

His fixation on ponytails and pulling on them does not exclude his own sister. It still stands and without reservation, perhaps more explicitly since he can do it so candidly, as we saw before.

The last of that Julia-Ashley parallel is self-contained within Episode 2. But only if you end up in the Burial route regardless of Ashley's platonic or incestuous vision.

Episode 2, common route (first picture) and Burial route (second picture). It's worth pointing out that Andrew is actually disinterested and moody during his conversation with Julia, and only perks up when he mentions Ashley or feigns care for Julia (since he extends his care of Ashley to her as well).

The game ends up drawing parallels on how Andrew treats Ashley, for better or for worse, with his ex (which is definitely worse, poor Julia). In doing so, the game blurs the lines between romantic affection for Julia and 'platonic and familial' affection for Ashley.

Y'all, this isn't even getting into how Andrew respectfully gives his parents space and only crowds them when he threatens them with his cleaver. In his mind, Ashley and Julia are in that same space of physical and romantic displays of affection; something he reserves only for them (only without reservation for Ashley) that does not extend to anyone else. His ex-girlfriend, and his sister. Shit's wild.

When it's obvious BUT it's violent!

That isn't to say that his hair fixation (hair kink?) is completely innocuous, though, as it rears its ugly head (pun unintended) in Decay. Which is what that previous pin was for! Yay!

You end up in the Decay route if Ashley doesn't trust Andrew with keeping an eye on their parents. Here, Ashley sleeps on their parents' bed by herself and has an alarming vision: an unknown party chases after her through the in-between and when they catch up to her, it's Andrew. Ashley has nowhere to run and Andrew eventually grabs her and threatens to kill her.

Whether or not Ashley can defend herself depends on Andrew expending all of her gun's ammo when he deals with the hitman, or not. But that outcome divergence will matter much, much later (so that's another pin for us to come back to).

The sequence of events actually mirrors the way the siblings ambush the Lady from Room 302 back in Episode 1. There, Andrew closes in on her and grabs the Lady by her wrist and uses his front to pin and restrain her. With his cleaver to her throat, the Lady is completely at his mercy.

Episode 1 & 2, common route (first picture) and Decay route (second, third, and fourth pictures). Note that Andrew restrains the Lady from Room 302 by the wrist while with Ashley, by her hair.

Andrew asserts control of the person and the situation through violence. Whether it's by killing them (the wardens) or by threatening physical violence (the Lady from Room 302 and Ashley). It's always on the table for him. As Leyleyfication puts it, "He's so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence [here]."

That violence includes Ashley. It's always on the table where Ashley's concerned. The game even juxtaposes when Andrew threatens violence and physical assault 'playfully' versus when he's seriously out for blood:

When you interact with the wall of call girls' numbers and Ashley jokes about leaving her number on the wall, Andrew 'jokingly' threatens to backhand her for even thinking about it.

When you interact with their parents' latched window for a second time, Andrew 'teases' slapping Ashley if she doesn't find a way to open it. (Ashley jokingly asks if it's on her ass or at her face, and assumes it must be the face when Andrew says she'll have to find out.)

The two other times that Andrew exerts violence against Ashley are both in Episode 1 & 2. We can remember when that happens in Episode 1, when Andrew's had it with Ashley's fits and threatens to kill her:

Episode 1, common route. Y'all, Andrew was choking her hard enough for his grip to bruise.

It happens again in Decay when he confronts Ashley about repeatedly calling him Andy and therefore, breaking the promise he coerced her into from Episode 1.

Episode 2, Decay route. Another thing to keep in mind is that Andrew's outburst is preceded by Ashley prodding him about his current state and insisting that Andrew was fine with 'Andy' during their home invasion.

In Episode 1, Andrew resorts to harming Ashley because he's fucking had it with her accusing him repeatedly of trying anything with the Lady from 302 and, in her eyes, his 'infidelity.' Where she accuses Andrew of not loving her enough that if his eye catches another girl, he'd leave her behind or flip on her. In Episode 2, she's poking and prodding on his boundaries on 'Andy' and whether or not, once again, he's with her on their now-committed life of joint crime.

If I can give another example, it happens in Andrew's common route memory of Nina's death and his blood oath with Leyley.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, Andy expresses immense exasperation at Leyley's tantrums over him 'thinking about that bitch again.' When he goes to grab the kitchen knife, cleans it, and returns to Leyley on his bed—he's briefly considering killing her.

Andrew threatens Ashley violently whenever he intends to confront her on her perceived brattiness, for lack of a better word. And keep Leyleyfication's essay segment on Ashley's insecurities and need for Andrew's validation in mind here—when Ashley does this, she wants and even needs Andrew to comfort her. But her aggression treads Andrew's patience and really, his tolerance of her behavior.

When Ashley's anger, clinging behavior, insecurities, and possessiveness of Andrew slips his control and tolerance, he resorts to violence to coerce or even dominate her.

I think (or hope, if it's clear enough) it reinforces what Leyleyfication points out:

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don't mean in the sense that I'm saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this.

It also reflects on another aspect of why Andrew resorts to violence: in all three situations, Andrew remarks on Ashley's behavior and her sake. If she acts up again once they're out of the apartment, it'll cause trouble for him while they're evading authorities. If she's going to call him Andy from hereon out, what's the point of running away with her. If she expects him to leverage keeping 'her secret,' he won't because it's for her sake.

Andrew rationalizes his attempt to control of Ashley's behavior as being for her sake. But really, isn't it him confining her behavior to something he can tolerate and personally handle?

I'd also like to point out that Andrew admits that he noticed Ashley push for calling him 'Andy' during the home invasion, and he did not argue with her on it while they held their parents hostage and readied to sacrifice them. We can infer that when Andrew calculates his use of violence, that can also factor when, where, and how he exerts it.

Well, that's where I can reasonably end this half of my word vomit! Now, onwards, to part 2!

#lia's conspiracy board #The Coffin of Andy and Leyley #TCOAAL: Andrew Graves #TCOAAL: Ashley Graves #ship: coffincest #character analysis

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kittyball23 · 6 months

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Hot Tubbing (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: After babysitting his 13 nieces and nephews, Branch unwinds in one of Vacay Island’s jacuzzi-like hot springs… and is soon joined by Poppy

A/N: November 17th is finally here!! Welcome to the first story of my new oneshot collection "Grown-Up Stuff," (also found on AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad under the same name in addition to being posted here on Tumblr) which will mostly be centered around Broppy, but may feature some Cliva and other couples in the future :)

FYI this fic has been Rated M, as it will have adult themes present, though nothing explicitly written. You do not have to read if these topics are something you are not comfortable with. If you do decide to go forth, all I can say is enjoy! 💕

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"Ahhh…"

Now that felt good. While the water had stung a bit upon entering, it didn't take very long at all for it to work its magic and ease the soreness in Branch’s muscles. Pretty soon, he was leaning back, his arms on either side of him and a sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips. His brother Bruce wasn't kidding. The hot springs really were a great place to unwind, especially after being tossed and wrestled by kids who were far taller than Trolls. Most of the time, this type of experience befell Bruce, but, given that he and Brandy had taken the night off to have some alone time, babysitting duty had fallen upon Branch.

For the first half of the night at least.

He rotated positions with John Dory for the second half, and could now take a moment to relax properly. And on Vacay Island, everything was top-notch in that department. The potent warmth was soon working to bring a sense of sleepiness to him, and he allowed his eyes to shut. Aimless thoughts wandered throughout his mind: of Pop Village, of his brothers, but, mostly of Poppy. He could feel a smile forming on his lips even in his twilight state. Poppy... She looked good in his head, whether it was a memory or whether it was just fantasies of what their future together could bring. One of those, admittedly, was marriage and a family. Maybe not a family as big as Bruce's, but still, a few Troll kiddos wouldn't be so bad. Not bad at all. And neither would the way to go about making that happen... Branch felt as though the water got even hotter when he thought of that.

The Troll didn't think he was too far gone in his exhaustion, but somewhere he figured he must've fallen asleep to the hum of the bubbling water and wind in the foliage, because it was a soft, feminine voice that he registered next.

"You look pretty relaxed."

Branch stirred, blinking drowsy eyes up at the newcomer.

"Huh, wha?" he mumbled, rubbing an eye and registering that it was Poppy who'd spoken. She peered down amusedly at him, her lips sipping at the straw of a fruity drink and her legs slightly submerged into the water from her spot at the edge of the pool. But if the sheer presence of his beloved wasn't enough to stir him awake, then it sure was the attire she had on. The swimsuit was a powder-yellow two-piece, hugging her body snugly and extenuating her slim figure in ways that made his mind race with desire.

He sat straight up, flustered. "Oh! H-hey, Poppy," he stammered, trying to sound casual. Branch cleared his throat, and managed to speak a little more controlled the second time around. "So, um, what are you doing here? I thought you and Viva were hitting the waves."

Poppy nodded. "Yeah, we did for a little bit. But then we called it early. Veevs had other plans… with your brother."

Branch cooked his head. "Clay?"

"Yeah," Poppy confirmed with a smirk. "She wanted to spend some time with him… and I wanted to spend some time with you." She glanced down at him with a half-lidded gaze, giving a flirtatious little growl.

Branch’s eyes bugged.

"So whaddya say, Branch? Got room for one more?"

"Well, I, um, I mean… you can, um, i-if you wanna…"

Poppy smiled. "Great!"

Setting her drink down, she scooted herself over the edge of the pool and plopped inside. The water sloshed a bit, and she hissed at the temperature that befell her skin.

"Ooo, you all right?" Branch asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good!" Poppy assured. "Feels really, really nice."

"Yeah," Branch agreed, smirking. "It sure does…" He surprised himself with the husky quality his voice had taken, and realized that it didn't go over Poppy’s head, either. There was a look on her face that could only be described as pleased bewilderment, and he could see a blush forming on her cheeks.

Affected so, she bore into his blue eyes with her deep fuchsia and batted her lashes. "Why don't you come a little closer," she purred, adding her own little suggestive twinge to her words.

Now it was Branch’s turn to blush. A tingle went down his spine - and in other places he wouldn't dare tell her about - but he liked it. And while he wanted to obey, he didn't see the harm in dragging out the tease, even if it was by a minute or two.

"Ehh, I don't know," he said, as though he were indecisive.

Poppy pretended to pout, sticking her bottom lip out. "Aww, come on, I won't bite!" But then she paused, giggled, and added, "Much."

Branch raised an eyebrow. "Much?" he questioned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Get over here and find out," she urged, rolling her eyes playfully.

Branch shrugged. "Fine."

Slowly, purposefully slow, he moved towards her, taking his time inching himself towards her space.

Poppy tapped her fingers impatiently against the edge of the pool. "Can you move any slower?" she whined.

"Can you be any cuter?" he quipped back, finally in enough proximity to be able to wrap an arm around her. Poppy’s arms slinked around his neck, firmly holding him to her as he brought a damp hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently. He waited a heartbeat, letting the sensual tension escalate between them, before allowing himself to lean forward and close the gap.

Poppy sighed deeply as their lips met, melting into the kiss, and Branch felt a surge of affection run through his veins. He tilted his head almost instantly, deepening the connection right away, and she moaned quietly in approval. She was extra sweet, he noted, her taste a hint of pineapple from the fruity concoction she'd been sipping, as well as her usual, strawberry flavor that seemed to permeate every part of her being. It made him feel warm and fuzzy all throughout, making it far too easy to lose himself in the experience. He made a noise of appreciation at the feeling as he pulled away just long enough to gasp in another breath and dive back in, twice as eager this time.

Turned out he wasn’t the only one eager. As he’d learned, Poppy had been the one in their relationship to test the metaphorical waters. First with the peck to the cheek he’d received on the day of the Trolls Kingdom Holiday Gift Swap, and then with the first real kiss they’d shared at Mount Rageous, after he’d successfully opened up to her about his feelings. And now, she was testing herself again.

He hadn’t known what she was up to, until she actually did it. He gasped when he felt a nip, Poppy’s teeth having caught his bottom lip upon one of their breaks for air and tugging lightly for a second before she released. The sensation sent an unexpected bolt of excitement coursing through him, the feeling stronger when he noted Poppy's dark, dilated pupils gazing hungrily at him, her breath coming quicker now. Flirty growls, or no flirty growls, Branch knew one thing - his girlfriend was turned on.

And so was he.

Their next kiss that followed was deeper, and more passionate as a result. Poppy nipped once again, at the corner of his mouth this time, and allowed her next few smooches to trail across his jawline, making a path down the crook of his neck. Branch hummed, his thoughts battling each other. One part of him enjoyed the attention profusely, while the other had him wishing his lips could claim hers again. Both evaporated, however, when he felt her reach a sensitive spot just below his earlobe and take another little nibble. He wouldn't know how to describe the sound that came out of him in response. It might have been a whimper, or it might have been a groan, but either way, it caused Poppy to giggle, the vibration of her laugh tickling Branch's skin.

It wasn't hard to admit that she had a guilty pleasure in prompting reactions out of Branch. Which is why her next idea was getting her excited.

She leaned back, ensuring that her fuchsia gaze was unwaveringly locked to his blue as her hands wandered down, below the water, reaching the hem of his swimming trunks.

Blushing heavily and bracing himself for the onslaught of sensory stimulation that was sure to come, Branch knew he wasn't going to be truly prepared for what was coming next…

… Though, not in the intimate way that he anticipated.

So focused on expecting the next feeling to be under the confines of his swim attire, Branch nearly jumped when an enormous, unforeseen SPPLLAAASH! erupted from the pool in a wave of jacuzzi water that drenched him and Poppy completely!

Poppy shrieked in surprise, ripping herself away from Branch, while her boyfriend sputtered, eyes wide.

"What the - who - ??"

“WOO! Ten outta ten on that cannonball, ay, bro?”

“Oh, nooo,” Branch groaned, already knowing that voice before he even finished rubbing the water out of his eyes completely. “John Dory, you’re not supposed to jump into a jacuzzi! And aren’t you supposed to be watching the kids?!”

His eldest brother adjusted his goggles and blew a raspberry. “Yo, chill, dude, Floyd’s got it covered. He offered to step in and help!”

Branch facepalmed. Oh, Floyd. He knew his favorite brother was big-hearted and always looking out for the rest of their crew… but taking over John Dory’s babysitting duty when not even five minutes had passed by was a little absurd! Branch could probably guess that JD hammed up his struggle just to get out of it.

John Dory then noticed Poppy. “Hey, Poppy Seed! How’s it shakin’ since the last time I saw ya?”

Poppy giggled, meeting him halfway for a fistbump, and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know. Guess you could say I’ve been ‘shaking things up’ with Branch.” She gave her boyfriend a sly look, to which he became bashful, remembering what she had been about to do.

“Oh,” John Dory said, then putting it together and realizing what he’d done. “OHHH, shoot, did I interrupt something here?”

Branch’s deadpanned look told him what he needed to know.

He tittered with embarrassment. “Hehe, my bad! I could totally scoot if ya want. I’m sure there’s gotta be some other jacuzzi here on the isle!”

“No, it’s okay, we were just heading out,” Poppy said, lifting herself over the edge of the pool and reaching for the towel she'd brought with her. “But we’ll see you later, okay?”

JD looked disappointed to see them go, but understood. “It’s all right. Catch y’all later!”

As Branch and Poppy walked off hand in hand, the Pop Queen giggled. Branch glanced at her with curiosity.

“Probably should’ve told him there’d be no guarantee we’d see him later,” she said suggestively.

Branch raised an eyebrow, the heat returning to his cheeks. “Poppy… what do you have in mind?”

She glanced at him mischievously. “Wanna go look for another hot spring? I’m sure John Dory’s right, there’s gotta be more than one on the island. That way we can finish what we started…” She peers down at her place of interest for just a flit of a moment, but even then it causes Branch to blush, stammering his reply.

“S-sure!”

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #broppy #branch trolls #poppy trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #grown up stuff fanfiction #100+

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souglias · 1 month

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Remember To Throw Your Expired Milk [GINTOKI]

Just because an era has passed, doesn't mean everything from then is lost.

c/w: self-indulgent, may have some timeline inaccuracies, mentions of the Joui War, mentions of injuries and scars

Gintoki x gn!reader (reader is implied to be smaller than him for a small part)

word count: 4.7k words (I'm sorry guys)

note: This fic serves an outlet for me, so when I mean self-indulgent, I really mean it!! Please let me know if you think I missed any content warnings. Border is a cropped frame from the Gintama The Final movie :)

cross-posted on AO3 (accessible from my profile)!

All likes and reblogs are appreciated!

The morning before you leave for the Joui war is a chilly autumn, with the last leaves barely hanging onto their branches. The four of you were to leave together: You, Gintoki, Takasugi and Katsura.

This particular morning, it is just you and Gintoki in the abandoned house that Takasugi and Katsura also lived in. Both of them have gone out for a bit. You didn’t know for what, but the house feels a little empty without the two.

Gintoki is keenly aware of you standing behind him, your eyes burning holes into his hands that are tightening his headband. He is about to attach his sword but decides to drop his hands to his sides instead, shaking them.

With his back still facing you, he spits, "Go back to Edo tonight. You have no use on the battlefield."

The monotonous banter, usually akin to a relentless fly, stings this time. It takes only a moment for him to realise the possible weight of his words. Tentatively, he looks over his shoulder at you.

Gintoki doesn't know if he is more than a friend to you, but he would carry all your burdens and sorrow if it meant you wouldn’t enter the battlefield with them. If he has to choose his life or yours, he will choose yours. He would do anything if it meant that you would tease him about his natural perm or jab him playfully at his sides again.

So, when he meets your unwavering yet melancholic gaze, he breaks the eye contact that barely lasts. His feet become a little heavier each time he sees you with that face. The more he trudges forward, the more he has to lose.

"I'm not useless. You know I can fight. Didn’t know you had such a shit impression of me."

You can, and you fight well.

“But you don’t need to fight. You should protect your ass when you can and live. You’ve always been a scared kid anyway. Oh, who was the one who used to be intimidated by me?”

You retort back, but there’s no bite in it. “Shut your ass trap. I’m not chickening out now. You sound like the one who’s scared now.”

Gintoki’s heart is trembling. He sees the grim reaper preparing for its shift to make rounds and he does not want to see you among a pile of corpses.

He flicks your forehead, takes your headband anyway and wraps it around your head. You too, carry the same pent-up fury from the Kansei Purge as everyone else. You have your grievances to air in your way too. Hell, if you asked him not to fight, he would have called you an idiot and ignored you.

His arms hover around your head as he ties a knot securely at the back of your head. Your head is almost on his chest, and his mind wanders to how close you are to him.

“It hurts.”

“Ah, sorry.”

His hands move to loosen your headband, but you rest one hand on his forearm to stop him. You stare straight into his chest and your free hand fidgets with the side of your pant leg. Gintoki realises that you are thinking about so much more than the headband.

If he could even be audacious, he thinks he knows what you are thinking of.

He tries to think of something to say. For a split moment, he even considers a hug. Even though it’s not something he has ever been good with. But before he gets to do anything at all, Takasugi creeps up from behind him.

“I can’t believe you guys. Getting all touchy-feely before the fight?”

Gintoki immediately steps back, creating some distance between the two of you. He hurls some insults at Takasugi and the two of them bicker. When Katsura returns, instead of breaking up the fight, he joins in their nonsensical argument that is not even about the two of you anymore.

You take in this scene and etch it in your mind. This is the perfect time to have time halt if it is ever possible.

The four of you set out when it was time. As you attach your sword to your side, Gintoki comes up to you with his faux nonchalance. His eyes wander everywhere for a bit, one of his hands rubs the back of his head and the other seems to be lost on what to do. "You already know this, but do me a favour and buy me some strawberry milk on your next trip to the convenience store again. Keep them in the fridge.”

He pauses as he watches your face shift from confusion to understanding.

“It has to be the Azuri brand one! Don't you dare drink it."

Your hand resting on the handle of your sheathed sword tightens.

“Okay, you better fucking come for it.”

Gintoki catches you with that melancholic smile again. He bumps your arm gently with his fist. Noticing you walk with less of a drag in your feet, he assumes it is good enough.

(You are always so difficult for him.)

Sometime towards the end of the Joui war, when the bodies all start to pile up and the soldiers are all weary, he loses sight of you. His eyes can no longer find the silhouette he has become so familiar with and his ears cannot find the rhythm of your steps that he has memorised by heart. You do not return to base when night falls.

The voices all say you’re dead and gone, but Gintoki tries to protect the flickering flame of hope in his heart as he continues to fight. You promised him a carton- no, cartons of strawberry milk. You are far from stupid to take a promise to the afterlife with you.

But when the Joui war ends, he disappears, just like everyone else. Along with the dying fire in his heart that he wilfully thought he could protect. Hope is a heavy thing to carry after all that has happened.

The Amanto, who had kept you in a dark room for what felt like weeks, releases you into a world you are no longer familiar with. You find out that it’s only been days and that you were originally to be executed the next day.

The sky is cluttered with more spaceships and the sun feels a little more cruel than you knew it to be. You walk with no aim, looking back now and then, thinking that you hear familiar voices. It goes on till the sight of the convenience store you frequented with your friends slowly pulls you back to reality. The weight of your emotions kicks in when you hear the welcome chime of the store. Your wounds start to weep and your muscles burn as you limp towards the refrigerator of cooled drinks.

With a throat full of screams you bite back, you place a few cartons of strawberry milk from the barren refrigerator of the convenience store into your arms. Large ones to keep in the fridge, small ones in the event he wants to bring it out. The counter staff asks you if you are okay while he packs your purchases, but you simply brush him off.

As you drag your unwilling feet into the town that spells a lonely journey into the future, the carton of strawberry milk treads too to its expiration date.

(How naive of you, to think Edo would be the town you could call home with everyone you cared about and the one man you loved.)

You wander within the city after you receive treatment, searching for a sign of anyone you know. Eventually, you traverse out of Edo.

Whenever someone mentions the Four Heavenly Kings, you find your spirit to be lifted, only to be let down without fail. It is a name that strangers use so freely and carelessly. The four you know are now only legends, reduced to mere tales. They are unreachable, even as someone who has grown with them. You start to think maybe they are dead. Maybe you have just been searching for a time that has ceased to exist.

(Besides, you may have escaped death when you were released, but you think a part of you died that day too.)

It’s a long time before you force yourself to get your shit together. When you return to Edo, you see wanted posters of Katsura everywhere, the corners already peeling. One, hangs on by a small strip of tape, at a lamp post outside a humble ramen shop on the outskirts. You get a job at this ramen shop, and you stare at Katsura’s mugshot as you work until the poster gets blown away one day. With your pay, you get by and live in a simple rented apartment nearby.

When you finally bump into Katsura himself, you think you’re seeing the distant light at the end of the winding tunnel. He manages to fill you in on a bit, but takes off soon due to his predicament. The bare, discreet conversation you have with him ends up doing the opposite of what you hoped, whiffing out the little hope you carried instead. Sakamoto is assumed to be in space, which makes you a little relieved knowing he’s living his dream. But, the fact that the whereabouts of Gintoki and Takasugi are still uncertain makes you feel you’re still at square one.

Despite the time that has passed, you still see Gintoki in many things. The Shounen Jump on the shelves. Anyone with their permed hair, even if it’s clearly artificial. And especially those fucking cartons of strawberry milk you keep. They are an anchor to your past and their tarnished, rusted edges dig into your skin. You want to throw them out so bad, but you can never bring yourself to. You stay at square one with these rotting cartons for the passing seasons.

On a chilly winter afternoon with snow that’s taking its time to fall, you find Gintoki when you pass through Kabukicho. Walking past Snack Otose, you catch a glimpse of a head of silver in your peripheral vision.

You don’t recall when this… Yorozuya Gin-Chan came to be above Snack Otose. But you always pass Kabukicho in a hurry. Maybe it has always been there.

An old lady talks to him at his door, blocking him from your view on the ground floor. But you wouldn’t mistake that natural wavy perm of silver, even though all you see are strands peeking out from the sides of the old lady.

When she walks off with a face of frustration, you withdraw into a nearby alley in a flurry. You take in the scene of Gintoki with his exasperated look. He scratches his head a little and sighs, before he goes back inside. You take it as your sign to leave.

(Gintoki sees you. And he isn’t ready to talk to you either. Not with the way your fists clench. He immediately guesses what you’re feeling, if you have not changed immensely into someone different. He shakes away the urge to approach you and convinces himself again that just knowing that you are alive and warm is enough. He is content.)

The snow does not stop even when night falls. When Gintoki returns home, he turns the television on and stretches out with his feet propped up on his work desk. The doorbell rings and he sits up. His heart throbs, in anticipation for a certain someone. He tames it. Expectation is a potential recipe for disappointment.

When he opens the door, he finds you carrying two plastic bags. Your hands are very tightly wrapped around the handles. You refuse to look up at him.

“What? Asshole crawled back up from their grave? Not happy with what you got?”

You enter the house wordlessly and he shuffles out of your path. You drop the bags on the coffee table, causing a loud thud to resound in the room.

“Hey hey, the landlady downstairs is going to complain. She already came up bitching about the rent earlier this afternoon-”

“I owe you something. Did you forget?”

You pull a small carton of strawberry milk out of the bag and set it on the table. It is worn from weather and time. You rip open the top of the carton and the straw gets yanked out of the plastic, soon finding itself in the opening.

Shoving the carton into his chest, you gather the courage to look him in the eye. The carton starts to wrinkle even more from your tightening grip. You hold it tighter, as if it would stop your tears from welling.

He notices the expiry date printed on the carton, which was more than one and a half years ago. His hand wraps around yours and he doesn’t let you slip them out.

“I don’t forget what people owe me that easily. Even if I died, I would demand for the guardians of hell to arrange a delivery to get them from you.”

Your grip loosens a little when you notice the soft, subtle smile on his face. There’s a lump in your throat again and you take a few deep breaths to stop it. The sound of the television fills the silence between the two of you for a bit.

“A little less than a year ago, I crossed paths with Zura. He told me both of you disappeared and didn’t know where you were.”

The next few words almost escape him. It makes you feel small and helpless to say it, even though he was right in front of you. “I thought maybe you died.”

A stray tear streaks down your cheek. He gently pries the milk from your hands and sets it down on the table.

(He thought you died too. Sure, without realising it, he started to carry hope in his heart again. But it felt like the weight of the world sometimes, and he had to carry it by dragging it across the ground. The possibility of you being six feet under rang so loud in his mind.

It only became lighter when he bumped into Katsura for the first time a few days ago. It was when he heard about you from Katsura. Gintoki headed down and watched you work in the ramen shop from the other side of the road. He left without approaching you. He didn’t know what he was going to say to you. Besides, seeing him could reopen old wounds and he didn’t want to do that to you. And just maybe, he was a little bit of a coward when it comes to you.

But he guesses it is all futile. You found him after all.)

With his thumb, he brushes your cheek. You notice scars on his arm that you don’t ever recall him having.

“You worry too much. It takes a lot to kill me.”

“But it hurt, didn’t it?”

It did. Even now, the wounds on his soul throb a little. He thinks he’s underestimated how much he missed you. “They’re just scratches.”

You inch towards him and put your arms around him for a hug. He tenses up at your touch, but he manages to loosen up and pats your back gently until you stop crying.

“Did you cry like that when you found Zura?”

“No.”

A stray smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t waste your tears on Zura.”

“So you’re saying it’s worth it to cry for you?”

Gintoki’s eyes dart off in another direction. “No. Don't cry for me again.”

The way his sentence seemingly hangs thickens the air between the two of you. He scoffs and sits down on the sofa. Refusing to make eye contact with you, he rubs the back of his head and frowns.

He is still the Gintoki you committed to your memory and love. Even as time passes, he still has the same habits. Even though his fashion sense has changed, you still see him adorn the same shades. You can still see the pureness of his soul even with the haze of time. Despite the tears, you find a hearty laugh rising up your throat. So you let it out.

He freezes upon hearing your laugh and realises that he has not heard something so genuine from you for so long, even from before the two of you parted.

As he runs his fingers through his natural perm for the last time and stands up, he suggests, “Let’s go to the supermarket. We should get new cartons.”

You glance at the clock. “Sorry, maybe not today. It takes a while to get to the supermarket and I need to get back to my apartment too. I live on the outskirts.”

“I’ll send you back. I have a scooter now.”

“Wow, I assumed you couldn’t pay rent. Where did you get the money for that? Did you rob a bank? It’s well within the capabilities of the White Yaksha.”

His eyebrow twitches. “Quit yapping and move along. I bargained hard and relentlessly for a lower price.”

As both of you make your way to the scooter, you continue to make more snarky comments about how he got the scooter. When you see the scooter, you decide to make some more comments about the scooter, though you actually think it is a fine thing. He smacks you on the head, eliciting a giggle from you instead of what he thought would be a retort.

“Your home is so damned far away, you know,” Gintoki complains as he turns on the engine.

“You were the one who offered.”

Without much thought, you tease him as you sit behind him, “Then, where should I stay? With you?”

You realise what you’ve asked and you’re about to make a comment to brush it off. But Gintoki plops a helmet on your head before you can do so, and starts the scooter. As he begins to drive off, you place your hands tentatively on his waist. He throws a glance over his shoulder at you. “Hold on tight and don’t let go.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get used to your hand on him and he can feel your tense hands slowly relax. With his eyes on the road in front of him, he’s not 100% sure, but he thinks you’re leaning in a little.

(The scooter doesn’t go as fast as those flashy sports cars the rich use to zoom around town. But you still get to the convenience store a lot quicker than you expected. It’s too fast, you feel like you will never have enough time with him.

Even though he is right in front of you, the lost time makes the vast distance between the two of you so clear. It is one that you cannot cross now with your arms, even if you gathered the courage to wrap them wholly and tightly around him. The thought that he might disappear again will gnaw at you for a while.

That night, he pays for the strawberry milk. The two of you take the last two cartons of the Azuri brand he very much prefers. You take your time to sip on it during the ride, watching his wavy hair let loose in the wind and catch the lights of the slowly dwindling traffic around you.)

Gintoki gives you a face when he looks up from the grocery bag on the coffee table. His eyes fill with incredulity and his lips downturn dramatically. "What is this?"

You put up an air of innocence, teasing in a sing-song voice, "What's what?"

"THIS!"

He pulls out a carton of milk from the grocery bag with two fingers gripping it and waves it around hysterically.

"This is plain milk!"

"You're stating the obvious."

He drops the carton back into the grocery bag and yells out in exasperation, hands grasping at nothing in the air. You stifle a laugh.

"Still gives you the protein that you so absolutely love in your strawberry milk, doesn't it?"

He plops down on the sofa and crosses his arms. Eyebrow twitching, he begins a lecture.

"Listen [name]. Plain milk is not the same as strawberry milk. Strawberry milk is NOT just syrup or sugar getting added into milk."

You nod, pursing your lips so as not to let out a laugh at the bewildering he says and the ones he might say.

His doctor highly recommended that he cut down on sugar. Based on your internet searches, strawberry-flavoured milk has more sugar than plain ones. And because you love your boyfriend so much, you decide to take it into your own hands to buy plain milk which would be much better for his health. Watching him become exasperated over it is just a huge cherry on top.

Sensing that you found his reasoning ridiculous, he whines and throws himself face down onto his sofa. You don’t bother to suppress your laughter when he starts kicking his feet.

Out of nowhere, he jumps off the sofa and slides his wooden sword into his belt. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You offered to buy it because you planned this, right? Because the doctor said I had to reduce my sugar intake.”

How dare you, his beloved, commit such an act of betrayal to him! He adds a little shout in between his rambling. Then, adds, “Sugar is life, [name]! We have to go buy them now!”

He tugs at your arm and you refuse to budge. Initially, you reason that he can’t leave the house because Yorozuya’s opening hours aren’t over yet. As he tugs harder, you start to mock him for having such a sweet tooth, how he’s weak for being unable to go by without strawberry milk and how ungrateful he is for you. He retorts back saying you shouldn’t have backstabbed your boyfriend like that, and there’s nothing sinful with having a sweet tooth. In the end, he lifts you by your waist with his arm and out of the house into the spring evening. Conscious of the looks of onlookers, you smack him on his back harder and harder till he complains about how it hurts and puts you down.

Gintoki continues to lecture you about the strawberry milk as the two of you walk to the convenience store that opened months ago. In the five-minute walk, you let him go on about the difference and hum now and then as an indication that you are listening. At the same time, you imagine the pink cherry blossom buds overhead. You imagine the falling sakura blooms around him. A mental image of the blossoms in his silver hair surfaces.

When he finishes his sentence, you comment, “I think you could be a strawberry parfait too.”

“Huh?”

It’s now your turn to talk in this walk and Gintoki sees the vision you’re having. He’s about to make a dirty joke, but you jab him at his side before he can say it.

When the two of you enter the store, he runs straight to the refrigerator. You trail behind him, already finding his arms full of large and small Maiji milk cartons although it has only been one minute.

It has become normal for Gintoki to take the Maiji brand carton without a second thought. You can no longer find the Azuri brand milk in Edo anymore, and possibly the whole of Japan. It took him a little getting used to and some whining to you, but he has come to enjoy it.

When you watch him try to arrange and squeeze everything into the basket, you think maybe your plan to help him cut down on sugar has backfired. Mans simply trying to stock up at this point. You end up having to do some convincing in that narrow aisle, with some other shoppers, for this manchild to put a few back.

From the refrigerator to the cashier and back to Yorozuya, Gintoki keeps pouting. You poke his cheek with his free hand, but all you get is a “hmph”. He’s not going to give in so easily! It takes so much more than paying for his sweets and saying he looks like a strawberry parfait!!

You think about offering to pay for his parfait, but you tell yourself not to give in to him. You want him to live a long life and die of old age, not go out way before his time in agony because of sugar.

Gintoki plops down at the corner of the sofa when the two of you return to Yorozuya. He starts reading the latest copy of Shounen Jump with one leg crossed on the sofa, sipping loudly on his milk in an attempt to irritate you. You sit on the other corner with your drink and magazine you bought yourself earlier, and you prop your feet on top of his lap. He smacks your feet once, but he lets you be as he always does. On other days, he enjoys doing it to you too.

Every now and then, you look up to see him engrossed in his manga. Sometimes when you blink, you still see images of the past versions of him with Katsura and Takasugi at his side.

You get up and give him a kiss on the cheek, before heading to the stairs outside. He’s a bit caught off guard, but you leave him to process it.

On the street downstairs, a few kids scramble around, presumably to head home. Your mind wanders to the three boys you grew up with. There are still days you think you wake from your nap in the classroom to the three boys duking it out in the dojo. But when your bleary vision in the morning clears and you notice that the ceiling above is different from the one at Shoka Sonjuku, reality settles. It’s just a ruckus made by some kids outside. You stare at the ceiling, remembering that Takasugi is at large with his new comrades. You remember that Zura now has his own faction, which both you and Gintoki reject his relentless invitations to. You remember that Shoyo-sensei is gone.

You hear the sliding door open behind you and Gintoki leans on the part of the ledge beside you.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Gintoki notices you running your finger back and forth on the grooved surface of the ledge. He places a kiss on your temple. A little hesitant at first, but he goes for it. He then shifts behind you slightly, resting his hand on top of yours. With his steady frame behind you, you lean back a little on him.

(Gintoki wonders what Shoyo-sensei would think about the two of you. Hopefully, he approves, even though Shoyo had witnessed him disturbing you in class and outside of it. Hell, Shoyo even thought Gintoki was bullying you at one point and Gintoki had gone to lengths to prove otherwise. He would also argue that he was teasing you to get you to break out of your shell. Though in hindsight, maybe he had been a little mean about a few things.)

The wish to return to the bygone days still squeezes your heart with its agony. The days that Shoka Sonjuku was your home. Its invisible hands still try to grasp at the memories that are becoming ever-distant and drifting away in the stream of time. It is always the worst when you find resemblances that you find hard to ignore.

But everyone has found their place in this new era, including you. The night he dropped you off after reuniting, he asked you’ll come to Yorozuya again. You said you’d try, but no promises because it was far. Though, as you watched his receding figure ride back into the brightly lit town you once detested, you knew you would.

You're glad you did. After all, you found a place with Gintoki. A place, in this still unfamiliar city, that you can finally bring yourself to call home again.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading this self-indulgent, monster of a fic <3

#sakata gintoki x reader #gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki #gintoki imagines #gintama imagines #gintama x reader #gintama #souglia.s #my gintoki lovergirl era really hit this hard #this is my saddest era too esp bc of the songs I've been listening to while writing this #now I have other monsters to face aka my final assignments #still can't believe I spit out 4.7k worth of words for this man #I am very downbad for him #when I have the time watch me yap about the themes and shit and stuff I couldn't include

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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 9 months

Text

Untitled Roxy x Reader fic (hurt/comfort)

EDIT: A more polished version is now up on ao3. If you're re-reading it or sending it to someone, then the ao3 version is preferred, but it's not changed enough that I would necessarily suggest re-reading it again if you weren't already going to. <3

For some reason, last night, I decided that it was imperative I write and release a Roxy x Reader oneshot before Ruin. (ETA: To be clear I mean I wrote this before Ruin released, therefore it contains NO SPOILERS. <3) It's an idea I've had for awhile and was going to do as a comic but decided to expand it and write it out instead. I may post a more polished version to ao3 at a later date.

Fun fact: Roxy was my first FNAF crush, before SB even came out. So Ruin will have many chances to break my heart.

Word count: ~3200

----

When the Pizzaplex burned down, none of your colleagues had seemed particularly interested in returning to the ruins. You could understand…some of the techs arriving for the morning shift had been caught in the blaze, and while there were no casualties, there had been some injuries. Yourself included.

After a few weeks in the hospital, the burn mark across your face was just an angry red scar, and the singed hair you’d had to cut off had regrown enough for you to wear a slightly uneven pixie cut.

The other techs said you were crazy to want to go back. The future of Fazbear Inc was uncertain, and the animatronics themselves were just that. Animatronics. Machines. Not worth putting yourself in danger for.

But you’d come to consider Roxy a friend. Sometimes you thought she considered you one, too. She didn’t seem like she would readily admit such a thing even if it were true.

She had at least liked you as a tech, if not as a person. You were the only one who could do her pre-show checks and weekly maintenance without ruining her hair, at least according to her. According to the other techs, Roxanne’s hair was always fine.

You quickly learned that to Roxy, “fine” was equivalent to a reprehensible failure. A disaster. A complete horrific mess.

You didn’t think your experience with costuming (specifically wigs) in your college’s theater club would ever be something you used after you graduated, but life is full of surprises.

You wander through the corridors of your ruined, burned out workplace, flashlight in hand. You have a few guesses as to where Roxy might be. You desperately hope she’s okay. The structure is mostly intact, but there are a few collapsed portions and fallen bits of decor. You think as long as Roxy had been able to avoid the worst of the heat, she’d be mostly alright.

You make your way to Rockstar Row, your workboots crunching on the debris as you walk.

As you approach Roxy’s room, you hear something that makes you freeze.

Crying.

For a moment you wonder if another tech, or perhaps some urban explorer or rubbernecker is in here with you. Then you recognize the voice behind the sobs.

Roxanne is crying? You’re more surprised than you probably should be. But you’d seen behind her mask a couple times. Behind the vanity, haughtiness, and borderline entitlement, you had occasionally glimpsed a profound insecurity. Beneath it all, you don’t think Roxy actually likes herself very much.

You swipe your badge on the door, and it actually dings and slides open. Or tries to. Something jams it halfway and you have to wedge yourself into the doorframe and push the door open the rest of the way.

Roxy, who had been sitting at her vanity, head in her hands, perks up. Her ears twitch as she glances around. “Who’s there?” she calls out.

You open your mouth to speak, only to leave it hanging open in surprise as you see how badly she’s damaged. So much of her exoskeleton is missing, exposing the endoskeleton underneath. Her hair is a tangled, singed mess and her tail isn’t much better. But most horrifying, her eyes are completely gone.

“Who’s there?!” Roxy repeats, a growl in her voice as she stands up and starts stalking towards you. You can hear the servos and joints in her body creak in protest as she moves.

“R-Roxy, it’s me!” you say before hastily blurting out your name.

She stops, her ears twitching and her claws grasping at the air. At first you think she’s baring her teeth at you, but you quickly realize her broken faceplate has put one side of her mouth in a permanent snarl.

She huffs, turning away. She skulks back to her vanity, plopping down in her chair and burning her broken face in her shattered hands. “What do you want?” she mutters.

You tense, taken aback. “Wh-What do you think I want, Roxy?” you ask incredulously, slowly moving towards her. “I-I wanted to know you were okay. I wanted to help you. I was…terrified you’d…been destroyed,” you say quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She pulls away with a growl. “I have been destroyed! Just--Just look at me!” The rage in her voice doesn’t fully mask her despair, nor does it completely hide her fear. Fear of what? Of what could have happened? Of how close she came to being permanently deactivated?

Her command was clearly rhetorical, for she lowers her head further, digging her claws into what remains of her scalp.

“Roxy…all this can be fixed…” you say gently.

“No it can’t!” she snaps. “I already checked. Parts and Services is a pile of rubble now.”

“Well…what about the loading docks? Maybe we can at least find some new eyes for you…”

She scoffs. “Oh good. Then I can see myself. Because feeling all this isn’t bad enough,” she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Roxy--”

“FINE!” she growls, pushing back from her vanity abruptly. If the chair weren’t screwed into the floor she surely would have toppled it over. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

You flinch nervously, nodding. Remembering her blindness, you quickly say, “Okay. Here,” you say gently putting a hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, though she sounds somewhat less defensive and a bit…nervous? Embarrassed? With a huff, she adds, “I’ll just follow your footsteps.”

You bite back a sigh. “Alright,” you say patiently.

You lead the way out of her green room towards the long stairway down to the loading docks. You’re not about to risk trying to take the elevator.

“Here, careful on the stairs,” you say, gently taking her arm again. This time she allows it, albeit with some reluctance as she gives you what probably would have been a withering look if her faceplate had been intact.

It’s a long way down and neither of you want to rush. The sound of your softer footfalls and her heavier ones as you both pick your way down the stairs echoes through the stairwell.

Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk.

You watch her carefully. She seems too focused on making it down the stairs to be too sulky for the moment. Small blessings, you suppose. Still, the silence is only stretching out your descent.

“It sounds like one of your knees is out of alignment,” you say eventually.

“The left one,” she confirms a bit gruffly. “I can manage.”

“I can see that,” you say gently. “It took me awhile to notice something was even wrong. You carry yourself well,” you say, smiling a bit.

Roxy grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t preen even a little at the praise. That’s unusual for her…compliments usually cheer her up.

“Maybe I can find a new hinge while we’re--”

“Why are you doing this?” she cuts you off.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the flight of stairs.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean,” she says. Before you can speak, she continues, “This whole place is finished. Nobody’s coming back to rebuild. What’s the point of you patching me up?”

“I told you, Roxy…I was worried…” you start as you resume your climb down the stairs.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!” you say, exasperated as you reach the bottom of the stairs. You keep your hand on her arm as you make your way down the corridor, and she doesn’t protest.

She snorts. “You care about a pile of scrap?”

You wish she could see the glare you give her at that. “You are NOT a pile of scrap! You’re just a little scuffed.”

“More than a little,” she huffs.

You sigh. “Okay, maybe a little more than a little,” you admit. You force a smile. “But hey…I’m the perfect tech, remember? If anyone can get you fixed up, it’s me, isn’t it?”

You weren’t normally any kind of braggart. Roxy had been the only one to ever call you the perfect tech, though you feel like that was almost more a point of pride for herself rather than for you. As if she were praising herself for being deserving of the best tech more than she’s praising you for being the best tech. But you still liked hearing it…and sometimes it really did seem like she was directing the praise at you.

Roxy turns her head towards you, her ears swiveling forward. It’s hard to read her expression with her broken faceplate, but eventually one side of her mouth ticks up into a small smile. “...Yeah…” she admits softly.

You squeeze her arm gently, careful to not touch any of the sharper broken off bits.

Once you get to the loading dock, you guide her to sit down on a crate while you look through some of the recent part shipments.

The fire had somehow spared much of this place, but the collapse of P & S had rippled partially through the area and several patches of ceiling had fallen, knocking over piles of crates and leaving the whole place in disarray.

Eventually you find a crate that has the P & S stamp on the wooden slats, and figure that’s a promising place to start. You grab a crowbar and begin trying to pry it open in any way you can.

Roxy’s ears perk and she turns towards you. “What are you doing?”

“Trying--urg--to get this crate open,” you grunt.

She stands and walks towards you. “Let me,” she says. She reaches towards you, trying to determine your position.

You take her hand, your fingers weaving in hers for a moment before you guide her hand to the crate.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping aside.

“Well…pretty silly to make a human do all the heavy lifting,” she says, digging her claws into one of the planks. The wood splinters and creaks and is readily ripped free.

You smile weakly. “You’re right…these arms would never have a fraction of your strength,” you say. Jokingly, you lift your arm and flex…only to realize Roxy won’t be able to see it.

Probably for the best. It was a dumb joke anyway.

She snorts, actually preening a bit as she pulls another board free. “Even busted…” she agrees softly. Her tone is slightly melancholy…as if she doesn’t fully believe it.

She pulls another board free, and you put a hand on her shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now,” you say, guiding her back to the crate she had been sitting on before.

You begin pulling the smaller boxes from the shipping crate, cutting them open and rummaging through them, looking for anything usable.

Once again, the silence stretches on.

After finding nothing useful in the first two boxes, you glance back at Roxanne. Her hand is over her face, her middle finger slowly tracing the cracks near where her eyes had been. The quiet isn’t doing her any favors.

You shove the box you were looking through aside and pull out another, cutting it open. “Roxy?” you break the silence.

“Mm?” she grunts, still more focused on her faceplate than you.

“You…d’you um…remember that time we ran out of driver bots and that angry dad yelled at me?”

She pauses briefly, turning her head towards you. “What about it?” she asks before going back to feeling her faceplate.

“You remember what you said to me?”

“I called you an idiot.” Was that a touch of guilt you detect in her tone?

You laugh weakly, nodding. “Yes. But you remember why?”

“For letting a loser like that get under your skin,” she says plainly.

“Right,” you say, smiling. “I think about that a lot, you know.”

Roxy scoffs. “Really? Freddy said I was too rude,” she says. If she had eyes she would have rolled them.

You let out a gentle chuckle. “Well…maybe a bit,” you admit, earning a slightly sulky huff from her. “But there was truth to it, y’know? And I think about it a lot. It uh…it’s…helped me. Deal with people like him.”

She cants her head, one ear flicking curiously. It’s a cute expression even with her broken faceplate. “It…did?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling out another box and opening it. “I-I mean…you were right. I knew he was a loser but I still told myself his opinion meant something. But it doesn’t, y’know?”

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

The conversation lapses again, and you try to resist the urge to slow your search in order to come up with a new topic. Luckily, it is Roxy who picks the next topic.

“You remember that time a birthday party ran long, and I was late getting back to the recharge station?”

You freeze. Oh you do remember. You remember that evening well. The animatronics tend to get a little quirky when their battery dips below five percent. Something about a power save mode cutting power to random systems. Usually mobility, but somehow, their…inhibitions, for lack of a better term, also seemed to go by the wayside. As far as you know nobody ever quite understood why, but it was a little like getting loopy from lack of sleep, or even a bit tipsy.

Roxy smirks, hearing your stunned silence. “You do.”

“Y-Yeah…I…I wasn’t sure if you did, though.”

“I remember the important parts.” Before you can start to wonder what the “important parts” are in her mind, she continues, “You’d finally used that salon voucher I gave you for your birthday. Gotten your hair done. Actually wore it down. I never understand why you hide such long pretty hair up that bun.”

You fluster a bit. “Th-The dress code--”

“Oh, you do it without the dress code,” she scoffs, flicking a hand dismissively.

You clear your throat awkwardly, pausing to rub at your cheeks as if you can wipe the blush away. “W-What’s your battery at, by the way?”

She snorts. “Just an idle wondering?” she smirks. “It’s twenty-two percent.”

So it’s not her low battery talking…

Roxy continues, “You know…if you can find a set of replacement eyes…I wouldn’t mind seeing your hair down again,” she says, actually sounding wistful, of all things. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard her sound wistful.

You sigh softly, running a hand over your chopped off hair. “Y-Yeah…” you say, noncommittally.

She glances at you questioningly, sensing something in your tone. But before she can comment, you cut open another box, and find it has the spare eyes you’ve been looking for.

“Found the eyes!” you say. Some of the happiness in your tone is genuine. You grab two amber ones, going over to her. “They’re just standard optics, so you won’t see as well as you’re used to, but…it’ll do for now,” you say, guiding her to lay on the floor.

Her smile fades slightly and she nods, reality setting back in. Despite your claims that you could repair her, she wasn’t convinced she’d ever be as good as she was before. “Guess it’ll have to,” she mumbles.

You put a flashlight in her hand and position her arm to shine it down on her faceplate, giving you light to work with. Your toolkit is beside you, with some extra lengths of wire and soldering iron to work with. As you cut away the burned wires, murmuring apologies whenever Roxy flinches, your mind drifts back to that evening.

Her power had been at one percent when you finally coaxed her into her recharge station. Before you did, though, she had leaned down and pressed her lips to yours. You think she had been trying to nuzzle your cheek. Even “drunk” you don’t think she wanted to kiss you like that.

Neither of you had ever spoken of that night again, until today. She must not remember the kiss, you decide. She wouldn’t bring up that night at all if she did.

The truth is you’ve carried a small flame for her ever since then. Or perhaps a little longer, if you were more honest with yourself. Nothing you couldn’t ignore most of the time, of course…but something that had occasionally managed to put a bit of warmth in your heart when you allowed it to.

But none of those silly little what-ifs you’d allowed yourself to daydream of would ever come to pass now.

You wire in the eyes, then carefully fit them into their sockets. As they come online, the attached eyelids blink shut against the light.

You quickly turn away, keeping your back to her as you pack up your toolkit. “Th-They working okay?” you ask. It’s silly to turn away like this. You can’t possibly delay her seeing your scar for more than a couple minutes. Why even bother trying?

She moves the flashlight out of her eyes and sits up, looking around. “Yes,” she says. She pauses. “...Better than I thought. I forgot the standard optics still have night vision.”

You laugh weakly. “Another thing you have over me, then,” you say in what you had meant to be a good natured tone, but you couldn’t quite keep the melancholy from your voice.

Roxy catches it and glances at you curiously. She stands up, then reaches down a hand to help you up.

Well. No more putting it off.

You bow your head slightly as you turn to take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. When you stand before her, you finally lift your head to look into her eyes, giving a small, tentative smile that borders on apologetic.

Roxy stares down at you, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Wh-What…happened…?”

You sigh, glancing away slightly. “I-I…got to work early, and…I was upstairs when the fire started. It…spread so fast I…had to cut through some pretty bad areas. I-I mean. I guess, something like that…I-I don’t really remember…” you say, your voice starting to shake.

Roxy’s hand is on your cheek, turning your face back towards her as she examines your scar.

You feel your face growing warm. “I-I don’t know how I got the scar, really…The EMTs found me passed out in the employee parking lot.”

Roxy smiles sadly. “You were strong enough to save yourself.”

You blush deeply at the compliment, lowering your gaze. “I-I guess so…”

She runs her thumb over the scar, tracing the ridges of the shiny, discolored skin. “Can it be repaired?” she asks, her tone more gentle than you’ve ever heard from her.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to nuzzle into her palm as you do. “Not…really. My hair will grow back and the scar will probably fade a bit, eventually, but…it’ll…probably be pretty noticeable for the rest of my life…” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and force out a weak laugh. “C-Can’t really…uh…s-switch faceplates on a human…y-y’know?” you say in a wavering tone.

Roxy hums quietly, bringing her other hand up to cup your other cheek. “No need,” she says, lowering her head and gently nosing at your scar.

Your breath stills at her words, your eyes widening in surprise. You’re almost not sure you heard right.

She pulls back, smiling down at you tenderly. “You’re still beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours.

#fnaf #fnaf roxy #fnaf roxanne #roxanne wolf #roxy x reader #roxy x y/n #fnaf security breach #my writing #apologies to everyone waiting on the next chapter of stereo souls #my brain just does this sometimes #i can only focus on the third item in my todo list #sometimes i can glitch tasks into third place to work on them but other times i just start a random new project

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kiliinstinct · 1 month

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Chapter 30

Rating: R Pairing: Nalu FF.Net || AO3 [Ch: 1] ||| [Prev] | [Next] Happy Birthday to me! Here's an Update! Remember to thank @phoenix-before-the-flame for their Beta work! * April Post Date: 16th As you can see, there will be only one post next month due to me taking part in Camp Nanowrimo. (Similar to Nanowrimo but shorter.) Two chapter posting will continue in May. Those Dates will Appear on the Next Update.

Gajeel knew they were coming.

Before morning hit, he expected the hurried steps and smell of angry magic tickling his nose. He would have been disappointed otherwise.

Laying in his cot with one leg over the other, he affected the perfect air of calm indifference, holding back a snort. Honestly, who in their right mind wouldn't come running after his little stunt? Getting loose was one thing, but sniffing out one of the fairy’s dragons and cornering him in his own home? Gajeel was surprised they hadn’t come sooner.

The door to his cell swung open, revealing the chief all but vibrating in waves of magical power. Sweeping through the small room, the pressure of his power rattled the cot beneath him. He resisted the shiver that traveled down his spine while gooseflesh pricked along his skin. Obstinately, he met the old man’s venomous stare with an arched brow, feigning unconcern.

He couldn't react. Not yet.

Whistling low, he pulled a grin that made his visitor’s eye twitch. A fact that brought him satisfaction as he noted the scents of others crowding the hallway. Good, so he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could handle a possible threat alone. Gajeel could respect that at least.

”Damn is this how ya' greet people in the morning?“ He asked innocently, ”if Kage pissed himself, I’m laughin’ til my lungs give out.“

”I don’t appreciate lying, boy.“ Makarov accused without preamble; His magic strengthened, flowing around the room like an ominous wind, shaking dust from the rafters as bits of broken stone rattled against the floor.

”I ain't lied since I got here.“ He replied, grin widening, ”something wrong?“

Makarov’s eyes narrowed as another wave of magic emanated from his body. It swept across the building and the fortress shuddered and creaked in its wake. Stepping inside, the rising pressure almost stole Gajeel’s breath. He leapt to his feet as the old cot groaned, legs giving way under the power being exerted as it collapsed to splintered boards.

This was more than a show of power; This was a threat.

Instinct and common sense told Gajeel to make a break for it, but he held his ground, digging his sharpened nails into his crossed arms. He stood straight. Too straight. The old chief stood before him with a presence that belied his age and size. If he noticed how stiff the metal draconis became, with pupils blown unnaturally wide, he remained silent.

“You tell me,” The old man hissed. “You seem to be under the impression that you are a guest of some sort. The chains may be gone but you know as well as I that you forfeited your freedom the moment you came within these walls.”

A crack split the stone beneath the window behind Gajeel, neither paid it any mind. Makarov continued fiercely, “ You seemed a smart enough man to understand that. And yet you took it upon yourself to slip away, stalking through the streets of my home like some sort of animal. Tracking down Lucy-”

”Calm down, old man, I ain't interested in the blondie! I told you that already!“ Gajeel retorted, swallowing thickly as the chief's magic sought to overpower him.

“ I’m here for the other one you got hangin’ outside there like a dog on a leash.” Gajeel said, catching an answering snarl to his barb. A glimpse of pink flashed before the entryway before multiple sets of arms drew him back. Underneath the shimmering pressure coming from Makarov appeared a touch of heat. It took to the air in a haze, molding with the immense pressure.

He recognized it immediately, smirking as his gaze peered through the doorway, “The pink brat’s important. Not his girl.”

”And what? Breaking free to harass him is your idea of a formal meeting?! That was outside of our agreed terms and you-”

“Agreed what?!”

Fire sparked to life just beyond Gajeel’s sight as the voices of many yelped in surprise. Their restraining hands fell away as Natsu stormed in, fists ablaze with unbridled fury. “You WANTED us to meet?“

”Natsu! I did not give the command to-“

He wouldn't hear any of it, “No! You acted like you knew nothing about what he wanted from me! and all along you were lying-”

Oh Gajeel was enjoying this- the thrum of pressure lessened and his posture relaxed considerably “Not the smartest move there, Gramps, now was it?”

Natsu turned his glare on Gajeel, yellow bleeding through those dark irises as scales pricked along the edges of his eyes. He spied the hints of darkness that speckled through the orange flames billowing from Natsu’ skin. That’s all it took? Laughter burst forth with no resistance, too pleased by the situation.

“Well well, if it ain’t the man of the hour.” Gajeel greeted with a sneer, “Didn’t take you for a snitch considering…” He let the sentence hang unfinished in the air, innocently tilting his head at the other despite the murderous intent rising in the room.

Snarling, the fiery draconis stepped forward, but Makarov threw out a hand to block his path.

“Enough!” Makarov shouted, fixing him with a stern glare that stopped him in his tracks. “Stay put and silent. As for the rest of you-,” He waited for Lisanna, Levy and Freed to poke their heads through the doorway, both girls looking far more sheepish than the other, “Get in here and get him under control. There's no point in standing by if this fool decides to start causing a scene.”

“I'm not a fo-!”

“Natsu.” His voice rumbled with the force of his power,“I said enough.”

His mouth shut instantly with the blaze of his flames receding just enough to make the temperature bearable. Hatred burned in his now amber eyes, refusing to take them off the metal draconis while the others filtered in. Warily they stood behind Natsu, apprehensively eyeing Gajeel. Paying Natsu no mind, he turned his attention to the others, taking a quick assessment.

Nothing impressive to look at. The group didn’t look like wranglers of any sort, but the white haired girl held herself strong and ready by Natsu’s side. She was poised to grab him at a moment's notice. The other two… blue and green haired mages that reeked of ink, stood by her side. The taller man rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, just as ready and the shortest one appeared nervous, bravely holding her hands in a curious manner, eyes wildly flicking about the room. A caster perhaps?

His eyes narrowed as the last two scents finally answered his unasked questions. These were the fabled barrier makers keeping Kage in check. He’d have trouble with them if things went south.

Makarov cracked his back with a groan, ignoring Gajeel’s snickering. He rubbed his temples in exasperation. “Now then,” he muttered, “You need to explain yourself. Now.”

The Draconis hadn’t moved since the chief’s command, but his body trembled from adrenaline coursing through him. Every second, another scale dotted his skin red, peeking through pieces of bandage that still covered his many wounds. Gajeel watched the smoke that rose from his body with a mild interest.

And then he bared his teeth in return, mocking a snarl.

“Enough about me. Let’s talk about him for a bit.” He stated, cracking his knuckles as he matched Natsu's gaze. Neither blinked, one growing more agitated while the other remained irritatingly calm.

“Now I know you fairies can get emotional, but you wanna explain why he’s about ready to pop? Don’t tell me you couldn’t get that lil temper of yours under control after all this time away from home.”

What little flame was left on Natsu’s person burst back into life, now more black than red, proving Gajeels’ point. He took a menacing stop closer, fingers flexing with sharp claws glinting in the light. The Chief stretched out his arms and shouted a warning, holding Lisanna off from charging her own magic. She nodded, but remained poised, with shimmering silver crawling up her arms in a brilliant web.

Natsu didn't notice, too distracted by Gajeel while he hissed steam, ”Wanna say that again you son of a-“

”And that.“ Gajeel said pointedly, snapping his fingers, ”Had to see it myself to make sure. Did you suckers really think black flames are normal?”

His snarl cut off as he blinked owlishly, nervousness filtered into those wide eyes. His magic still flared, casting shadows to all corners of the room. But the others took note of the streaks of oranges and reds slowly breaking through.

“Plenty of us noticed. He's always been like this,“ Makarov admitted, mustache twitching as he frowned, ”Black fire is as natural to him as breathing. Though it seems to flare when his temper has reached its limit.”

”... umm,“ Levy chimed in, uncertainty pulling at her features as she nervously stepped back. Freed placed a calming hand on her shoulder and she nodded, digging her heels into the floor and inhaling deeply to soothe her nerves, ”We have other fire wielders here, they use purple flames. And though I’ve never seen it personally, our traveling group has encountered people who use flames of all colors. Black isn’t so strange, is it?“

”You really got ‘em tricked good haven’t you flamehead?” Gajeel scoffed, waving off her question, but considered her words regardless. Storing the new information in the back of his mind he motioned towards Natsu again. “Get it outta your heads from now that draconis fire is anything close to what normal fire magic is.”

He pondered his next words carefully.

“I’ll let ya in on a clan secret.” He continued gleefully, ignoring Natsu’s growl of warning. “Despite what he’s made you think, black fire ain’t exactly common back home. Rarer than rare. No run of the mill fire draconis could make those flames unless they were-”

“SHUT UP!”

Fire spilled from his mouth as he shoved his way past Makarov, ignoring the old man’s shouts to stand down. Up close Gajeel could see the glow of flames gathered in his throat, even through the heavy bandaging, ready to let loose on a man who was saying too much.

Freed unsheathed his sword, purple runes rising forth from the blade as sweat beaded on his brow from the sweltering heat. “Makarov,” He began tremulously, “I think it would be prudent to-”

“Shut up.” Natsu snapped in a startling voice that sounded closer to beast than man. He could barely be seen behind the thick dark flames that swirled violently around him. Only the brightness of amber eyes shone through with more fear than rage.“Whoever this bastard is, he needs to shut the fuck up before I rip out his fucking throat-”

Gajeel cocked his head to the side and chuckled. For all the blustering and the threats, he didn’t call upon his own scales to meet the call to fight. He took the brunt of the black flames unprotected, unblinking at the heat scorching his skin. The others couldn’t see it beneath the cloak of flames he used like armor. But Gajeel could see everything. Only his eyes were strong enough to pierce through the head and see how Natsu’s body trembled.

He smirked. He had him cornered. Like a desperate animal. And Gajeel wasn’t afraid of animals.

”What's wrong, hothead? Don’t want me to let something slip? They’re your clan after all. They have a right to know about you. S’not right to keep family in the dark-”

”I'm warning you to shut up right-!“

Gajeel bent to meet him at eye level. His voice rose mockingly above Natsu’s and everyone clearly heard over the roar of his flames.

“-You know exactly why I'm here, don't you, Prince?”

Outside the rumbling keep, Lucy held herself tightly, enthralled by the stranger she’d met. Erza stood by in silence, listening fondly as the two celestial roma spoke. Lucy was eager to know of the state of the other clans and Jellal was more than happy to share what he knew. All were blissfully unaware of the state of things beyond Jellal’s holding.

“So they're…..all safe?” She asked, eyes wide and watery in relief, “No others were attacked?”

“You knew of the ones before your clan began its North-bound trek,” He replied, lounging easily in his chair with a hand resting light atop hers. They'd begun their chat in earnest once Lucy gained control of her emotions enough to stop crying. Now she sat upon the edge of his bed, restlessly fidgeting. Her grip in his was tight as steel in an attempt to ground herself. It was hard to accept the reality; She truly wasn't the only one left after all.

Jellal continued with a faint smile, “I can attest that the other branches made it past the mountain ranges to our haven. Only stragglers like myself ran into issues.”

“I still can't believe Erza knew you all along,” Lucy looked back at the redhead, “Why didn't you mention earlier?”

She coughed into her hand, cheeks turning red at the attention suddenly turning to her, “my excursions outside of the clan I like to keep private unless I feel it necessary to share. That being said, I wasn't sure if he was alive or not and didn't wish to give you false hope.”

This was enough to appease Lucy, who tilted her head right back to Jellal excitedly, “and you weren't hurt too much, were you?”

He didn't bother hiding the truth, ”No, I was not. Jose and his men were not pleasant by any means, but they wanted to keep me alive. … I'm certain they want the same with you, as well.“

That was a quick dampener to the mood as Lucy's hand twitched. Her mouth twisted into a grimace and she wavered between keeping her own counsel and asking more questions.

Makarov had kept most of it secret from her, giving her just enough information to mildly satiate her curiosity, but it wasn’t enough. Here, however, was a man of her own blood who could explain everything.

”... is Makarov aware I'm talking to him?“ She asked, curious how much the chief was aware she had found another way to the truth.

A guilty silence from Erza was her answer. Looking to the wall, she fiddled with the straps of her bracer. That was all Lucy needed. For once he was in the dark and Lucy had all the answers laid bare before her, and she hungered for the truth.

Perhaps this could be considered a breach of trust. One that Lucy was unsure if she should take. However... looking at the bruises that dotted Jellal's arm and thinking back to the attacks that began all because she was with them, she couldn't remain in the dark much longer.

“... Was it any celestial,” She asked, voice low, “Or just me? Were they responsible for my Parents-“

She was silenced before the line of questioning could continue as Jellal rested his other hand on her shoulder, sighing. ”I wanted to verify that for myself. And I'm unsure if you'll like what you may hear.“

“Please,” she urged, “I need to know.”

He released her hand and slid from his chair, gaze turning to Erza for a second as he contemplated his next words. Whatever he read in her expression was enough for him to make up his mind. Looking down at the determined Romni, he motioned to the book he'd left shut at the table.

“That you do. But not yet. I think it best I have a meeting with the Chief first to discuss the stirrings I've seen out there,” he decided, dropping to his knees to kneel before her, “but as a fellow Celestial, I promise I will tell you everything you wish to know afterwards. It may not be ideal, but can you accept these terms?”

It wasn't what she wanted to hear and while her shoulders sagged in disappointment, her mind spun with possibilities. Promises were important. No Roma of the celestial blood would dare break one if made. This was it. Her heart pounded at the thought.

She just needed to wait a little bit more.

“Is ... there anything else you can tell me, then?” She asked instead.

His visible relief melted the weight in the room as he looked to her injured leg. The old wound was hidden from him but he spied thin golden strings wrapped gently around her knee, undisturbed in their workings as they hummed with a magic no different from his own.

“Erza may have let it slip that you had issues reclaiming your power.” Humor filled his voice. ”Though there are some differences, I know our teachings have some similarities. Perhaps I can assist?“

Her smile grew so large she felt it would freeze into place, never to change again. ”I would like that.“

And assisted her, he did. He told her things about their abilities: the way the night enhanced them, how to mold the light of the stars to their bidding. Lucy was a natural, he told her, observing her knee with a keen interest. While the current effects did their job well, the efficiency was lost to inexperience, something he expertly talked her through with a guiding hand and patient voice.

Fragmented memories came to the surface with every word. Memories Lucy once refused to let surface. They trickled thoughts of a family long lost, but the old pain from her grief didn’t join them. She watched in awe as Jellal instructed her, hanging onto his every word and practiced motion. The familiarity of it all almost pushed her to tears again.

Erza watched in amusement as Lucy keenly absorbed everything he said. As the minutes passed by she took to the floor, withdrawing a rag and oil from a pouch on her belt to lathe over the length of her blade in delicate strokes. She was as patient as Lucy's teacher and would continue to watch and listen as Lucy relearned her abilities anew.

She was giddy, watching as the magic pooled in her palms and glimmered, casting a warm, yellow glow upon her skin. It was basic: a brief lesson of control that she once did as a child under a parent’s guiding hand. But to do it again without fatigue or pain clouding her mind left her childishly happy.

Jellal eased his weight back into his chair, fondly watching Lucy’s growing excitement. Her eyes glowed from the magic within, widening as a coo left her lips as she observed the swirling depths of her magic. She was, quite literally, starry eyed and her happiness pulled at his heart. To think that something so simple brought her so much joy, he couldn’t imagine the grief it caused to have her magic locked away.

He hummed and looked to the ceiling, eyes glazing over in thought as if he was watching the sky rather than the aged wood above.

Reaching a decision, he snapped a finger and grabbed a candle off the table.

“Lucy,” He asked, holding it aloft between them. The flickering light grabbed her attention as she curiously waited, “What is your experience with talking to the stars?”

Oh. This lit a light inside her mind, eyebrows rising into her hair. “I wasn't allowed to as a child. Even when I was older it was still something kept from me. But I've made ... attempts.”

“Even if you didn’t participate, did you watch anyone in your family do it?”

She shook her head, “I was always sent off to bed before they began.”

At the dubious stare he gave her she quickly amended, “I mean, I tried to sneak peeks. Of course I did, but they always seemed to just know and shoved me back off to bed before I could witness anything.They must’ve had their reasons so I eventually figured not to question them.”

He noted her admittance with a tilt of his head. “How odd. Are you aware of the meditations involved at least?”

When her eyes lost focus, attention leaning towards a speck on the wall, he followed with the candle flame, “I admit, it's much easier at night, but we can practice now all the same. Sometimes the stars speak regardless.”

Attention regained, Lucy flushed prettily and the magic in her palms dimmed with her embarrassment, “Is that what I've been doing wrong?”

“Hmm?” He prompted, settling the candle back down. He reached for a pack of matches, striking one to life as he moved to light a second one.

Well now she just felt silly, ”I can’t recall if I heard them as a child, but within the past year I’ve heard them without trying anything. They were just these voices either whispering nonsense into my head or shouting loud enough to give me migraines for hours on end. I've tried to reach out to them, but I suppose without knowing the proper ways I've never been able to instigate it.“

The match he was using to light a third candle dropped from his fingers, snuffing itself out as it clattered to the floor.

His eyes narrowed, his tattoo beneath his eye crinkled as his brows drew close together in suspicion. Gone was her patient teacher, replaced instead with a sudden interrogator. Even Erza glanced up at his change in tone.

”... you've heard them?“ He repeated with a mystified air, ”no meditation? No prompting? Just... voices?“

She felt very insecure under his cold gaze. Her magic faded beneath her skin and she shrunk in on herself. Her arms fell to her lap to fidget with her skirt. ”.....am I not supposed to?“

Had she just admitted to being absolutely crazy?

“No, no , please, I apologize,” setting the candles aside, he quickly moved to brace her shoulders, expression wide in surprise, “I didn't mean to offend you, it's just…” He gnawed at his lip, “.... not how we normally do things. In fact, I've only heard of one occasion it was done in such a manner and that was-”

He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, “Nevermind you mind that. Perhaps I'm over thinking it and it's just a sign of you needing to regain control of your abilities. Meditation can help with that.”

Lucy bit her lip as she observed him. He was avoiding her gaze, looking everywhere but her. Sometimes his eyes flickered occasionally back to the aged book. Erza stopped wiping down her blade, eyeing the two of them with intense scrutiny. Her gaze practically drilled a hole into Jellal's stiff back.

“You promised to be truthful with me.” Lucy said blankly. He flinched at her accusation, pulling his hands from her shoulders. Guiltily he ran a light finger over his wounded wrists.

“I did.”

His emotions played out on his face- the confusion, the concern and the briefest hint of clarity before he steeled himself. Donning a placid mask, he spoke again. He cut Lucy off before she had the chance to protest.

"Our promise is not broken,“ He admitted, once again reaching for the candles, ”That I can assure you. But I may need to speak with your chief sooner than I expected. I’ll have to inform him of this immediately.”

“Informed of what?” Lucy dug. Erza rose to her feet in a clank of heavy metal, worriedly looking at Lucy then casting a suspicious eye at her friend. “ What are you talking about?”

“At least tell me this much.” Lucy begged. She wanted to know, before following anything else, she HAD to know.

Jellal sighed and lowered his gaze, blue fringe of hair blocking his expression further, ”... That perhaps, Jose was on the right track. That you may be the one Celestial none of our kind would ever want him to get his hands on.”

He gripped his hands tightly, mirroring Lucy as the world seemed to fall out from under them. She. she had to know more! But from the look on Jellal’s face said the discussion was already closed. He wouldn’t tell her.

Not yet at least.

---

All Natsu felt was rage when he came to. The ghost of a snarl rested on his tongue as his instincts sparked back to life.

He wanted to burn something. No, someone.

That other draconis just wouldn’t stop talking. Every word he uttered in that grating voice of his was deliberate, carefully chosen to dig under his skin and set his blood to a boil. It had driven Natsu closer to the edge beyond the realm of reason.

He had no right to even be here. A stranger with a self assured sneer standing freely in Natsu’s home, looking down on him without a care. He had no right to live after that awful word fell from his lips. Natsu screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory to no avail, it echoed in his mind.

Prince.

He vividly recalled the look of sly victory that settled in the man’s piercing red eyes. He didn’t bother to keep his gaze on Natsu when the title spilled from his lips. Instead, his gaze settled on those behind Natsu. He couldn’t see their bewildered faces as they looked to him for confirmation. For the truth.

He only saw red bleeding away to darkness as the world closed in on him. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, louder than the blood rushing through his ears. It drowned out his only frantic thought- 'They can't know. No one can know, stop him, shut him up, shut him up shut hi- NOW.'

The fires around him swirled like a cacophonous tornado. Any hint of red in its depths was stolen by the black flames pounding at the walls. Gajeel stood arrogantly, unperturbed even as the raging wildfire licked at his skin. The cracking of stone walls under the blast and the groaning of the abused ceiling above were sounds lost to the fury inside his heart. The incessant screams and desperate cries for him to calm down were barely registered, as the others fought to regain his attention over the one word that repeated in his mind over and over again.

He lunged and the room erupted in frantic shouts.

Freed flung himself before Levy and Lisanna, swiping his sword in an arc that sent a line of runes across the floor, protecting Gajeel. It lasted mere seconds against the onslaught before it crumbled under the flames. Pressure dropped to nothing as Makarov grew in size, magic swelled around as he shoved the others out the door. Grasping the burning draconis with an oversized hand, he held the feral draconis back with a power the keep could barely contain.

Power ballooned in his chest, forcing its way up his throat. He dug his claws into Makarov’s seared skin, all sense of himself lost.

Everything went dark after that. While Natsu blinked at the ceiling, clarity returned to him slowly, allowing him to pick up the pieces of his actions and realize his location was different. He wasn’t in Gajeel’s cell anymore.

What... just happened?

He knew this room and knew it well. It was a side room in the keep that Makarov often snuck off to for short naps. The old man’s light scent on the sheets was strong evidence to that. He blinked again when he caught Freed and Levy’s scents as well despite the silent room being void of anyone else.

Straining to move, Natsu grunted in surprise. He realized with horror that he couldn’t. And it wasn’t the weariness deep in his bones that stopped him. He struggled to bend his neck, finding himself covered in runic spells, shifting lines of words he couldn’t read. They bound his wrists and ankles. Now wonder he could smell the two Rune Enchanters . It was their handiwork.

But why? How did he even get here?

”Finally back to your senses are you?“ Makarov’s voice echoed from behind and Natsu craned his head back as far as he could to catch a glimpse of the Chief sitting on the floor with arms and legs crossed, almost as if he’d been dozing for quite some time.

The world swam in and out of focus for Natsu, he couldn't make heads or tails or what was going on. Why was he being held down? His growl of frustration was pointed towards Makarov as he strained against the runes binding him. They didn’t dig at his skin. In fact he barely felt their presence save for a light buzz of magic, but they were unbending against his struggle and he was too drained of his strength to give it his all.

Prince, the word echoed in his head once more and a panic began to settle into his bones.

They- they knew. They heard Gajeel’s admittance of a secret he had long since buried with his past. He stared at Makarov wide eyed, the old man stayed still as a statue, eying Natsu critically. Dread soured the air as Natsu gasped in shaky breaths.

They had him tied up for it.

Why else would they tie him down if not to do something with that information? A surge of betrayal stole his breath even as logic desperately screamed against it. This was his family now, they would never-

“What's going on?” He rasped, breaking free of his turbulent thoughts, “why can't I move?”

”Good, you're definitely more lucid than you were thirty minutes ago,“ Makarov rose from his seat with a low groan, unusually hunched in his posture as he hobbled over to Natsu’s side. His tired eyes keenly swept over the draconis as he let the question go ignored for the moment. ”I was worried about you for a bit there.“

Relieved to take the strain off his neck, the draconis followed his chief's steps in rapt attention.

He was never one to ignore a question. Take frustratingly long to answer as he sought the right words? Yes. The chief was a man of patience, something he often butted heads with the fiery draconis over as he seemed to have none. But Natsu was wise enough in this moment to not demand speedier answers. Not when he couldn’t move.

But the question bubbled in his chest, burned the tip of his tongue and refused to be quashed down. It died on his tongue only when Makarov stumbled, gritting his teeth to quiet the pained hiss that left him.

Gramps was wounded? How? Who- he struggled to sit up again, desperately trying to reach the old man’s side to help him. His thrashing was cut short by the chief laying a hand against his chest, giving a firm pressure to hold him down.

“None of that,” He chided, “I'm better now that you’re awake. Wendy has already had a look and Porylusica will be double checking later. I'd rather talk about you.”

“But-” he tried to remember on his own, what exactly happened during his outburst, who could have- the only conclusion he could figure sharpened his features in a barely concealed rage, “Did that draconis-”

“No,” interrupted Makarov, fingers flexing on Natsu's chest. “. Gajeel has not laid a finger on me. In fact, if not for him, everything would have gone much worse.”

Gajeel …? The name sounded oddly familiar to him but he couldn’t ruminate on it further as the master’s words only served to confuse Natsu, “He's the one who snuck around and said all that- what do you mean thanks to him?“

”... I almost think it's better for you to see for yourself,“ Makarov muttered more to himself than to Natsu but negated the idea immediately, ”no, perhaps not. Not in your condition. Who knows what it would do to you to know the truth so quickly.“

The truth?

Already his earlier ire was starting to rise again, simmering under his skin as heat swelled and smoke started to leak from his nose, ”This ain't making any sense! Can't you just-“

Makarov continued in his inspection, silently ignoring Natsu’s outburst. He examined the magic bindings on the draconis' body and clicked his tongue at the growing singe marks on the sheets. Wordlessly he shot Natsu a look that demanded his silence.

The stony intensity in his eyes cut Natsu off immediately, “I can’t just proceed further without caution! This situation has fallen from my grasp without my knowing! And you especially my boy! I cannot just-!”

He sucked in a breath to steady his nerves. Natsu could hear the frantic beat of Makarov's heart hammering away in his chest and the old man wobbled on his feet. Natsu whined, “ Gramps please.”

His shoulders fell in defeat and his other hand found its way to rest atop Natsu’s crown. A calming gesture. But if it was to calm one or the other, Natsu couldn’t tell. “...Before I explain anything, I need you to promise me not to blame yourself.” He continued in a low voice. “In fact, I need you to mentally prepare yourself to remain as calm as you can manage. I won't say anything further until you prove to me you can do that.”

How could he-? ”I can't just not feel things!“ Natsu protested.

”Promise me!“ Makarov's voice was a harsh whisper, bordering on pleading, ”My boy, it is alright to feel, but you mustn't 'react'! Do you understand?“

His desperate plea froze Natsu in place, staring wide eyed at Makarov’s face. At that moment, he reminded Natsu of another man he wanted to forget. A man who never shied away from his fire even as it was thrown around in frustrated bouts that burned the area around him.

It was safe then, screaming his rage in a room designed to contain his outbursts til he grew weary. And a comforting arm would wrap itself around his shoulders. Warm eyes that always beheld him with quiet pride would meet him at eye level, accompanied by whispered instructions that held no fear. No judgement.

'My son... it is alright to be angry; to feel it and express it, but you must not react. You must control yourself. Can you do that for me?'

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and Natsu forced the memory out, nodding vigorously to his chief. “I'll... I'll try.”

Makarov waited in silence for a few seconds, watching as Natsu closed his eyes and took in deep breaths. Allowing his body to relax against the sheets, the burning embers of his body simmered and the smoke dispersed. It was hard to dampen his own inner flame, but with a few more breaths, he managed.

Makarov sighed in relief, “Good. Now keep it tethered. I’ve always known you to have a temper on you but I see now why Gajeel treated your outbursts as abnormal. I don't appreciate him purposefully baiting you. That man took too much pleasure in the barbs he threw at you, but I believe, I think this is something we all needed to see.”

His grip on Natsu’s chest tightened. “Your black fire has always been a point of interest, but never one of danger. It’s become so rare in these past years I'd almost forgotten it. But today…..This level of anger and hatred…. I’ve not seen anything like this from you before; The reports Laxus and Cana gave of your fight with Kage, today's instance hardly compares….. I’m worried for you.”

Today?

What did he mean by…?

Makarov patiently waited for him to connect the dots. He was often like this, giving others the chance to find the truth at their own pace instead of thrusting it on them all at once. But nothing made sense.

Gajeel wasn’t at fault for what Natsu could barely recall no matter how hard he tried. It made him feel light headed as he fought to piece together all that was laid out for him . Annoyance started to take hold. He inhaled deeply to steady his slipping nerves and almost choked on it when a familiar scent coated his tongue.

The muted scent of charred flesh, burnt black beyond recognition. It wrapped Makarov as he stared down at Natsu, forlorn, waiting for it to click. He didn’t need to see to know how bad the injury was and the truth struck his chest like a pile of rubble crushing his bones.

Natsu didn't always put things together as fast as the others, but this wasn't something that flew over his head, “... it was me….?”

No. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He searched Makarov’s grim expression for something that said otherwise but woefully found nothing of the sort.

The limp, his restraints…. The hand on his chest, how didn’t he notice the burns that marred Makarov’s fingers sooner? Panic seized him.

“What did I do?!” Natsu’s terror threatened to choke him. He vaguely recalled Makarov’s order to stay calm but control was slipping from him again as fear sank its claws into his frazzled brain. ”Where are the others?! Did I-“

”No,“ Makarov chided gently as he moved to rest his hand against Natsu's forehead, ”Freed moved quick enough to protect the others from the initial blast while I held you down, but the explosion was bigger than any of us could’ve imagined. If not for Gajeel knocking you out, the Keep may have been lost. I had guessed his affinity with metal, but to see an entire arm turn into it was something else entirely.“

Natsu wished he could do something instead of just laying there. He wanted to run, to cover his face in shame, to sink into the floor away from Makarov’s worried eyes that held no fear. There was only pity in their depths that made him feel worse. His breathing grew harsh as everything began to come back in vague pieces.

The memories were faint and blurred from the anger he'd felt, but with the chief's recollection he could catch the hints of surprised shouts and the crackling burn of splintered wood in his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if the room was nothing more than a gaping hole in the side of the building. The realization reflected on his face in horror and despair.

He'd hurt the old man. He could have killed everyone if not for Freed and that damned, filthy metal head and it was all because he couldn't control his temper.

He couldn't remember reason, try as he might, his rage had ignited something that made him blind to everything around him.

The tears that streamed down his face were unnoticed until a choking sob wracked through his body. “I'm sorry... ” He rasped, “I'm so sorry-”

Makarov continued to rub his forehead, shushing him quietly with clicks of his tongue and a gentle hum. It wasn't the same as the night before, when Lucy had held him tight, but the comfort was there. It had always been there. The chief was respected and loved for more than just his leadership and strength, he had always acted as a father or grandfather to the majority of magic users in his home and Natsu was no different. He shuddered beneath the touch, whimpering softly as his inner turmoil threatened to boil him alive.

“I told you,” Makarov murmured, voice low and mixed with pain, “it's not your fault. Whatever this is... this madness, it can be tempered now that we know about it. Don't just blame yourself for what you can't control: at least not yet.”

But he could control it, Natsu thought. He'd been taught so long ago to keep his rage in check, the lessons were a part of him for as long as he could wield those dark flames.

When had he begun to lose it? When had he stopped caring to hold the dark vestiges of it in check? He didn't have the time or the mental power to think it through in that moment, too aggrieved by his own actions, but he nodded despite himself, desperately wanting to believe anything Makarov said.

He didn't know how much longer he sobbed, unable to move while the elder stayed at his bedside. All he knew was the anguish at his own mistakes and the wild thoughts swarming through his mind in a tornado of regret.

If only that draconis hadn't come, if only he hadn't come to Natsu's window last night if only- he must have begun to mutter the thoughts out loud as Makarov quickly shushed him.

“I'll take care of him myself,” He assured, voice gruff, ”whatever he's after, it's not Lucy. What he has done to you is another matter that won’t go unpunished. He's followed my rules down to the letter, so far. You don't need to do a thing.“

”but...“ Natsu struggled through his words, sniffing as his earlier tears stuffed his nose and made his eyes far too swollen to be comfortable, ”we, I can't just-“

”Natsu,“ Makarov warned, removing his hand to flick the boy's chin in a sharp reprimand, ”as your chief, I will handle it. I can’t let you do anything in this state. His interest is clearly focused on you, not what Jose wants. I beg of you, please, hold yourself back..“

Natsu couldn’t. It wouldn’t be enough. It sounded so simple to do but how could he? Not when everything he’d struggled to build for himself was at stake. Why couldn’t Makarov get that?

”He knows about me…..who I am.“ Natsu whispered, voice cracking as he tried to get his point across.

Makarov hesitated, lifting his hands from Natsu at the reminder of a bold truth. True the questions burned at the old man’s mind. It was another strange puzzle piece to an already complex situation that continued to swell out of his control.

But what was he to do? The boy before him was just that: a boy as terrified as the day Makarov carried him in his arms to a new life. He rested his palm over Natsu’s heart, the erratic beats thumping wild enough to rattle his bones.

”A secret you have kept hidden for good reason I'm sure,“ Makarov agreed softly, ”but we all have our own secrets, and yours has been forced from you in a terrible way. It’s something I would like to speak with you about, but only when you are ready. For now I need you to recover. Focus on staying calm in the coming hours: understood? I’ll be back later to check on you.“

Natsu had no choice but to nod his head as another wave of guilt washed over him. Makarov gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he turned away, limping towards the door. It was painful to watch as he dragged a leg lamely behind him despite his best efforts to appear hale and hearty. He could see it now, the burnt edges of his pants, and the tight wrappings of white bandages spotted with red through the charred holes in his shirt.

He tilted his head towards the wall and clenched his eyes shut, unable to accept the truth that he was the cause of everything. Makarov’s groan of pain was shut out by the door clicking shut, leaving him completely alone.

Natsu bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, forcing back another whine. More tears threatened to spill down his face. Not even the tang of his own blood filling his mouth could distract him. He deserved it for what he’d done.

What else could he do if he wasn’t careful and lost control again? Just how much damage would be done because he wasn’t strong enough? The thoughts clung to Natsu’s mind the rest of the day, unable to think of anything else.

#fairy tail fanfiction #nalu fanfiction #ft fanfiction #nalu #natsuxlucy #Natsu Dragneel #Lucy Heartfilia #plot bomb drop #AWAY #this chapter is my gift to myself #and i think i did good lmao

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months

Text

Favorite Bounty Chapter 3

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x afab reader

Chapter W/C: 9k

Chapter tags/warnings: SMUT!! (Ik, finally), vaginal fingering, blowjobs, oral sex, female masturbation, lil bit of angst, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, getting caught, canon-typical violence, I'm probably forgetting stuff but let's just say im not, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE UNDER THE CUT

Chapter summary: You and Mando get to know each other a bit more...intimately. Despite your frustrations, you learn that you really can't resist the man.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You wake up stiff as a rock.

When you open your eyes, you don't recognize your surroundings through the grogginess of sleep. You only panic for a second though, before you remember where you are.

Memories of last night begin to flood your head and you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you remember why you probably feel so stiff. You had slept on top of Mando the entire night.

You have to stop the gasp that threatens to escape when your eyes come into focus and you realize that you are still in the same spot as you had fallen asleep in. You feel the cool metal of Mando’s breastplate biting into your cheek.

You are laying sprawled out on top of the Mandalorian. Your hands are resting flat on his chest on either side of your head and your legs are almost straddling his torso under the blanket.

You feel one of his hands resting gently on your back, his thumb absentmindedly stroking circles over your shirt. His other arm lays beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow.

Your mind is screaming at you to jump up and get yourself away from the Mandalorian, but your body isn’t listening. You feel your muscles loosen as your eyes slowly flutter shut. Part of you wants to just pretend that you’re still asleep. Maybe if he thinks that you aren't aware of his subtle affection, he will hold and soothe you longer.

You have a suspicion that he wouldn't want you to be aware of the gentle intimacy of the entire situation. He might have been okay with it last night, but for some reason, you know he wouldn't want to have so many emotions on display for you.

To be honest, you think that Mando may be a little touch starved. The thought almost makes you giggle, and you have to catch yourself so as not to disturb your current position

You try to focus on the lazy circles Mando’s thumb is continuing to make to distract yourself from smiling. You can't seem to remember the last time you felt this safe and content. Kriff–maybe you were touch starved too.

It's surprisingly comfortable to lay on the heap of beskar, but you figure that feeling may come from the fact that it is Mando that you are on top of. It literally feels like one of your fantasies has come to life, and there is no way you are going to end it sooner than you need to. You would lay here forever if you had the option.

You have no idea if he is still asleep or not, though if you had to guess it would be the latter. You figure you should savor the comforting feeling before he inevitably separates from you and resorts back to his old cranky self. Letting out a small sigh, you nuzzle your head onto his chest and allow yourself to let go of any worries for the time being.

Without opening your eyes, your brows furrow when you feel Mandos' thumb abruptly stop the soft motions on your back.

“Cyar’ika?”

If the sudden sound of the Mandalorian’s voice just barely crackling through the modulator hadn’t sounded so soothing, the intrusion would have made you jump. You worried that if you opened your eyes again, Mando would be gone and you would be laying alone in your cot, waking up from a dream.

You wouldn't be able to stand it if all of this was just a figment of your imagination, so just in case, you kept your eyes tightly shut as you responded.

“Mhm?”

It wasn’t much of a response, but it was a response nonetheless. You shift your hands to fold under your chin so you can prop yourself up and off of the cold feel of beskar. When Mando stays silent, you risk slowly opening your eyes to peer up at him.

You sigh with contentment when you meet his gaze. You can't help but flash him a small smile as you make what you hope is eye contact. Seeing your admiration, Mando lifts his hand up from your back to rest it softly on your head, cradling you closer to him.

You let your eyes droop slightly as he begins to stroke your hair. The intimacy of the whole situation is overwhelming enough to bring you to tears, but you hold them back and savor the moment instead. It's nice to know that he apparently doesn't mind you seeing his affections.

“Sleep well?” he asks you. You shiver at the sound of his voice. It's the same baritone as usual, but laced with traces of sleep. He sounds as at ease as you feel, and you love that he knows he can let his guard down around you.

As you open your mouth to respond, you feel the ship lurch. Before you even realize what is going on, Mando has lifted you up by your arms and plopped you back down in the mess of blankets beneath you.

As you try to reorient yourself, the ship moves again, almost as if something was pushing hard on the side of it. You look up to Mando, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. He is already running towards the ladder of the cockpit, presumably to check what's going on outside.

You are standing by the time he jumps back down into the hull.

“Damn pirates,” he answers your question before you have a chance to voice it. “Grab the kid and get into my bunk,” he instructs you. “The heat killed the rest of our fuel. We’re stuck on the surface until we get more.”

You gape at him as he struts to the gun locker and pulls out two blasters and a rifle. You can see the unmistakable tension in his stride as he rushes past where you are still glued to the floor.

He starts to reach for the button so he can lower the ramp before he notices that you still haven’t moved. “Grab the kid and get in the damn bunk!” he barks at you.

The command sends you into motion and you fly to the back of the hull to retrieve the child from his closed hover pram. He was still sleeping and he startled when you snatched him up - you winced and made a mental note to apologize later.

You make record time crossing back to hit a button with your open palm and clamber into Mando’s bunk. As you start to turn around so you could close the bunk door, you see the ramp of the ship slam down, letting a rush of cold wind blow inside.

The pirates had blasted it open and caught Mando off guard. As he realized what happened, he swiveled around to face your direction before pulling the trigger on his blaster. You felt your mouth go dry at the image of the Mandalorian pointing a blaster your way, you are still too blissed out from this morning to understand exactly what he was doing. Your eyes screwed shut involuntarily as he pulled the trigger.

When you opened them, you were in the dark. You quickly realized that he had shot the control panel to the bunk door, ensuring your safety if the pirates tried to open it.

Honestly, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he had pulled the trigger. Mando knew that in reality, it probably wasn’t the best course of action, but what's done is done, no sense in overthinking it now.

The pirates wouldn't be able to reach you and the kid if they discovered that you had been on the ship with him, and that's all that matters to him at the moment. With a quick shake of his head, he turns back to the now-open ramp and raises his blaster.

***

The sounds coming from the other side of the bunk door are muffled, but you can still hear the absurd amount of blaster fire ripping through the air. You stifle a gasp and hold on tight to the kid.

Everything had happened too quickly for you to process it, one second you were laying in ecstasy on Mando’s chest, and the next you were stuffed into a dark room with only the kid to keep you company.

You know that you need to remain calm in order to think straight, but there was nothing you could do about the panic building up inside of you. You didn't get to see how many pirates were huddled outside the ship, but judging by the number of shots you can hear now, it must be a lot.

The kid shifts in your lap and you look down at him. You flinch as you hear a shot ring out close to the bunk and he jumps at your reaction.

The reality of your situation is really starting to sink in, and you are now focusing on trying not to have a full blown panic attack in front of the kid. You never were the best at keeping your composure in scary situations, but you know you can tough through it for the sake of the little womp rat nestled in your lap.

“Shh it’s going to be okay honey,” you tell the child as you gulp down your anxiety and squeeze him tighter to your chest. “Your daddy is going to handle it and we’re all going to be okay.”

You wish you could convince yourself of the words that come out of your own mouth. You try to stop the tears that threaten to fall as you move your hands to cover the kids ears. You know you can’t do anything else but wait right now.

****

Din has two of the pirates down before they even realize what hit them. As he jumps down onto the surface, he scans the remaining pirates scrambling around. He counts six, maybe seven, before he lands.

It will be a challenge, but Mando knows that he is perfectly capable of taking the squad down in a reasonable amount of time. He makes sure to position himself in front of the opening of the Crest so that none of the gang members can slip past him and possibly discover what he has hidden on board.

He sends a silent prayer to whoever is listening that the door to his bunk stays in place while he has his pack to it. He knows he would not be able to know if you and the child were revealed until the pirates tried to get past him, and by then it would be a struggle to get all of them down before one was able to get to you.

He grits his teeth at the thought but turns his attention to the criminals beginning to surround him. He raises his arm and shoots the one closest to his left, causing the one on his right to lunge at him.

He has that one down just as quickly as he had the one before him. He can see clearly now that there are only four members left, it shouldn’t take too much longer to have this thing over with.

****

You figure it's only been about five minutes since the door had shut into the black pit of Mando’s quarters. Your heart rate has started to slow a bit and you are able to make out the outline of your hand when you hold it up in front of your face.

There is a little less commotion from outside than before, but it's still enough for you to worry about the numbers Mando may be facing right now. You think back to earlier when you were curled up on top of him.

To be honest, you are still confused about the sudden outburst of affection from the Mandalorian. You just hope it wasn’t pity. As much as it would make sense to think of it that way, the ordeal didn’t seem very one-sided.

The way Mando had held you was warm but possessive, as if he was scared to let you go. The memory sends a shiver through your spine. You wish he was here comforting you now. You close your eyes and imagine being back in his arms with the kid in your lap.

Why hadn’t he said anything before? You know that he had to have seen your slip-ups, and as much as you hated that idea, you also know that it means he would have known how you felt.

Before you can come to a conclusion, you are pulled from your thoughts when light suddenly floods into the bunk. Your eyes snap open as you realize what happened and you make immediate eye contact with an unfamiliar face.

****

A sudden surge of panic shoots through Din’s veins as he swivels around trying to count the remaining gang members. He just downed two more of the four that had been left, but there was only one more crook in sight.

He doesn't have much time to look around because the one still in view is dangerously close now. He let his guard down for too long, letting the thug get the advantage by closing in on Mando from the side.

He sees the pirate lunging for him in his peripheral vision and fumbles with his blaster, startled by the unexpected movement. As he tries to get into position, the pistol slips from his grasp and falls into the snow with a heavy thud.

He knows he doesn’t have time to bend down and pick it up before the pirate would be around his neck, so, trying not to panic, he rethinks his strategy. The Mandalorian curses himself internally for his mistake but quickly makes up for it by spinning on his heels to box the gang member in between his body and the side of his ship with his arms on either side of the crook.

Before the pirate can understand what's happening, Mando brings his head down hard on top of the ugly stranger’s. With a deafening crack, the now unconscious pirate slumps down into the snow next to Mando’s discarded pistol.

Now that the primary threat is disposed of, Din shakes off the ringing in his head and scoops his weapon up. As soon as he is steady on his feet, he hears a scream coming from inside of the ship.

****

As you lay eyes on the pirate, neither of you move.

A million thoughts run through your mind, telling you to run or push the pirate away from you, but your body doesn't seem to listen. You open your mouth to yell for Mando and feel your eyes grow wide in hopeless panic when no sound escapes. Only when you feel the kid struggle in your hold do you feel the vibrations climbing up your throat.

The next few moments happen in a blur. Before you can even blink, you see the flash of beskar coming up behind the pirate, who has now begun to move his arm towards you. Trying to come to your senses, you dodge to the side to miss the intruder's hand as he tries to grab your neck. You tuck the kid underneath your bunched up form and close your eyes, bracing yourself for the blows that are sure to come.

As you settle fully into your protective stance, you hear a loud crack from outside the bunk. Your body jolts at the sound, but your mind immediately relaxes at the sound. You know what it means. You know the sound a skull makes as it collides with beskar.

Slowly, you open your eyes and glance outside the bunk. Mando is standing there, unmoving. When you see the unconscious body on the floor in front of him, confirming what you already knew, you loosen your grip on the kid and sit up.

The Mandalorian can see the tears brimming your eyes as he finally moves towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and the child in your own.

As he pulls you to him, you let out a shuddering breath and release the tears from your eyes. You run your hand over the kid's head, calming him down as much as you can. Though he didn't seem too concerned throughout the whole ordeal.

The three of you stay huddled up together for a moment before Mando pulls back. He turns around and nudges the body at his feet to the side, making room for you to step down from the cot.

He holds a hand out for you to take and eases you onto the floor. You give him an appreciative look as you find your balance. As soon as you are on your feet, Mando snatches his hand back as though he had been burned, like he suddenly remembered that you were capable of such a thing.

Before you can open your mouth to question him, Mando has already bent down and thrown the body over his shoulder. Without another word, he turns around and walks to the open ramp of the ship to dispose of the pirate.

Your brows furrow. What has him in such a hurry? You wonder quietly to yourself. Did you do something wrong? When he comes back, your feet are still rooted to the spot he left you. You open your mouth to say something but decide against it as he continues to seemingly ignore you.

The kid has fallen asleep in your arms, which you find are littered with little blood spots, and after Mando makes it clear that he's not going to say anything, you turn on your heel to take him to his pram.

“I'm going to put the kid down and get in the fresher,” you mumble over your shoulder, breaking the silence. You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and resume your task. You try not to let it bother you, but you feel your stomach drop at his changed demeanor.

Not thirty minutes ago, he had gathered you into his arms, and now he’s treating you like a total stranger. Tears brim your eyes once again as you realize that maybe you had read too much into it.

You try to resonate with yourself as you tuck the kid into the blankets in his pram. Maybe he was just shaken by the whole situation. Kriff, you know you should be a lot more concerned than you are. A few weeks ago, you would have been shaking in your boots.

You’re not sure what changed, but you figure it has something to do with your trust in Mando’s abilities. You know that no harm would ever come to anyone he didn’t want it to, and so far, you have given him no reason to dislike you—you don’t think so at least.

You try to shake the thoughts from your head as you close the child’s hover pram and make your way back to the main hull. You can hear the Mandalorian continuing to dispose of gruesome evidence before you lay eyes on him.

He appears to have cleared an area around his messy bunk, and is now wiping the frame around it down with a wet cloth. You stand in the entrance, debating on whether or not to ask him if he wants help, but you decide against it when he looks up at you.

He holds eye contact just long enough for you to start squirming before he turns his helmet back to the task at hand. Your cheeks blush a furious color and you turn before he can get the chance to see your embarrassment.

His nonchalant treatment hurts. You scold yourself for thinking that way, it's not like anything has changed just because he held you for five seconds. He was vulnerable and probably not thinking last night, it would be unfair of you to assume that anything is supposed to be different now.

You brush your unshed tears away as you close the door to the fresher. Maybe you’ll feel better after a soothing shower. You turn the knob on the fresher all the way up and begin to strip out of your clothes. Once you’re done, you stick a hand into the stream to feel the temperature, stepping in once you are satisfied with the warmth.

The relief is instant as the water hits your back. You sigh as you feel yourself melt into the stream. You stare at the water swirling down the drain and try to focus your mind on anything but Mando.

He seems to be controlling every aspect of your life at this point, not just your actions and emotions, but your thoughts as well. Come to think of it, you can't seem to recall the last thing you thought of or did that didn't have something to do with the man.

You bring your hand up to let it run over your face, ignoring the water dripping off as you reach your chin. You are just now seeming to realize how exhausted you are. You open your eyes wide, trying to fight off the sleep threatening to take over them.

To be honest, you’re not sure if the sudden change stems from the loss of adrenaline, the fact that you are still trying to wake up in the first place, or because of the constant facade you have managed to put on since joining Mando on the Crest.

Whatever it is though, you just want to give in and fall asleep where you stand. If you’re asleep, you won’t have to put so much effort into walking on eggshells around Mando, and you won’t have to dwell on things that apparently don’t even matter.

You decide that sleep sounds like the best plan you can make right now. After you finish washing up, you are going straight to your cot.

You hear a heavy knock on the door as you reach for the shampoo and you have to try not to slip after the sound makes you jump. You must have been too tired to hear the tell-tale thump of Mando’s boots as he approached the door.

You huff out a breath, trying to stop the irrational anger that threatens to take over from the scare. As you reach a hand out again, this time to steady yourself against the wall, he knocks again. Impatient bastard.

“What is it Mando?” you ask in a tone a bit harsher than intended. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at how childish you probably seem to him right now. Clinging all over him and then getting mad because he isn’t paying you the attention you thought he would.

You hear him sigh behind the door before answering. “There’s a town not too far from here,” he cuts right to the chase. “I’m going to go and try to find some means of fuel.” His tone is still nonchalant, but you do better with brushing it off this time, your anger making it easier.

“Okay,” you tell him, doing your best to sound just as uninterested as he did. He says nothing else, but you can hear him shuffling around outside the door almost as if he were hesitating. You roll your eyes, wishing he would go ahead and leave already.

“Okay, I-...” he trails off mid-sentence with a frustrated sigh. What else does he want? You begin to scrub shampoo into your hair as you wait for him to finish whatever it is he wants to say. You almost forget he is still standing there by the time he talks again.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. You can hear him walking off before you even get the chance to banter back. You give your head a shake and scrunch your face up. What the fuck?

Whatever. As you step out of the fresher, towel in hand, you decide you’re not going to deal with his bantha-shit right now. If he wants to have an attitude, so let him.

After you peek your head out the door to make sure Mando already left, you secure the towel around your body and pad over to your “quarters”. Despite the intrusion this morning, it’s still pretty warm in the crest so you pick out a satin sleep tank top and a matching pair of shorts. After pulling them on and checking to make sure the kid is still sound asleep in his pram, you lay down on your blankets.

You realize relatively quickly that your master plan isn’t going to work. As much as you try to push every thought from your head, you find yourself staring at the ceiling with some taunting memory or thought playing on repeat.

You huff in annoyance as you lift yourself from your cot, suddenly wide awake. How convenient. You walk around in the hull, looking for something to distract yourself for the time being. When you turn around to make a third circle, your gaze lands on the unfinished cloak you were making for the kid.

You sit back down and immediately get to work with the needle. You are already about halfway done so it shouldn’t take long, but you’ll take the welcomed distraction nonetheless.

****

You end up finishing the project much quicker than you had anticipated. After hemming the edges–and stabbing yourself with the needle about ten times–you are able to call it done. It's not perfect, but you are proud of the results. You want to have the kid try it on right away so you can make any adjustments necessary but find him still softly snoring in his blankets. Great.

You roll your eyes. There really is nothing to do on this maker-damned ship right now. It’s just been cleaned, you’ve already showered, and you had a snack while you worked on the child’s cloak.

You curse yourself for being so awake as you rack your brain, trying to think of something–anything–to do. As per usual, you come up with nothing. Well… almost nothing…

You sit down on your blankets and shiver as you let your hand wander to your chest. You inhale sharply as the pad of your finger grazes over your stiffening nipple. You know it's not a good idea, but just the idea of getting yourself off in Mando’s ship is enough to feel the arousal taking root deep inside of you.

You feel your eyes flutter shut as you bring your other hand up to cup your neglected breast. You decide you’ll just be quick, you are way too pent up not to continue at this point. You can feel the frustration embedded deep in every pore of your body. Every muscle tense and every hair standing on end from the pure agitation flowing through your veins.

You let a hand travel south as you make the realization that you need this. Mando shouldn’t be back for another hour or so, you have plenty of time to do what you need to do before he gets back. It’ll be fine.

Eyes still shut, you snake a hand down the front of your shorts to swipe a finger over the thin cotton fabric of your panties, feeling the wetness that's collected there.

“Oh, fuck,” you shudder at the contact you’ve been missing for so long. You bring your hand back up and push your shorts all the way down your legs, discarding them with a light kick when they reach your ankles.

With that out of the way, you get your hands back to work, bringing them back to their earlier positions. You tweak your nipple as you let your hand roam into your panties, circling a finger around your clit just light enough to be a tease.

As you begin to apply more pressure, an image of the Mandalorian forces itself into your mind. The memory of him sitting in the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, legs spread wide open, presenting a large bulge in his pants.

You hiss as you let a finger dip into your wetness before dragging it back up to your clit. You can’t help but imagine that it's really Mando sitting in front of you, rubbing your sensitive bud and bringing you pleasure. You wonder if he would be quiet as usual, or if he would be vocal, finally able to express his thoughts and feelings after being so quiet underneath his helm.

Maybe he would praise you as he worked you through your orgasm, telling you you’re a good girl, letting you know how good you feel as he works a finger into you. You whimper at the thought and start making faster, tighter circles on your clit.

“F-Fuck, Mando!” you shock yourself as you call out his name, but you find yourself too close to the edge to care right now. You’re almost there, you can feel the coil in your belly getting ready to snap. One more pinch on your nipple or flick of your finger and you’ll be tumbling over.

Your movements are sloppy as you focus on your end goal, one last touch and-

“Having fun?”

Fuck. Your movements stop abruptly as you hear the familiar modulated voice sounding from above you, but not before you feel yourself tip over the edge. Your entire body shakes and you keep your eyes locked shut out of embarrassment.

“Ah, f-fuck!” you practically scream as you continue to convulse involuntarily. You absolutely hate how much it fuels the fire to know you’ve been caught by the same man you were fantasizing about just moments ago.

Even after you come down from your high, you refuse to open your eyes. As flushed as you know your body is right now, you feel an impossible heat flood through you, turning you an even brighter shade of red. As you lay there in shame, you think that you have never been more humiliated in your entire life.

You stay put for what feels like an eternity before you finally find the courage to crack your eyes open. You realize quickly that you can't see much else than the Mandalorian’s intimidating form looming over your quivering form. Nowhere for you to look but at him.

“Well?” his tone is not mocking, but you’re not dumb enough to think that it’s not genuine curiosity that has him repeating himself. Your eyes fill with tears as you attempt to meet his gaze, only to shy away again when you feel the weight of his heavy stare.

You open your mouth to say something but find that the most you can muster is a small squeak. A tear trickles down your cheek and into your hairline as you watch Mando cock his head to the side, a silent tell that he is not going to give up until he gets an answer.

The asshole knows what he's doing, he knows that you want this, that you are embarrassed, that you are aroused because of it, and that you are dying for him to touch you already. Even so, he looks into your eyes for permission, which you grant with a slight nod, as he brings a hand up to rest on your bent knee.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to draw slow circles with his thumb over your bare skin, only to jolt back open when he speaks for the again.

“Nuh-uh, sweet thing,” he starts, bringing his other hand up to grab your chin between two fingers. “I asked you a question.”

You gulp as you feel your eyes widen at his boldness. The grip he has on your chin isn’t too tight, but it’s enough to both intimidate you and have you biting down on your bottom lip to stifle a moan. He sees your internal struggle and chuckles darkly, causing you to shudder as he tilts your face up to meet his helmet.

“Answer me cyar’ika,” he tells you and you know by the way he gives your chin a light squeeze that this is the last warning you would be getting before he decided to either lunge for you or stop his actions completely.

“I was,” you mumble, barely coherent to him.

“What was that?” he asks, leaning in so that your nose almost bumps into his helmet. “I didn’t quite hear you.” He brings himself over you even more so that he can slot his head next to yours as if he were going to whisper something into your ear.

The weight of his body is surprisingly comforting and it brings you a newfound sense of comfort. You take a deep breath and turn your head so that your lips are brushing against the side of his own, right where his ear would be.

“I was, Mando,” you say, louder this time. “Until someone had to interrupt me and ruin my fun.”

Mando stills at your accusatory tone and it almost scares you how quickly he jolts back up to a standing position.

“Well,” he retorts, “Maybe someone should have picked some place other than the floor of my ship to indulge in their pleasurable desires. Your face flushes a bright shade of red at his response, and you find yourself curling up to make yourself a little smaller.

Once back completely on his feet, Mando straightens out and tilts his helmet up to gaze down at you. “If you wanted some help, sweet thing,” he says, “you could have just asked.”

Your eyes widen once again at the sight of the imposing man pinning you under his gaze. You want to pinch your arm so you can try to convince yourself that this is even real in the first place. Never in your life would you ever have imagined yourself to be in this situation–dreamed of it, sure–but never actually thought it would come true.

“Are you still offering?”

His head jerks back down at your words and his hands fly to your body quicker than you can blink. One of them flying to your breast and another landing on your stomach. You are back helmet-to-face once again as he begins to trail the hand on your stomach downward towards the band of your now-soaked panties.

You close your eyes in anticipation as his fingers drag lightly across your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers groping your breast tweak your nipple, making you cry out as you feel the cot dip with the weight of his knee coming up to settle between your legs.

“I suppose I could be persuaded,” he says in a low voice that makes you shudder. “What's in it for me?” You know that he only says the last part for show, but for some reason the sentence sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

You think that this must be Mando’s idea of roleplay. It fits perfectly for a bounty hunter; he has something to hold against you, you need help that only he can provide you with, he will grant your wishes if he can find a mutual benefit.

He pinches your nipple once again when you remain silent–you seem to be at a loss for words more frequently than usual.

“I-” you start to talk but stop when the embarrassment of what you are about to say catches up. You dart your tongue out to wet your lip before continuing. “I can make you feel good, Mando,” you say, looking right up into his gaze with your best doe-eyes. He curses under his breath when he feels his cock twitch at the sight unfolding beneath him.

He knows he won't be able to keep up this facade he’s put on to try to gain the upper hand. You are his weakness, and he knows that you know it–subconsciously or not. He bites his tongue and pretends to think about your offer before giving his feedback.

“Sounds fair to me.” You can hear the lust thick in his voice, and if that wasn’t enough to make you moan in itself, the finger that suddenly dips farther into your panties to tease your clit certainly did it. Mando has to suppress a groan at the way your body responds to him at the slightest movement.

Upon hearing your mewls and cries, he feels his canvas pants grow unbearably tighter. In this moment, he would give anything just to be able to lay by your side and hear you make those sweet sounds for however long he pleases.

He uses the pad of his pointer finger to start rubbing slow, barely there circles over your clit, smirking under his helmet when he feels you buck up into him in search of more pressure.

“You sure you want this, cyar’ika?” he asks. Even though you are caged beneath him, willingly handing your body over, he still wants to make sure you aren’t going to regret this. Mando often finds that his mind revolves around doubt. Whether it has to do with a bounty, the kid, or you, he always feels like he is going to do the wrong thing.

What if you get your release and then decide that all of this was just a mistake? What if you decide you want to leave the Crest, want to leave him? He is well aware that he doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be most of the time, so why would you want to stay in the first place?

Mando tells himself that he is distancing himself in order to protect you, but he knows deep inside that he is a selfish man, that he keeps you at arm's length to protect himself. If he has nobody to protect, nobody to care about, he has nothing to lose. He is safe, he is fearless.

He is brought out of his spiraling thoughts when you speak from beneath him, your sweet voice taking hold of his hand and pulling him out of the deep hole he keeps digging himself into.

“Mando,” you start, bringing a hand up to rest on the side of his helmet, as if cupping his cheek. He shudders at the gentle touch and you smile warmly, providing a sight that melts his worries away. “I want this,” you stroke your thumb over the place it's resting as he leans into your touch.

“I want you.”

That's all it takes for Mando to throw away any doubt and let himself give in to the desires you seem to fill him with. Just for once, he figures, fuck it. He’s not stupid, he knows that eventually he would have to give in to you. Part of the reason he treats you the way he does is because you are so goddam frustrating.

Your perfectly molded face, your honey sweet voice, the delicate way you handle the child. The way you care for the both of them, giving all that you have to ensure that they are well fed, well rested, and in tip top condition. It scares him half to death how much he really has come to care for you, but how could he not?

He simply wouldn't be able to bear it if you left. None of his fears matter now though, all that he can think about is finally giving you the treatment, the pleasure, you deserve. Now that he is sure that you feel the same way, it's like a wall has come down, allowing him full access to what’s been hidden behind it for so long.

He shakes his head as if trying to get rid of any thoughts that reside there as he starts to move again. He picks you up and carries you to his bunk, plopping you down on the sheets and causing you to giggle. You sit up with your elbows and look at him looming over you between spread legs, moaning as he shoves his hand back into your panties, letting a finger dip down lower to tease into your soaked cunt.

“Oh, f-fuck, Mando,” you keen under him and he has to try not to melt on the spot. His title has never sounded better. If only he could have the pleasure of hearing his real name fall from your plush lips. His eyes roll to the back of his head just from the thought.

You look up into his visor as he eases a finger into your pussy, pumping it in and out a few times before adding a second. The delicious stretch has you clenching around his fingers, causing him to release a sharp breath through the modulator.

You wonder for a second how many sounds his helm keeps from escaping, keeps from reaching your greedy ears. How often does he scoff at your light teasing, or laugh under his breath at your subtle jokes? You brush the thoughts away quicker than they came, you know you can never really know.

Bringing your focus back to the man above you, you relish in the feeling of his fingers scraping against your walls, of his thumb brushing over your clit. You can feel your orgasm building up faster than you previously thought to be possible.

Your legs are still shaking from the one you had granted yourself, and you feel a little overstimulated, but you find yourself not caring. When Mando crooks his fingers into that sweet spot deep inside you, you can't help the wave of relief that overcomes you.

You cry out as he coaxes you through your second orgasm, continuing his ministrations, but at a slower pace. You look like heaven underneath him, hair falling onto the pillow and clinging to your face where sweat sheens. You look ethereal in your orgasmic haze, and the image alone is enough to make Mando’s cock twitch, making him buck involuntarily as his sensitive tip brushes the seam of his pants.

You whimper as Mando whispers sweet praise into your ear, telling you how good you are for him, how only he can make you feel this good, how lucky he is to touch you in this way. You have never heard him speak this way, and honestly, you have a sneaking suspicion that he is too blissed out to know what he is saying.

As you come down, he removes his hands and starts to back away, unsure of what to do next. Your eyes snap to his retreating form as you sit up, a frown painted on your features at his sudden departure. He stops in his tracks when he sees your confusion. Your expression softens as you realize that he probably doesn’t know where to go from here.

If you had to guess, you would say that Mando probably doesn’t have much experience with this kind of thing, and you would be right. The most he has done is find pleasure through brothels, maybe a few one night stands where he kept his armor on the whole time, always leaving before the sun rise.

You suppress the urge to giggle when you notice the ever-growing tent in his pants, instead extending a hand as you settle at the end of his cot, legs hanging off the edge. It only takes him a second to figure out what you are asking for before taking a step forwards and placing a large hand in your own.

You tug a little and he obeys your request, stepping closer until he stands in between your thighs. He looks down at you but doesn’t say anything and you take that as a sign to keep going. The corners of your lips tug into a smile as you release his hand to trace up his arm, all the way up to his shoulder which you mirror on the other side.

You use his form to pick yourself up and stand in front of the cot, so close that your nose brushes the cool metal of his breastplate. Tilting your head to look up at him, you bring your hands slowly back down to lay flat on the beskar in front of you. Your turn.

Catching him off guard, you push him back slightly and then turn around while keeping your hands on him, making him switch positions. His breath hitches but he still doesn’t move, clearly wanting to see where this is going.

You smirk at him and use one hand to push him again until the back of his knees hit the bunk, forcing him to sit down on the end. His face is almost level with yours in this position, and it brings you a newfound sense of confidence.

You take your hands away from him and turn around, watching his hands try to catch your hips in your peripheral. You step away quickly though, just out of reach as you grab hold of the hem of your shirt to slowly bring it up over your head. Your smile widens at the pained groan that comes from behind you as you let the article fall to the floor by your bare feet, leaving you in just your ruined panties.

Mando visibly stiffens when you turn back around, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands brought up to fondle your perfect tits. His cock gets painfully harder at the sight and he has to clutch the blankets beneath him in order to keep his hands off his cock. The intimidating look in your eye gives him enough of a hint not to.

He never thought that he would like to submit to anybody in any circumstance, but something about the way you stare down at him makes him reconsider. He seems to always be in charge–he always has to be–the thought of having someone else dominate him seems almost refreshing, though he thinks that he might feel differently if it wasn’t you.

You keep padding over to him until you are close enough to put your hands on his thighs and lower yourself to your knees. A blush threatens to rise to your cheeks as you recall the last time you had been in a position like this, patching up a wound for Mando whilst trying not to jump his bones.

You close your eyes for a beat as you take a deep, calming breath before focusing your gaze back to his helmet. You can't tell if the tremor you feel in your hands as you bring them up to his crotch is from your previous orgasms, nerves, or excitement.

When he feels your fingers start to work at his zipper, he pulls your hands away. You frown up at him, arching a brow to silently ask why he stopped you.

“Cyare,” he starts, watching as you pull your hands back a little and cock your head. “You..” he sighs heavily, trying to find the words to say.

“You don’t have to do that, cyare,” he says, finally. You roll your eyes and push his hands back out of the way, fingers finding his zipper once again.

“I know I don’t have to, Mando,” you say, training your eyes to watch your hands as they work with the clasp of his pants. “But I want to.” You feel him shudder underneath your touch as you unzip him completely and make a loose fist to let your knuckles lightly run across his length. Your eyes widen at how much bigger he looks without the pants in the way, only the thin fabric of his boxers concealing him from your hungry gaze.

“Besides,” you look back up to him, “I am a woman of my word after all.”

You don’t give him any time to respond before you are reaching into his boxers and wrapping a hand around him. He jerks up into your fist and you have to stifle a moan at how thick and warm he feels with your fingers wrapped around him.

Pulling him out completely, you lean forward to taste the pearl of pre-cum that's collected on his tip. He bucks up and groans at the feeling of your tongue grazing his most sensitive part, there’s no way he’s going to last long with your mouth on him. The sounds he makes are absolutely sinful, and you have to bite your lip before moaning yourself.

“F-fuck, pretty girl,” he says when you lick up the bottom of his shaft, trailing the vein that runs there. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time, and he knows it's going to be hard not to come in your mouth the second you take him.

You smirk at his words as you lean back and use your hand to smear your saliva further around his cock, giving small jerks each time you meet the base. When he moans again, you take pity on him and wrap your lips around the head of his cock, closing your eyes as you suck gently.

His hips shift, bringing him further into your mouth, and one of his hands fly up to settle in your hair at the sudden warmth engulfing his dick. You quickly pull off of him, watching a string of spit break and fall onto your chin. You tsk at him when he whines from the loss.

“Nuh-uh, Mando,” you say in a slightly teasing but firm tone, “Keep your hands to your sides for me.” You can tell you are pushing your luck by ordering him around from the way he stiffens, but he obeys none-the-less, fisting the sheets with white knuckles. Maybe you should call him a good boy next time. You have to try not to laugh at the thought.

Satisfied with his compliance, you get back to work, this time taking more of him into the heat of your mouth. You moan around him as you take him deeper, sending vibrations through his spine. As you relax your throat to take more of him down, you begin to wonder if you will be able to. He's bigger than average, sure, but his girth is what makes you nervous.

You bob your head up and down, trying to keeping eye contact with Mando. You can tell he is struggling to keep his composure, and it delights you much more than you would have thought. Finally, you are able to nestle your nose in the dark curls at the base of his cock. You sigh around him and you can feel him twitch in your mouth, a sign that he's getting close.

You use your tongue to swirl around the tip of his cock when you bring your head up, and each time, you feel him shiver above you. It really shouldn’t surprise you how sensitive the Mandalorian is considering he’s always glued to his armor, but for some reason, it does.

He whimpers above you and you know that he's about to spill over the edge. Smirking around him, you bring a hand up to fondle his balls, pushing him to his limit.

“S-shit!” he growls almost incoherently as he spills into your mouth, shooting ropes of cum down your throat. You are more than happy to swallow all that he gives you, but he carries a big load, and you can feel it start to dribble down your chin.

As he stills, you pull your mouth away from his softening cock. You grin as you watch his form shake from the intensity of his orgasm, reveling in pride and the fact that you get to be the one to bring the ‘feirce Mandalorian’ so much pleasure.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you swipe your thumb across your bottom lip to collect the cum that leaked out of your mouth. When you push the digit between your lips, he groans once again.

“Fuck, cyar’ika,” he says, voice laced with both arousal and exhaustion. “That was..” he trails off as he watches you scoot forward on your knees and tuck him back into his pants. He doesn’t finish, he can tell that you know what he means.

You stand up and stretch before placing a hand on his shoulder to push him down so that he is laying flat on the cot. He can see the tired look in your eyes and knows what you are asking for. You watch as he scoots back to the end of the cot, making sure to leave room for you.

You glance at the childs pram across the hull to make sure he is still asleep before you climb in behind Mando, closing the door to the bunk behind you. He opens his arms in invitation and you gladly accept, climbing up to tangle with him, head resting on his chest and leg swung over his torso.

Nothing is said for a few moments as he brushes his fingers through your hair, lulling you slowly to sleep. Eventually, when you feel yourself begin to doze off, he breaks the silence.

“Thank you, sweet thing,” he says quietly, “for everything.”

You smile into his chest and he hugs you tighter to him. You don't have to say anything for him to know that you want to tell him the same. One good thing about Mandos’ whole ‘no speaking’ thing–he knows how to read you.

You just hope he can't read everything. You are trying to ignore your feelings right now, but you feel conflicted. You want to ask him why he seems to get so distant, why he was being so weird earlier today, you want to tell him that if he feels differently about you, to let you go.

But on the other hand, you also want to beg him to hold you forever, to take you with him wherever he goes for the rest of your life, you want to tell him that you belong to him, that you want him to belong to you.

For now though, you can't seem to do either as you succumb to the tiredness that takes over your body. “Youll have to make up your mind,” you reason with yourself as you drift off. You ignore the voice though, perfectly content to stay in the middle ground, wrapped in Mando’s strong arms as you fade from consciousness.

****

Thank you for reading!!

58 notes · View notes

nerdpoe · 7 months

Text

Rosewood and Hyacinth (Coffee, Honey, and Sometimes Hazelnuts Series)

Omegaverse Lore and Rules Post, Ao3

Kon hunts down Rob to let him know that he's alive, and finds him in Paris. In Heat. Which is odd, because he could have sworn the guy was an Alpha. Meanwhile, Jason hunts down Tim's trail to make sure that he's, against Ra's insinuations, okay.

Kon gently opened the window and let himself inside, only realizing what he was smelling once he’d closed it behind him.

Uhh. Oh.

Oh shit.

The air was laced with a delicious coffee and honey and roasted hazelnuts, and the lazy scent of an Omegan Heat only enhanced it.

That was an Omega in Heat.

Which meant this was definitely not Rob’s room, fuck.

“I am so sorry,” Kon said, refusing to turn around and fumbling with the window, “I am so so so sorry I have the wrong room I’m so sorr-“

“Kon, you have the right room,” Tim’s tired voice said from behind him, and he could almost feel the eyebrow raise.

Kon still refused to turn around.

“Then I’m sorry for intruding on you and your friend shit-“ The window slammed shut again as Kon fucked up his grip on it, trying to hard not to break it; this was so embarrassing whoever Tim was with would think Superboy was lame-

“There’s no one else here but you, Superdork,” Tim yawned; Kon felt an over-heated body drape itself against his back, and a warm nose rubbed itself on his neck, “Also, you’re alive. When did that happen? Stay here.”

The smell of coffee and honey and roasted hazelnuts was everywhere, and Kon finally realized what had to have happened.

“Oh. Oh! Dude! You transitioned?” Kon asked, turning around so that Tim was in front of him. Tim, undeterred, kept his grip and was still hugging him.

“Yeah, long story but I’m happier now. Please stay?”

Okay. Okay Kon, be cool. Be chill.

“I mean like yeah, totally. Definitely. Are we just chilling or is this for more uh…fun times?” Kon waggled his eyebrows. Kon stopped waggling his eyebrows. Kon regretted the last three seconds where he’d thought that was a good idea.

“Hmm. It’s my first heat, and this is mostly to make sure the Transition happened properly, so I’m not on birth control. No sex right now, please. I just wanna nap in the sun.”

Damn. Damn, Tim really handled Heats better than he ever had Ruts. If this was a Rut Kon would’ve already been tossed out the room as Tim buried himself in work until he fainted. Again.

“Okay. Okay, yeah! We can do that! Wait, when did you last eat? You need to eat.”

Yet again, Tim’s answer Shook Kon.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m kinda hungry. Can you handle Room Service for me?” His best friend said even as he led Kon to the bed.

Tim was agreeing to eat. Never would have seen that during a Rut. He really was…healthier? Happier? As an Omega. And as a result, Kon felt happy for him. He wasn’t struggling, just finally relaxing in his own skin.

So Kon may have gone a bit overboard.

He didn’t know what a happy Tim during Heat wanted to eat, so he ordered essentially everything from the menu.

He was pretty sure that the Room Service were assassins, but Tim just flapped a hand at him when he brought it up, saying something about “Ra’s is just making sure I’m fit enough to do that favor later” or whatever.

Which. Concerning.

But Kon could address that later, when he didn’t have a Purring, sleeping Tim draped across his chest and keeping him prisoner in a fancy Paris hotel room.

~~~~~~

Heats, Tim decided, were far superior to Ruts.

Logically he knew that they were pretty much the same thing, but emotionally Heats were far superior.

He didn’t feel like crawling out of his skin, he didn’t want to force himself to stay awake to avoid the Rut itself, he didn’t feel sick and nauseous thinking about his own body.

He just felt. Well. He felt content.

Even Kon coming back from the dead couldn’t shake him from his relaxed state.

Honestly before Kon had come in through the window he’d just been sitting on the floor and breathing, enjoying the fact that his own scent didn’t make him want to barf. Then Kon had come in, and the scent of rosewood and hyacinth mixed together with what was already in the air, and Tim had been draping himself across the Super’s back without much thought at all.

The heat that flooded his veins wasn’t an uncomfortable scalding, it was a gentle warmth that kept lulling him to some of the best naps he’d ever had. Sure, he was aware that he could definitely go for some sex if the opportunity provided itself, but there wasn’t an extreme urge to do anything.

Mostly, as he told Kon; he just wanted to nap on his Beta in a sun beam.

After being fed some food that was definitely too fancy to be from the particular Hotel they were staying in, catching up with a concerned Kon while doing it, he fell asleep to the very alive pulse of his best friend.

~~~~~~

Jason walked into the Istiklal Crisis Center, dressed in his civvies and trying to make his demeanor as nonthreatening as possible.

Even though the air fresheners and air purifiers tried to hide and filter it, they could never get rid of the scent of distressed Omega in the air.

There were Alphas and Betas in the waiting room, with only a few Omegas scattered throughout.

The Omegas who required the Crisis Center’s services were ushered into the back rooms, after all.

Jason avoided eye contact and made his way to the reception desk.

“Hello, I’m here inquiring about a patient you had? He’s my little brother, I want to know if he’s alright.” Jason said in Turkish, as quietly as he could.

Turkish Crisis Centers operated on a whole other level of secrecy; they were used to Data Breaches, so they only used their computer systems to log patient names and if they’d left of their own volition or been transported to a hospital. Everything else? Paper. So if Jason wanted to know what Tim’s actual status was, he’d have to ask.

The most he could tell was that Tim had checked in using his Alvin Draper alias and left of his own volition. He already had the false Birth Certificates that labeled them as brothers ready to go.

The Omega man on the other side frowned and eyed him, the distrust clear.

“Please. His name is Alvin Draper, and we-I-don’t know where he is right now or what happened to him.” Jason tugged the birth certificates out of his bag and slid them across the counter, even as the security guards’ hands shifted to rest on their weapons.

The Receptionist reached over and slid the certificates towards him, frowning when he saw the language they were in.

“One moment; I have to get Saadet,” he muttered as he left and vanished into the back rooms.

Jason only had to wait for four minutes before a frazzled looking Beta woman hurried through the door and leaned over the counter to go over the Birth Certificates. She frowned.

Tugged her Hijaab into place from where it was threatening to fall out.

Looked up at Jason.

Down at the Certificate.

Stood up, took the Birth Certificates in hand, and motioned him through the doors.

Jason, a little shocked, went through them.

Weren’t they supposed to check his ID? Do like, thirteen kinds of validation? Even if he was a fellow Omega, that didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of human trafficking.

Saadet met him just inside the doors and led him through a series of hallways that were meant to confuse any who weren’t used to them. Jason…was impressed. And also a bit horrified.

To have that level of security, there must have been a few incidences in this places history that warranted it.

Finally, she held open a door to a small, cluttered office.

Jason had only just managed to step inside when she locked the door behind them.

He turned, eyebrow raised, as she stared at him with the most unimpressed expression he’d ever seen.

“These documents are as fake as his,” she told him in perfect English, throwing the Birth Certificates at his feet, “And you match the description he gave. More than enough proof that you two actually do know each other.”

Jason snorted.

“Flimsy reasoning like that? And here I thought Turkish Centers were the best of the best,” he drawled, trying to look casual and cool to recover from being called out like that.

Saadet’s stare turned straight-up evil, and he could tell she was starting to fight a smile.

“He also gave me a picture of you.”

Jason stiffened.

“What picture-“

“-None of your concern. But that is…definitely you.” She snickered.

Snickered.

At him!

What had Tim given her?

“Moving on, per ‘Alvin’s’ instructions I am to answer any questions you may have. Ask.”

Jason shoved the questions about whatever incriminating photo the little shit had given the nice lady to the back of his mind and focused.

Tim being a smartass was a good sign.

Now to ask the difficult questions. The ones Jason never, ever wanted to ask regarding any of his brothers.

“Was he raped?”

“No.”

The answer came just as quick as the question, and Jason didn’t even realize he’d sunk to the floor until he was already there. Saadet kept her distance.

Jason gave himself a moment.

“Was he tortured?”

“No.”

“Did he display signs of mental abuse?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t he call us?”

“He just said ‘too many eyes, not enough chances’-I assume you know what that means.”

He did.

“How bad was he?”

Saadet did pause at that, looking thoughtful.

Jason waited. Tim hadn’t been raped or abused, which was very good. He…genuinely could not put into words how relieved he was at that.

But he’d been Transitioned, probably against his will.

That’d fuck anyone up.

“He seemed very well, actually.”

What.

“What?”

“Yes, to hear him tell it; he hadn’t realized he actually wanted to transition until he had done so. Something about requesting it while not right in the head, and a missing spleen.”

Jason stared at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“We went ahead and made sure he had the proper medication following the loss of an organ so vital to the immune system.”

“I thought you said there were no signs of torture!”

“There weren’t. I assume fights are not all that unusual for you spy types; but I stand by what I said.”

Jason stood up, towering over her.

Saadet crossed her arms and glared at him.

Jason…felt his shoulders drop.

“I…I need to call someone.”

Saadet nodded, making her way to the door.

“Knock when you are done, one of the guards will let you out.”

~~~~~~

Dick was wearing a hole in the carpet.

Damian had long since stopped trying to calm him down. The Beta Pup was sitting on the couch, staying within Dick’s line of sight, sketching.

Dick knew that Damian was shaken as well, though.

There was no other reason he would willingly draw his self-proclaimed rival and not make it look silly.

When the phone finally rang, it hadn’t even finished the first one before he had it at his ear.

“Where is he?” Dick snapped, barely keeping a Command from breaking free.

Jason sighed on the other side, sounding more exasperated than angry.

“He’s not here, I went to the Crisis Center he went to. He wasn’t raped, he wasn’t tortured, and he actually wanted to Transition. Saadet says he wasn’t brainwashed, but I’d hold off on agreeing with her until I see it for myself.”

Dick sat down on the floor, hard.

He wasn’t even aware that he was crying until the tears started dripping on his pants.

Then it all came out in great, heaving sobs.

“He’s really okay?” Dick gasped in a small voice, “He really wasn’t hurt?”

“Yeah, Big Bird. He’s fine, apparently. Well-aside from a missing spleen, but that’s a separate issue.”

Dick didn’t even grasp the ‘missing spleen’ bit; he was too busy feeling relief that one of his brothers would never have to know how it felt to be violated like…like That.

Arms wrapped around him from the side, awkward and unsure.

Dick switched the phone to his other hand and dragged a protesting Damian into his lap.

“So what’re you gonna do now?” Dick asked once he’d calmed down a little, sniffling.

“Now I’m gonna hunt the little shit down; whatever Ra’s has planned for him, he wants Tim to have backup. Why else call you?”

Dick hummed, burying his face in Damian’s hair despite the Pup’s even louder protestations.

“Richard! You are rubbing mucus into my hair! Unhand me!”

Dick ignored the Coercion and clung to Damian tighter.

“Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.”

~~~~~~

Kon woke up three days after he’d meant to just say hi to Rob, slightly overheated and with a drooling, Purring Omega using him as an extra pillow.

One thing that was massively different from Ruts was that Tim was…well. He was clingy.

He refused to let Kon out of his sight for any longer than he absolutely had to, always had to be touching him, and spent most of the time sleeping or eating.

All in all, it looked like a fantastic vacation for Tim.

But that roasted hazelnut scent was fading, and Tim was starting to spend more and more stretches of time awake.

They talked, during those.

Tim talked in hushed, shamed tones that he’d tried to clone Kon. Not to make a replacement, but to have something of Kon left.

Kon quietly admitted that he might have done the same, if the situation had been reversed.

Kon told Tim how it felt like the world had moved on without him.

Tim told Kon that he’d never moved on, and felt like he probably never would have.

It was…there were definitely emotions going around, and Kon hadn’t been expecting the Tim-therapy session. Not that he wasn’t grateful for it; Rob tended to avoid emotions like the plague in some awful attempt to follow the Big Bad Bat himself.

Aside from the banger talk about feelings, his life for three days involved nothing but being Tim’s teddy bear basically.

Which, if he had to rate it, was an 8/10 job; he’d gladly do it all the time if Tim was normally this touchy.

Tim’s Heat faded out, though, and Kon found himself missing it already.

Hmm. Only one thing to do then.

“Hey-can I be your Heat buddy for the next one?”

Tim snorted, burrowing his head further into Kon’s chest.

“Sure, bro; can’t guarantee I’ll want ‘fun times’ though,” the Omega lifted his head and waggled his eyebrows in an exact copy from one of Kon’s newest most embarrassing moments.

Kon felt himself flush, cursed Clark’s genes, and gently shoved Rob’s head back onto his chest.

The Omega responded by going boneless and Purring even louder, effectively trapping the Super in place.

“…Stupid. I actually like seeing you comfortable for once, if you don’t wanna fuck that’s fine.” Kon mumbled, feeling himself grow even warmer as the flush spread.

The Purring hiccuped, stopping briefly, before Tim’s arms tightened around him and it started up again.

“I’m happy you found yourself, man,” Kon said quietly, staring at the ceiling.

“…Samesies.”

“…Dude. Did you just ‘samesies’ me-“

“-Shut up!”

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tj-dragonblade · 1 year

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[Fic] Use Your Words

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Morpheus) Rated: T Word Count: ~2500 Warnings: Mistletoe Notes: My first foray into this fandom. Be gentle; I may not have them quite right. It's been four years since last I wrote anything and I'm a bit rusty. Many thanks to @virgo-dream for the beta!

Summary: Hob finds mistletoe hung in the bar. Dream is. Insistent. That they adhere to tradition.

On AO3

~~~***~~~ "Now where did that come from?"

'That' was a bright sprig of dark green leaves and waxy white berries, hanging innocently from a random low beam near the end of the bar, and Hob was very sure that he hadn't hung it there. Mistletoe was all well and good among friends and holiday parties and such, but putting it up in the pub where random strangers might happen beneath it in the middle of the afternoon, not so much. Bit of unneeded potential for harassment and Hob wasn't keen to invite that sort of trouble. He'd have to take it down post-haste and make sure his staff knew not to re-hang it.

Beside him, Dream blinked up at the little plant. "Mistletoe," he pronounced, in precisely the overly-casual tone of discovery one might use to imply one had just noticed something one had in fact already been aware of. "We. Would seem to be standing beneath it."

Hob frowned and peered up at the little sprig, which they were indeed now directly under when he was quite certain they hadn't been a moment ago. "…So we are." Which. Huh.

And didn't that set his nerves afire, just a little bit.

"We are meant to share a kiss, then, I believe?" Dream was staring at him now, intent and direct, the bare tilt of a question in his eyebrows.

And that set Hob's pulse racing, quite definitely, no 'little bit' about it.

"You know the tradition, then?" he hedged, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Dream favored him with a look that could have withered the greenery above them, and yes, right. Prince of Stories, entirety-of-the-collective-unconscious, all that. Holiday traditions surely fell within that purview.

Hob swallowed, nerves still singing a gloriously freaked-out tune over the drumbeat of his racing heart. Surely Dream was not expecting—

Dream was still looking at him, expectantly.

And it's not like Hob had any objections, of course! Not like he hadn't thought about the possibility of kissing Dream dozens of times, hundreds even—thousands perhaps, who was counting—but he'd never expected that Dream would suggest it first, under any circumstances, that it would ever be anything Dream could possibly want.

Was he reading things right?

He didn't think he was reading them wrong, but...well. Sure it'd been a hundred and thirty-odd years and there was certainly an openness to Dream these days that hadn't been there then, but "You DARE??" still haunted Hob on many levels and he'd rather not earn himself an encore. Especially not over a frivolous holiday tradition.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, aware of the heat in his face. "Okay but don't feel like you have to; there's no obligation." He glanced away, fiddled self-consciously with his earlobe. "I mean, it's just a silly tradition, not as if there's mistletoe police lurking about…"

Hob's dismissive rambling trailed off unconvincingly and Dream tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing the slightest bit.

"I would honor this tradition, Hob. Unless. Are you opposed?"

"Oh no! Not opposed, no." God, no, couldn't have him thinking that. "In that case then, ah, let me just—okay—" He leaned over and brushed a quick peck against the corner of Dream's mouth, quick enough to avoid the temptation of more, but not quick enough to avoid feeling the cool smoothness of Dream's skin beneath his lips in a way that would surely keep him awake long hours tonight.

Desperately trying to school his expression to 'normal' versus 'hopelessly besotted and dying to do that properly except I'm afraid of driving you off for another hundred years', Hob dared a glance at Dream's face. Which was…impassive as ever, with a hint of not-what-I-expected lurking in the downward tick of his mouth.

Wrangling his nerves, Hob flashed a grin and glanced up. "Can't forget to pick a berry, now, else people'll be stuck kissing under this forever—" What a completely inane thing to say, but he couldn't seem to quite get a handle on his tongue. At least none of the bar patrons were paying them any mind; they may as well have been alone for the lack of attention they were drawing.

The berry vanished from his grasp as soon as he'd plucked it, dissipated into nothingness, but that was to be expected, perfectly normal, right? He glanced at Dream to confirm and instead found himself watching transfixed as Dream reached up, pale, slender fingers caressing a waxy white berry of nearly the same shade, and Hob's fool mouth just kept running. "We don't both have to pick one, it's only, y'know, one berry one kiss—"

"I am aware." Dream cut him off and then, quite deliberately, pulled the little berry free of its stem. "But, as I wish to receive another kiss…" He was staring at Hob expectantly again.

Oh.

Still off-kilter, still not sure quite how this was actually happening but also still possessed of enough faculties to not question his good fortune just yet, Hob leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Dream's, full-on this time, lingering just a little. Dream tilted into it, moved his own lips in complement—and oh. Again. Hob shivered, a thrill of delight running effervescent down his spine, goosebumps blooming all along his arms.

He pulled back before he could let himself get lost in it, because getting lost in it would be so easy yet terribly unwise.

"Dream?" Now apparently was the moment to question, his mouth decided, to suss out what his (very dear) friend intended because surely, surely this couldn't be as straightforward as it was trying to appear?

But Dream was regarding him with something approaching consternation, mouth flat and eyes disbelieving; he reached up to pluck another berry, swift and precise, flicking it away to dissolve into thin air as he spoke. "Hob Gadling." He plucked another, and another, punctuating his next words sharply. "I would—" pluck "—have you—" pluck "—kiss me—" pluck "—properly."

Okay. However they'd gotten here, that was clear enough, and Hob wasn't waiting to be told again.

Dream met him halfway this time, fingertips lighting on his face to guide him properly-as-requested to Dream's mouth and Hob just went with it, tossed aside dozens of decades of caution and restraint and finally kissed Dream like he meant it. Dream made a tiny little sound, high and soft like a wish at long last granted and that was it. Hob threw his arms around Dream's skinny frame and Dream's hands tangled eagerly into his hair and they were kissing, kissing, kissing like they couldn't get enough and never mind the public setting.

Hob couldn't hear whether or not they were getting catcalls or wolf whistles, not over the thunder of his own pulse in his ears, and he couldn't have cared anyway because Dream was clinging to the curve of his skull, was kissing like he meant to devour him and Hob was one hundred percent down for it. He pressed himself flush against Dream, arms wrapped tight around him, feasting on Dream's ravenous intensity as the kissing went on and on.

Dream pushed forward and Hob followed his prompting, let Dream guide him one step back, two, and then they fetched up against the bar, the edge of the counter digging into Hob's spine. "Hob," Dream murmured, right against his lips, and Hob shivered at the way his name sounded in that voice at this moment. Dream was kissing down the line of his jaw now and Hob sighed, tilted his head up to offer his throat as well.

"God, is this really happening?" Running his mouth was going to be a continuing theme, apparently. "D'you have any idea how long I've dreamed about you, like this?"

Dream tucked his face into the arch of Hob's neck, breath soft against the skin there before he kissed, grazed it with sharp teeth. "Have you any idea, how long I have wished to do such things with you?"

"I—wait, no. Really?" Hob pulled back to look at him, but was caught instead by the silence of the pub around them. Was everyone staring; had they made that much of a scene?

No, as it turned out, because when Hob actually looked, he found that all the patrons had vanished and the pub itself was sort of washed over like watercolor, barely-there around the edges, an unfinished painting. Only the two of them and the beam hanging the mistletoe above them were in focus and fully rendered.

"Oh no, this is only—I'm dreaming, aren't I." He kissed Dream again anyway, absolutely crestfallen, remembering vanishing mistletoe berries and other unheeded anomalies that suddenly made sense. "You aren't even—this isn't real, is it, just my imagination. Again."

"I have told you, Hob, the Dreaming is as 'real' as the waking world."

"To you, I'm sure," Hob lamented, kissing him mournfully, speaking against his mouth, drawing the words across his cheek. "But are you actually here? Am I even going to remember this when I wake up?"

Dream paused at that, stepped back—stepped out of Hob's arms—and Hob ached at the sudden loss. Then, with an expression somehow equal parts annoyance, arousal, and apology, Dream reached up and pulled down the entire mistletoe sprig from overhead, made a quick horizontal gesture with his other hand. "This dream is over."

Hob startled awake, sprawled into the corner of his couch, disoriented for half a second at the abrupt change and scrambling madly to sit upright, to hold onto the threads of the dream. Because Dream had been in it, had all but demanded his kisses—and if he'd really been there—

His head jerked up toward a sudden shifting of displaced air across the room. Dream stepped into existence in a soft swirl of sand and stalked toward him, dropping the mistletoe sprig on the coffee table, swinging himself down to straddle Hob's lap with his knees snug against either hip. He pushed Hob back into the couch, looming over him in a way that had every bit of Hob paying very rapt attention.

Dream's hands smoothed over Hob's shoulders, as if to gentle a high-strung animal; ironic, that was, when Dream himself was held taut as a bowstring, so tense he was trembling with it.

Hob barely managed an almost-steady tone. "Not just a dream, then?"

Dream's eyes were boring into his with intensity, gone dark and starry. "Be assured, Hob. I would have this in the Waking as well as in the Dreaming. I would not have you…doubt, my affections—"

"Oh good," Hob croaked, and then both hands were buried in Dream's hair, mouth open and angling for Dream's, and Dream collapsed against him, melted into the kiss with a soft sound of relief that sent Hob absolutely soaring.

It was several moments before they drew apart, Dream's hands carding through Hob's hair now and Hob's at Dream's hips, keeping him settled close. Dream rested his forehead against Hob's, eyes fluttering shut, fingertips stroking gently against Hob's scalp. Hob shivered at the sensual touch, fragments of their dream encounter resurfacing while he caught his breath.

"How long, then?" He slid one hand gently up Dream's spine and back down.

"Long enough." Dream kissed him again, soft and eager. "Too long."

"You never said anything."

"Nor did you."

Hob slipped both arms around Dream's waist, underneath the galaxy-lined coat, giddy that he was allowed. "You were—I didn't think—clearly I'm an idiot, because here we are, but I couldn't imagine you taking kindly to my interest."

Dream drew back enough to study him, considering his words carefully. "I…would not have taken it kindly, before, no matter my own feelings. You are correct."

"But now?"

Dream kissed him again, fierce and insistent and sincere, a long moment of poured feeling before reining it in. "Much has happened, to alter my perspective." His lips brushed Hob's as he spoke and bloody hell but it was difficult for Hob to hold back when the promise of kissing him again was right there. He managed, though, because Dream wasn't done yet and Hob was desperately interested in what he had to say, actually.

Dream put a little more distance between their faces, held his gaze now, fingers still laced into his hair. "Hob. I would. Give you candor. I would have you know, the value I place on your friendship. I would express my regard for you in every way you will accept it."

"In any way. Every way. I'm yours. However you'll have me, whatever you'll allow." Hob was reasonably successful, he felt, at corralling his mental babbling into coherent speech. "I'm yours, Dream. I'm yours."

Affections. Regard. Bloody brilliant. He felt the radiant smile splitting his face and let it happen.

Dream kissed it as it blossomed, reverently, and Hob's heart ascended.

"I should like to kiss you more often, Hob Gadling," Dream declared then. "It is every bit the delight I had hoped it to be."

Hob was never coming back down to earth, was he. "Y'know, if you'd led with that and your pretty little speech instead of bleeding mistletoe, I would have been kissing you sooner?"

"It was meant to be…spontaneous, and whimsical." Both things that Dream was decidedly not, generally speaking, but Hob held his tongue. "The dreamers are currently…awash, in their various holidays and accompanying traditions. This tradition, in this season, seemed an opportune means to express my intentions."

'Intentions'. Wasn't that just a fine old-fashioned way of saying it.

Hob grinned wider, trying (and mostly failing, but trying, dammit) to keep the giddiness under control. "So…what you're saying is, you're my Christmas present?" It was a terrible joke. He couldn't help it.

Dream gave him a look halfway between askance and consideration. "…If you wish to view it as such, then…very well. I am your Christmas present."

Delighted, joyful, Hob leaned up and kissed him, because he could.

Dream straightened up a moment later, regal as anything never mind that he was still perched astride Hob's lap, and his well-kissed expression shifted into something mildly imperious. "It is customary to unwrap one's gifts when presented with them, is it not?"

Hob's brain stuttered, ground to a shuddering halt, full record-scratch Hob-dot-exe-has-stopped-working blue screen. Dream had allowed his terrible joke to stand, that was remarkable enough, but now he'd gone and turned it around and lobbed it back? Embellished it with innuendo, of all the impossible—?

He stared up at Dream, wide-eyed and tongue-tied. "Um."

Was he. Did he mean it?

Dream gave him a mildly unimpressed look, with a little curl of smugness underneath; he leaned back in, pressed himself close, grazed his rose petal lips across the shell of Hob's ear. The softest of sighs ghosted after, and then his voice, warm and dark and rich as velvet.

"Unwrap your present, Hob. That you may. Open it, properly."

Hob-dot-exe restarted with gusto; he didn't need to be told a third time.

All in all, it was a very merry Christmas indeed.

===== Started: 12/8/22

Drafted: 12/23/22

Posted: 12/25/22

#Dreamling #The Sandman #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #TJs Fics #it's 4:30pm Christmas here as I post this #still timely go me #Sandman

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 months

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The Grim Reaper’s Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe - Masterlist

Hi! Welcome to the third major fic that I've started when procrastinating my other ones! Alastor is my babygirl, so I hope you love it just as much as I do! It's a bit long winded, so I'll try to make it worth the read! Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence, swearing, graphic descriptions of injuries, character death, Cannibalistic themes, blood, murder, stalking (anything else I will add)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Go back to Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe

Chapters will be infrequent depending on how much work at Uni I have going on - don't hesitate to message to see where I am with the next chapter (it may help me along tbh)

Purple text - In Progress

Green text - Posted

Extras:

Behind the scenes notes (may or may not post)

Headcanons - Alastor x oc (to be written)

Playlist - Part 1 (coming soon!)

Soundtrack Playlist (coming soon!)

Memes

Part 0 - The Universe

Prologue

Part 1 - Oh, peace and quiet, where have you gone?

Chapter I - Congrats! You're adopted.

Chapter II - Another box for my trinkets it’s trinketville.

Chapter III - I’d rather be unemployed.

Chapter IV - Unconditional Violence

Chapter V -

Chapter VI -

Chapter VII -

Chapter VIII -

Chapter IX -

Chapter X -

Part 2 -

To be continued...

Fic oneshots

Paella

More coming soon…

Enjoy! <3

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lexiepiper · 4 months

Text

Philanthropy

Happy Christmas Truce to @purpleruletheomiverse with their prompt (Post AGIT) Vlad, Dan and Dani attempting an incredibly awkward and angst-filled family Christmas. I toed the line a bit between angst and fluff, but hopefully it worked out okay!

Ao3 link

Summary: Who knew that decorating a tree could cost so much?

Warning for AGIT spoilers.

“You know I hate Christmas, right?”

Vlad paused, looking up from the morning news and trying to keep his expression blank. “You know who I’m doing this for.”

Dan shoved his hands in his pockets, continuing to loiter in the doorway. “You think it’ll be any different for her?” he asked. “She’s a clone, genius. She has his memories. Or have you gone senile?”

Vlad took a calculated sip of his coffee, trying not to look at the creature stuffed into the body of a boy. “You’re the one who dragged her back into my life and told me to make amends.”

“And what, you think a stinking old tree’ll do that?” He huffed, but finally stalked into the sitting room and motioned for the ghostly servant that hovered at the peripherals. “Coffee,” he said when she turned towards him.

Vlad raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue at the rudeness.

Dan’s eyes snapped to him, literal red flames flickering where his irises should have been. “What?”

He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose. “I hardly want to fight before I’ve finished my morning coffee.”

Dan grumbled incoherently, but slouched into one of the plush armchairs. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t burn it down by the end of the day.”

Vlad made a show of looking back at his phone and taking a long sip of coffee before answering. “She said she wanted it, you know.”

“Did she actually say that, though?”

He sent Dan a sidelong glance. “Perhaps you should talk to her about it, before deciding to burn anything. She wants the three of us to decorate it together.”

He would have sworn that he could hear the grinding of teeth from halfway across the room. “No way, old man.”

Vlad sniffed delicately, turning back to his coffee. “The deal was that we improve together, was it not?”

“I never agreed to a Christmas tree.”

“Would you really pass up the opportunity to make her happy?”

Dan snarled, pushing himself to his feet and stomping out of the room.

Vlad bit back a smirk. It wasn’t much, but a disagreement that didn’t end in violence? Maybe there was hope after all.

Dani had woken a while ago to the sound of a door slamming, which really wasn’t that uncommon in the Masters household. When there had been no further noise that indicated a fight she’d snuggled back into the blankets of her - her! - giant, comfortable bed, and dozed back off.

She hadn’t fully fallen back asleep when her door was thrown open, and she groaned theatrically and pulled the duvet over her head.

“Did you really ask for a Christmas tree?” Dan snapped.

She mumbled wordlessly, pulling the blanket tighter in a clear message for him to piss off until she was more awake.

“Hey.” She heard him walk over to her bed, and then his hand gripped her elbow through the duvet. “What’s the big idea?”

Giving up on sleeping through this, Dani groaned again and pulled the blanket back, shaking him off and giving a sleepy glare.

“We hate Christmas,” he insisted.

She huffed, rolling over to face him. “No, Danny hates Christmas. We just have his bad memories.”

“So?”

She rolled her eyes. “ So, don’t you wanna be your own person? Try things for yourself instead of focusing on memories that may or may not actually be yours?” She yawned. “Isn’t starting fresh what we’re all trying to do here?”

He was standing beside her bed with his mouth wide open, hands loose at his sides. “But… with a Christmas tree?”

“Yes.” She sat up, stretching her arms above her head with another yawn. “All the two of you do is nitpick over little things, without actually doing anything good. You won’t get better if you don’t do good things, you moron.”

The way his jaw twitched was immensely satisfying. Serves him right for waking her up.

“I draw the line at a Christmas sweater,” he forced through gritted teeth.

“I’ll buy you the most sparkly one there is,” she retorted, flopping back into her pillows and closing her eyes. “Shut the door on your way out.”

He huffed and disappeared, leaving the door wide open so she’d have to get up and close it herself.

Typical.

Dan perched on the bannister, legs morphed into a ghostly tail that looped and wrapped around the support spokes despite being in human form as he sipped his coffee and glared at the tree. It was in the grand foyer, since the ceiling here was tall enough for the tree to reach from the ground floor up to the second story.

A team of professionals were already hard at work. He didn’t know exactly what you had to be a professional in to decorate Christmas trees, but Vlad was a billionaire, so it made sense that he’d be able to find all kinds of strange professionals that normal people would never even dream existed.

They weren’t exactly decorating the tree. Just… putting on the lights, which looked incredibly tedious and much more difficult than Dan remembered it being. Still, as with all of Vlad’s professionals they were paid more than enough to never disclose anything they might happen to see while in his mansion, so. He just sat there. Legs morphing into a misty, somewhat-incorporeal tail as he watched them from above.

“You’re a menace,” Vlad said from behind him.

Dan didn’t bother looking. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction. “That just makes two of us.”

“Must you terrorise my contractors?”

“Yeah. You never know when one of them’ll hide in that massive thing like it’s the Trojan horse and try to assassinate you for your unethical business practices when you get close.”

Vlad said nothing, and Dan entertained himself by imagining the incredulous frustration on the man’s face.

He waited for a long moment, and when he finally glanced back, Vlad was gone.

Excellent. If he was needed to keep the peace tonight, they’d all better leave him alone to get the brooding out of his system. And if it made the workers nervous, well… Dan smiled, wide enough that the ones on the ground floor would easily see his fangs. It’s what they got, for taking stupid jobs like this.

And if their nervousness made him feel even a teensy bit better, well… it’s not like he was hurting anyone.

The tiny knock on his office door was almost too quiet for him to hear. “Come in,” he said without looking away from the document that had been faxed through this morning. Because clearly, these investors needed to not only fax documents, but on Christmas Eve. If anyone was going senile, it was them.

Dani walked through the closed door, a lumpy mass of red and green in her hands. “Um… this is for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, putting the document to one side. It was late in the day anyway, and the investors could wait until after the break. Their poor timing did not constitute an emergency on his part. “What is it?”

She bit her lip, shyly holding it out. “I… I got us each one, though Dan’ll probably burn his as soon as he sees it.”

Vlad took the knitted lump, forcing himself to smile as he unfurled the ugliest christmas sweater he’d ever seen. “Why, Danielle, this is truly something.”

“It even lights up!” she exclaimed, some of the shyness melting away as she bounced forward on her toes and fumbled for the box sewn into the hem. “Look!”

Sure enough, the sweater lit up with tiny flashing lights interspersed along the branches of the garish knitted tree.

“Do you like it?” she asked, eyes wide with hope as she looked up into his face.

Vlad swallowed and forced his smile wider. “Absolutely,” he said, immediately pulling it on over his business shirt. “Thank you.”

She grinned, the freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose lighting up into tiny constellations. “You look amazing! I can’t wait to give Dan his!”

Vlad sat back at his desk, opening the top drawer and sweeping the papers into it. “Even if he burns it?”

Her eyes sparkled, glinting as her smile turned sly. “If it stops him from burning the tree then won’t it be worth it?”

He smirked. “That’s true.”

“Glad you agree,” she chirped, heading back for the door. “I mean, I used your credit card to buy them all anyway, so yeah. Glad you think it’s worthwhile!”

Vlad froze as she slipped out of the office, glancing down at the sweater and hoping that she got it out of some bargain bin at the local mall. Though, judging from the softness of what felt far too high quality to be plain acrylic… It was a good thing he was a billionaire, but still, someone should probably talk to her about budgeting.

Maybe.

But still, the way she’d lit up like that had warmed his soul.

…

Damn it, the kids really were turning him into a pushover.

She found Dan lying on a couch in the parlour adjacent to the foyer, eyes closed and looking like he was asleep.

“You’re enjoying listening to them talk about you,” she accused.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he drawled without opening his eyes. “It’s not my fault they started talking about me as soon as I left.”

“You’re a menace.” She threw the sweater at him. “Here. Wear this tonight. If you burn it before we get a group picture, I’ll replace all your snacks with toast.”

He squinted at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“Or would you rather I invite the Fentons over for Christmas dinner tomorrow?” she asked, as sweetly as she could. “I’m sure you’d love an evening with them all, right? Jack can tell us all about Santa, and -”

He sat up, pinching the sweater between his thumbs and forefingers as he lifted it to glare at the light-up knitted tree.

“It’ll look great on you!” she chirped, gesturing to the one she already wore.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel better, then?”

“A little,” she admitted, flopping onto the couch that mirrored his over an opulent wooden coffee table. “It beats being miserable, right?”

“I’m always miserable,” he grumbled, lying back down with the sweater draped across his stomach.

“You’re really not though.” Dani turned her head, watching as he grimaced and closed his eyes. “Come on, you’re not.”

“Name one thing that makes me happy,” he said.

She smiled. “Oh, that’s easy, you idiot. Flying.”

His breath hitched, and then he snorted in a clear attempt to wipe away the smile that had touched the corners of his lips.

Spurred on by her success, Dani continued. “There’s also ice cream, coffee, lime and vinegar chips, Dumpty Humpty music, puppies when you think no one can see you…”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, turning away from her, but not before Dani saw his smile.

She laughed, pushing herself into the air and floating toward the ceiling, flipping herself so she was looking down on him. “We’ll decorate the tree at five.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’d better be wearing the sweater,” she threatened, “or I’ll tell Jack you know how to find Santa.”

He glared at her with a flash of red. “You wouldn’t.”

Dani stuck out her tongue and phased through the ceiling, leaving him alone to wonder.

He traipsed into the grand foyer at five past five. They were there waiting for him, and Dan wondered if he’d be berated for his lateness, but Dani was too engrossed in flitting from one tiered display of brand new decorations to the next to care about his tardiness.

Vlad looked over at him and Dan gave him a withering glare, likely damepend by the fact that he was, indeed, wearing the same flashing sweater that they all were. “Don't you dare say anything,” he growled.

“Can we really use all of these?!” Dani shouted from across the room, hovering above a display of ornaments that glittered like crystal. Knowing Vlad, they probably were.

“Of course.” Vlad swanned over to her, gesturing for Dan to follow. “You tell us where to start.”

Dani hummed, looking between all of them with her finger to her lips before turning back to the probably-crystal ornaments. “Let’s go colour by colour,” she said. “Then it can be balanced.”

“Who cares what it looks like?” Dan huffed.

She scowled at him. “Stop being so sour. Can’t you at least try?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s our tree, right? It just has to look how we want it to. It’s not like it’s for a competition.”

Dani sniffed and picked an ornament from the display. “Yeah, but a picture’ll be nice, and I can make a tiktok.”

“I’m not being in a tiktok,” he deadpanned.

“Not you, ” she huffed. “Just me. Going from the homeless girl barely trying to get by to the reclaimed daughter of a bachelor billionaire’s been wild for my channel, so I’m trying to do a mixture of chill ones for a while. The tree’ll be nice, and I’ll do cookies, and also maybe one at the fundraiser carols later.”

“What are you fundraising?” Vlad asked, choosing an ornament and following Dani as she moved to the tree.

“Homeless kids,” she said, hanging her ornament. “I tried to donate a hundred grand from us, and researched the best organisations, but apparently I’m not allowed to donate that much without your consent. So I figured I’d drum up interest online and at the fundraiser to get more people involved, and then announce your donation in front of everyone.”

“Sneaky,” Dan observed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the two of them.

Vlad hung his ornament, expression pensive. “It really means that much to you?”

She shrugged, turning back to the display and examining it maybe a little too closely. “Homelessness is hell. Sure, there are a lot of other personal hells, but… not having a bed at the end of the day, or clean clothes, or enough food… Feeling like nobody cares and you could just die alone without anyone even noticing…” She wiped her eyes. “Yeah, I care about it a lot.”

Vlad stood by the tree, blinking with his mouth open.

Dan huffed when Dani sniffed. “So wouldn’t it be better if Vlad ended homelessness?”

She turned to him, eyes wide and wet. “What?”

Vlad started forwards as well. “It’s not that simple -”

“Then start small,” Dan snapped, grabbing the ornament closest to him. It was a crystal icicle, and he brandished it in a casual flourish that didn’t quite rule out a threat. “Amity Park’s a small city, but there are plenty of empty buildings. I’ve been thrown through enough to know. Pledge to clean it all up in the next year, and house the homeless. Kids and families first. Aren’t you on a self-improvement kick, Vladdie? ”

“But the social infrastructure -”

“Build it up, then.” He practically flounced over to the tree, not bothering to hide his glee at Vlad’s clear panic. “Kids needs social services if they don’t have guardians. People need health support, and money for necessities. Why don’t we fix the housing crisis and universal basic income? It’s worked overseas, after all, and you have more than enough to sponsor it for the first year. Pull some strings, see if you can’t get even more tax write-offs for it, and get the ball rolling.”

Vlad spluttered incoherently.

“You’d really do that?” Dani asked, and the sheer hope in her voice would have melted any glacier.

Vlad wilted. “I… Yes, Danielle. I’ll give it a try.”

Dani squealed, throwing herself at Vlad. He stiffened as she hugged him, hands fluttering as though uncertain of where to place them, but before he could decide she’d pulled away again, and launched herself straight at…

Dan froze as she hugged him, arms tight around his middle as she sobbed into the shoulder of his stupid ugly sweater. “Thank you,” she wailed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

He placed a hand in the small of her back, angling his chin so that her head tucked beneath it, and smirked over at Vlad. “Like I said, we’re all on a self-improvement kick. It’s about time we actually did something good.”

#lexiepiper #danny phantom #holiday truce 2023 #agit #edited to add full stops because tumblr ate my line breaks

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